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out chinks and slopes and spicks and micks； thinking about what Elaine Connelly had said。 He thinks you've got a secret。 So do I。
And maybe I do。 Yes； maybe I do。 And of course Brad Dolan wants it。 Not because he thinks it's important （and it's not； I guess； except to me）； but because he doesn't think very old men like myself should have secrets。 No taking the ponchos off the hook outside the kitchen； no secrets； either。 No getting the idea that the likes of us are still human。 And why shouldn't we be allowed such an idea？ He doesn't know。 And in that； too； he is like Percy。
So my thoughts； like a river that takes an oxbow turn； finally led back to where they had been when Brad Dolan reached out from beneath the kitchen eave and grabbed my wrist： to Percy； mean…spirited Percy Wetmore； and how he had taken his revenge on the man who had laughed at him。 Delacroix had been throwing the colored spool he had … the one Mr。 Jingles would fetch … and it bounced out of the cell and into the corridor。 That was all it took； Percy saw his chance。
2。
〃No you fool！〃 Brutal yelled； but Percy paid no attention。 Just as Mr。 Jingles reached the spool … too intent on it to realize his old enemy was at hand … Percy brought the sole of one hard black workshoe down on him。 There was an audible snap as Mr。 Jingles's back broke； and blood gushed from his mouth。 His tiny black eyes bulged in their sockets； and in them I read an expression of surprised agony that was all too human。
Delacroix screamed with horror and grief。 He threw himself at the door of his cell and thrust his arms out through the bars； reaching as far as he could； crying the mouse's name over and over。
Percy turned toward him； smiling。 Toward me and Brutal； as well。 〃There；〃 he sai
