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That
was
enough
authority
for
Delacroix
.
He
reached
for
the
half-eaten
pink
mint
.
I
expected
the
mouse
to
nip
him
,
but
Mr.
Jingles
gave
over
that
mint
--
what
remained
of
it
,
anyway
--
as
meek
as
could
be
.
I
looked
at
Brutal
,
and
Brutal
gave
his
head
a
little
shake
as
if
to
say
no
,
he
did
n't
understand
it
,
either
.
Then
Mr.
Jingles
plopped
down
into
his
box
and
lay
there
on
his
side
in
an
exhausted
way
that
made
all
three
of
us
laugh
.
After
that
,
we
got
used
to
seeing
the
mouse
sitting
beside
Delacroix
,
holding
a
mint
and
munching
away
on
it
just
as
neatly
as
an
old
lady
at
an
afternoon
tea-party
,
both
of
them
surrounded
by
what
I
later
smelled
in
that
hole
in
the
beam
--
the
half-bitter
,
half-sweet
smell
of
peppermint
candy
.
There
's
one
more
thing
to
tell
you
about
Mr.
Jingles
before
moving
on
to
the
arrival
of
William
Wharton
,
which
was
when
the
cyclone
really
touched
down
on
E
Block
.
A
week
or
so
after
the
incident
of
the
peppermint
candies
--
around
the
time
when
we
'd
pretty
much
decided
Delacroix
was
n't
going
to
feed
his
pet
to
death
,
in
other
words
--
the
Frenchman
called
me
down
to
his
cell
.
I
was
on
my
own
for
the
time
being
,
Brutal
over
at
the
commissary
for
something
,
and
according
to
the
regs
,
I
was
not
supposed
to
approach
a
prisoner
in
such
circumstances
.
But
since
I
probably
could
have
shot-putted
Delacroix
twenty
yards
one-handed
on
a
good
day
,
I
decided
to
break
the
rule
and
see
what
he
wanted
.
"
Watch
this
,
Boss
Edgecombe
,
"
he
said
.
"
You
gon
na
see
what
Mr.
Jingles
can
do
!
"
He
reached
behind
the
cigar
box
and
brought
up
a
small
wooden
spool
.
"
Where
'd
you
get
that
?
"
I
asked
him
,
although
I
supposed
I
knew
.
There
was
really
only
one
person
he
could
have
gotten
it
from
.
"
Old
Toot-Toot
,
"
he
said
.
"
Watch
this
.
"
I
was
already
watching
,
and
could
see
Mr.
Jingles
in
his
box
,
standing
up
with
his
small
front
paws
propped
on
the
edge
,
his
black
eyes
fixed
on
the
spool
Delacroix
was
holding
between
the
thumb
and
first
finger
of
his
right
hand
.
I
felt
a
funny
little
chill
go
up
my
back
.
I
had
never
seen
a
mere
mouse
attend
to
something
with
such
sharpness
--
with
such
intelligence
.
I
do
n't
really
believe
that
Mr.
Jingles
was
a
supernatural
visitation
,
and
if
I
have
given
you
that
idea
,
I
'm
sorry
,
but
I
have
never
doubted
that
he
was
a
genius
of
his
kind
.
Delacroix
bent
over
and
rolled
the
threadless
spool
across
the
floor
of
his
cell
.
It
went
easily
,
like
a
pair
of
wheels
connected
by
an
axle
.
The
mouse
was
out
of
his
box
in
a
flash
and
across
the
floor
after
it
,
like
a
dog
chasing
after
a
stick
.
I
exclaimed
with
surprise
,
and
Delacroix
grinned
.
The
spool
hit
the
wall
and
rebounded
.
Mr.
Jingles
went
around
it
and
pushed
it
back
to
the
bunk
,
switching
from
one
end
of
the
spool
to
the
other
whenever
it
looked
like
it
was
going
to
veer
off-course
.
He
pushed
the
spool
until
it
hit
Delacroix
's
foot
.
Then
he
looked
up
at
him
for
a
moment
,
as
if
to
make
sure
Delacroix
had
no
more
immediate
tasks
for
him
(
a
few
arithmetic
problems
to
solve
,
perhaps
,
or
some
Latin
to
parse
)
.
Apparently
satisfied
on
this
score
,
Mr.
Jingles
went
back
to
the
cigar
box
and
settled
down
in
it
again
.
