“Now then, move along there, move along. You’re obstructing of the traffic.”
And now I have something to tell you which you will find it hard to make any excuses for. I can’t make any myself. I can only ask you to remember how hard it is to be even moderately good, and how easy it is to be extremely naughty.
When the Bouncible Ball stopped bouncing, Selim said—
“I wonder what makes him bounce.”
“Oh no, don’t!” cried Thomasina, for she had heard her brother wonder that about balls before, and she knew all too well what it ended in.
“Oh, don’t,” she said, “oh, Silly, he brought us here, he’s been so kind.” But Selim said, “Nonsense; balls can’t feel, and it will be almost as good to play with after I’ve looked inside it.”
And then, before Thomasina could prevent him, he pulled out the knife Uncle Reggy gave him last holiday but one, and catching the Ball up, he plunged the knife into its side. The Bouncible Ball uttered one whiffing squeak of pain and grief, then with a low, hissing sigh its kindly spirit fled, and it lay, a lifeless mass of paint and india-rubber
