s I can take it up with the supervisor," he finally said.

"All right," George shouted. "_Thanks!_"

* * * * *

The janitor picked up the trap and moved it over to the front door. He
watched, interested, as George promptly pushed it several inches along
the wall. Then he turned and busily swish-swished more dust around the
room.

"Well, what did he say?" Clara asked George as soon as he came back
into the house.

"Said he'd take it up with the supervisor," George said, settling down
in an armchair.

"George," she ordered, "you get up this instant and make sure that he
really does!"

"Look," George pleaded, "he said he would."

"He may have been lying," Clara said promptly. "You go right up to the
supervisor's room and see."

So, George reluctantly heaved himself out of the chair and ran through
the mouseways in the wall until he came to the mousehole in the
supervisor's room.

At that moment, the janitor came in and the supervisor looked up,
annoyed. He was a fat man, with stubble on his cheek, and he walked
with a waddle.

"There's a mouse in room 112 who doesn't want a trap by his front
door," the janitor said simply.

"You're crazy," the supervisor said.

The janitor shrugged. "What should I tell him?" he asked.

"Tell him to come up here and speak to me himself," the supervisor
said, feeling very clever.

"I'm right here," George cried, stepping out of the mousehole and
neatly side-stepping the mousetrap beside it.

"There he is now," the janitor said, pointing.

"My God!" whispered the supervisor, who'd had some education. "A
hallucination."

"No, a mouse," the old janitor corrected.

"My wife wants the trap removed," George patiently explained. "She's
worried the children might blunder into it."

"Do _you_ see him, too?" the supervisor asked the janitor
incredulously, still whispering.

"Sure," the janitor replied. "He's the one I was telling you about,
from room 112."

The supervisor stood up unsteadily. "I don't feel very well," he said
in a weak voice. "I think that I'd better talk this over with the
Administrative Officer. It's a policy matter."

"You come along, too," he said hastily to the janitor, who had turned
to leave. "I'll need all the support I can get." He waddled out,
followed by the janitor.

"_What should I tell my wife?_" George shouted, but they didn't
answer, so he went down and told his wife that they were discussing it
with the