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I
laughed
,
but
Dean
,
who
could
n't
help
being
serious
about
things
even
when
he
saw
the
joke
,
was
frowning
and
polishing
his
glasses
furiously
.
"
You
'll
be
in
trouble
if
someone
sees
that
.
"
He
hesitated
and
added
,
"
The
wrong
someone
.
"
He
hesitated
again
,
looking
nearsightedly
around
almost
as
if
he
expected
to
see
that
the
walls
had
grown
ears
,
before
finishing
:
"
Someone
like
Percy
Kiss-My-Ass-and-Go-to-Heaven
Wetmore
.
"
"
Huh
,
"
Brutal
said
.
"
The
day
Percy
Wetmore
sits
his
narrow
shanks
down
here
at
this
desk
will
be
the
day
I
resign
.
"
"
You
wo
n't
have
to
,
"
Dean
said
.
"
They
'll
fire
you
for
making
jokes
in
the
visitors
"
book
if
Percy
puts
the
right
word
in
the
right
ear
.
And
he
can
.
You
know
he
can
.
"
Brutal
glowered
but
said
nothing
.
I
reckoned
that
later
on
that
night
he
would
erase
what
he
had
written
.
And
if
he
did
n't
,
I
would
.
The
next
night
,
after
getting
first
Bitterbuck
and
then
The
President
over
to
D
Block
,
where
we
showered
our
group
after
the
regular
cons
were
locked
down
,
Brutal
asked
me
if
we
should
n't
have
a
look
for
Steamboat
Willy
down
there
in
the
restraint
room
.
"
I
guess
we
ought
to
,
"
I
said
.
We
'd
had
a
good
laugh
over
that
mouse
the
night
before
,
but
I
knew
that
if
Brutal
and
I
found
it
down
there
in
the
restraint
room
--
particularly
if
we
found
it
had
gnawed
itself
the
beginnings
of
a
nest
in
one
of
the
padded
walls
--
we
would
kill
it
.
Better
to
kill
the
scout
,
no
matter
how
amusing
it
might
be
,
than
have
to
live
with
the
pilgrims
.
And
,
I
should
n't
have
to
tell
you
,
neither
of
us
was
very
squeamish
about
a
little
mouse-murder
.
Killing
rats
was
what
the
state
paid
us
for
,
after
all
.
But
we
did
n't
find
Steamboat
Willy
--
later
to
be
known
as
Mr.
Jingles
--
that
night
,
not
nested
in
the
soft
walls
,
or
behind
any
of
the
collected
junk
we
hauled
out
into
the
corridor
.
There
was
a
great
deal
of
junk
,
too
,
more
than
I
would
have
expected
,
because
we
had
n't
had
to
use
the
restraint
room
in
a
long
time
.
That
would
change
with
the
advent
of
William
Wharton
,
but
of
course
we
did
n't
know
that
at
the
time
.
Lucky
us
.
"
Where
'd
it
go
?
"
Brutal
asked
at
last
,
wiping
sweat
off
the
back
of
his
neck
with
a
big
blue
bandanna
.
"
No
hole
,
no
crack
...
there
's
that
,
but
--
"
He
pointed
to
the
drain
in
the
floor
.
Below
the
grate
,
which
the
mouse
could
have
gotten
through
,
was
a
fine
steel
mesh
that
not
even
a
fly
would
have
passed
.
"
How
'd
it
get
in
?
How
'd
it
get
out
?
"
"
I
do
n't
know
,
"
I
said
.
