--
"_Six Cent Six!_"
everyone cried. Surplice stamped with wrath and mortification. "_C'est
domage_" Monsieur Auguste said gently beside me. "_C'est un bon-homme, le
pauvre, il ne faut pas l'enmerd-er._"
"Look behind you!"
somebody yelled. Surplice wheeled, exactly like a kitten trying to catch
its own tail, and provoked thunders of laughter. Nor could anything at
once more pitiful and ridiculous, more ludicrous and horrible, be
imagined.
"On your coat! Look on your jacket!"
Surplice bent backward, staring over his left, then his right, shoulder,
pulled at his jacket first one way then the other--thereby making his
improvised tail to wag, which sent The Enormous Room into spasms of
merriment--finally caught sight of the incriminating appendage, pulled
his coat to the left, seized the paper, tore it off, threw it fiercely
down, and stamped madly on the crumpled 606; spluttering and blustering
and waving his arms; slavering like a mad dog. Then he faced the most
prominently vociferous corner and muttered thickly and crazily:
"_Wuhwuhwuhwuhwuh...._"
Then he strode rapidly to his _paillasse_ and lay down; in which position
I caught him, a few minutes later, smiling and even chuckling .
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