"I ought to blow your dirty brains out. Killing my little
sister's dog, damn you. Damn you, I think I will kill you. Damn you,
damn you!" the voice crested. "Wait a minute Jerry," the other voice cut in. "I got a better idea. Here. Look at this." Short silence. "Yeah! Yeah, that's just dandy. Look how thin he is. That's just what the doctor ordered. Okay, the top's loose. Stand by
the door and don't let him get by you. Wait. Got your flash? Good! In
the dark. That's real good. Which switch is it?" "Throw them both." "Okay. Flash it over here. Look out, here I come!" "Hurry up! Look at that hungry, black-eyed little devil. That ought to
fix up the son-of-a--" ..._Thunk!_ The compression rammed heavily into
Neff's ears. The bolts shot solidly into place from the outside, and
the combination knob rang faintly as it was spun. Silence. They'd go out the same way they came in and tack the board back in
place. How long before anybody would miss him? Twenty-four hours? Hell, no. Nobody would bust a gut worrying that soon. Two days? Some
weeks he was gone several days making the rounds of his loan offices. A week? Maybe. Girls at the Palace would get suspicious. Tell Collin
Burns. But a week! They'd cut off the blower when they threw both switches. No ventilation. No air. Neff strained at the ropes. His legs were pulled under the seat so
tightly that his feet were turning numb. Hands were tingling, too. Dirty little sadists. Turning John loose thinking--

He _had_ to get loose. Less than one day's air, then--

"John!" Thank God John wasn't an ordinary rat. "John, come over to me. These ropes. Chew them, John. Come on, John. Come on, boy." No sound at first, then a faint motion in the old newspapers. "John, say the alphabet!" "Eh--bih----"

"That's right. Go on!" "Fih----jih----" The squeaking stopped. "Come over to me, John. Come to me, boy." He held his breath. The beating of his heart was so loud he couldn't
be sure that John was moving. The silence was long. Even the rat was
blind in this blackness. He must be patient. Sweat began oozing and trickling down his face, his armpits, his
back--even his left leg. No, wait! That wasn't sweat! *       *       *       *       *

The throbbing in his legs was greatest at his left knee. The trickle
was blood from the gash. It ran freely, now, the ropes backing up
arterial pressure. Never mind that! "John!" The coffee can tipped over, and the racket made Neff start against his
bonds. The rope sawed his Adam's apple. _Crunch!_

"Leave that damned wheat alone, John. Come over to me, boy. I'll give
you a whole bag full when you chew off these ropes. Hear that, John? And a chicken foot. I'll bring you a whole chicken. A live one. I'll
tie her down so she won't peck you. That's what I'll do, John." He was breathing heavily now. "Do you get me, John? Would you like a
live chicken?" "Yeff." The crunching resumed for a minute then stopped. Neff remembered,
there had been only a dozen or so grains of wheat left. John would
still be hungry. The thought of a chicken should do it. If not, he
could threaten him. Neff waited. Relax! There was all night to work this out. Finally, he felt something at his ankles. "That's the boy, John. Up
here and down my arms. They're behind me. Get the rope off my hands
first. Come on boy." It was John, all right. Neff could feel the little claws coming up his
left leg. "Come on, hurry up, John. Tell you what. I'll bring you a nice, fat
female, just like yourself. A live one. You can live in the cage
togeth----John, don't stop there!" The claws had paused near his knee and were clinging to the
blood-soaked cloth. "No, no, John! Don't! I'll stick you with the fork. I'll stick
you--I'll kill you! John, we got to get out of here or we'll both die. Die, do you hear! We'll suffocate! Don't do that. Stop. Stop or
I'll--"

Neff's threats beat hard into the rat's brain, and now as the slanting
incisors tore at the cloth and chewed the luscious, blood-smothered,
hot meat, Neff's screams sent tremors through the skinny, voracious
body, and the tail tucked down. The words made John nervous, but it
was dark. And there was food, such wonderful food, so much food! They were harsh words, terrible, screaming words: but words are words
and food is food, and after all--

John was only a rat. THE END