Mock Hen and Mock Turtle
She watched until his lithe figure passed through the door, and presently returned to the back room. Mock waited outside until she had disappeared. Then he changed back the clock.
"We've got you, you blarsted heathen!" cried Mooney hoarsely as he and two others from the Central Office threw themselves upon Mock Hen on the landing outside the door of his flat. "Look out, Murtha. Pipe that thing under his arm!"
"It's a bloody turtle!" gasped Murtha, shuddering
"What's the matter, boys?" inquired Mock. "Leggo my arm, can't yer? What'd yer want, anyway?"
"We want you, you yellow skunk!" retorted Mooney. "Open that door! Lively now!"
"Sure!" answered Mock amiably. "Come on in! What's bitin' yer?"
He unlocked the door and threw it open.
"Take a chair," he invited them. "Have a cigar? You there, Emma?"
Emma Pratt, clad in a wrapper and lying on the big double brass bedstead in the rear room, raised herself on one elbow.
"Yep!" she called through the passage. "Got the bird?"
Mock looked at Murtha, who was carrying the terrapin.
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