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That
question
was
answered
as
soon
as
Delacroix
caught
Mr.
Jingles
up
in
one
hand
and
lowered
him
gently
into
the
box
.
The
mouse
snuggled
into
the
white
cotton
as
if
it
were
Aunt
Bea
's
comforter
,
and
that
was
his
home
from
then
until
...
well
,
I
'll
get
to
the
end
of
Mr.
Jingles
's
story
in
good
time
.
Old
Toot-Toots
worries
that
the
cigar
box
would
,
fill
up
with
mouse-shit
proved
to
be
entirely
groundless
.
I
never
saw
a
single
turd
in
there
,
and
Delacroix
said
he
never
did
,
either
,
anywhere
in
his
cell
,
for
that
matter
.
Much
later
,
around
the
time
Brutal
showed
me
the
hole
in
the
beam
and
we
found
the
colored
splinters
,
I
moved
a
chair
out
of
the
restraint
room
's
east
corner
and
found
a
little
pile
of
mouse
turds
back
there
.
He
had
always
gone
back
to
the
same
place
to
do
his
business
,
seemingly
,
and
as
far
from
us
as
he
could
get
.
Here
's
another
thing
:
I
never
saw
him
peeing
,
and
usually
mice
can
hardly
turn
the
faucet
off
for
two
minutes
at
a
time
,
especially
while
they
're
eating
.
I
told
you
,
the
damned
thing
was
one
of
God
's
mysteries
.
A
week
or
so
after
Mr.
Jingles
had
settled
into
the
cigar
box
,
Delacroix
called
me
and
Brutal
down
to
his
cell
to
see
something
.
He
did
that
so
much
it
was
annoying
--
if
Mr.
Jingles
so
much
as
rolled
over
on
his
back
with
his
paws
in
the
air
,
it
was
the
cutest
thing
on
God
's
earth
,
as
far
as
that
half-pint
Cajun
was
concerned
--
but
this
time
what
he
was
up
to
really
was
sort
of
amusing
.
Delacroix
had
been
pretty
much
forgotten
by
the
world
following
his
conviction
,
but
he
had
one
relation
--
an
old
maiden
aunt
,
I
believe
--
who
wrote
him
once
a
week
.
She
had
also
sent
him
an
enormous
bag
of
peppermint
candies
,
the
sort
which
are
marketed
under
the
name
Canada
Mints
these
days
.
They
looked
like
big
pink
pills
.
Delacroix
was
not
allowed
to
have
the
whole
bag
at
once
,
naturally
--
it
was
a
five-pounder
,
and
he
would
have
gobbled
them
until
he
had
to
go
to
the
infirmary
with
stomach-gripes
.
Like
almost
every
murderer
we
ever
had
on
the
Mile
,
he
had
absolutely
no
understanding
of
moderation
.
We
'd
give
them
out
to
him
half
a
dozen
at
a
time
,
and
only
then
if
he
remembered
to
ask
.
Mr.
Jingles
was
sitting
beside
Delacroix
on
the
bunk
when
we
got
down
there
,
holding
one
of
those
pink
candies
in
his
paws
and
munching
contentedly
away
at
it
.
Delacroix
was
simply
overcome
with
delight
--
he
was
like
a
classical
pianist
watching
his
five-year-old
son
play
his
first
halting
exercises
.
But
do
n't
get
me
wrong
;
it
was
funny
,
a
real
hoot
.
The
candy
was
half
the
size
of
Mr.
Jingles
,
and
his
whitefurred
belly
was
already
distended
from
it
.
"
Take
it
away
from
him
,
Eddie
,
"
Brutal
said
,
half-laughing
and
half-horrified
.
"
Christ
almighty
Jesus
,
he
'll
eat
till
he
busts
.
I
can
smell
that
peppermint
from
here
.
How
many
have
you
let
him
have
?
"
"
This
his
second
,
"
Delacroix
said
,
looking
a
little
nervously
at
Mr.
Jingles
's
belly
.
"
You
really
think
he
...
you
know
...
bus
"
his
guts
?
"
"
Might
,
"
Brutal
said
.
