sewers, hiding in woodpiles, freight-cars, ships, barns,
slaughter-house, skulking down black alleys, listening, hiding,
stealing, always listening.

Yes, rats know about man, but rats had never known a man like Erd
Neff, a man who hated all mankind. A man who chose a rat for a
companion in preference to one of his own kind. Rats named John
learned about Neff. They learned that his tones and inflections had
specific meaning. They learned very fast under the stabbing prod of
the marshmallow fork. With just enough food to keep them alive, their
blind ferocity changed into painful attention. They learned to squeak
and squawk and form the sounds into a pattern with their motile
tongues. In weeks and months, they learned what the human brat learned
in years.

"Stand up like a goddamned man!"

* * * * *

John stood up, his tail the third point of the support.

"Say the alphabet."

"Eh--bih--fih--dih--ih--eff--jih--etch--"

Neff lit a cigar and watched the smoke float away from the ceiling
blower and vanish into the overhead vent in the far corner. He bobbed
one foot in time to the squeaky rhythm of the recitation. He took no
exception to John's failure with "I," "s", and "z". The other Johns
had been unable to handle them, too.

"Hungrih, Neff. Hungrih!"

The big man picked out three grains of wheat. He noticed the can was
almost empty. One by one he handed the kernels to his pet, waiting for
John's "Tinkoo!" in between.

"Mur! Mur!"

"Lazy tongue! It's _more_, not mur!"

John dropped to all fours and retreated. Usually Neff slapped him in
the belly when he used that tone. But Neff was bemused tonight. He
kept listening for sounds, sounds that he knew could never penetrate
the thick walls.

They were out there, he was sure. Another damned fool or two, flashing
a light around, trying to figure out something. Neff remembered one
pair who had even tried nitroglycerin. He saw the burns on the outside
of the door the next morning.

Amateurs! Nobody knew for sure just how much money Neff kept in the
old desk, and big-time pros wouldn't tackle a job like this without a
pretty fair notion of the loot. For all they knew, maybe he mailed it
to an out-of-town bank.

"Okay, fetch the pencil."

John jumped from the desk and moved toward the open door of the
shower-stall where Neff had thrown the pencil stub. He paused by the
wheat can, then scurried on to get the pencil. He climbed Ne