Chapter V 



On the Fessor^s Desk and My Hiding- 

 Place 



FESSOR used to spend an awful lot 

 of time at his desk. The time he 

 wasted there was more than I could ever 

 tell, for he would be hours at a time 

 doing nothing but moving that pen 

 across the paper, making those nasty 

 little dark scratches that in time I 

 learned were called writing. When he 

 came into his den and sat down at the 

 desk I would come to his feet and call, 

 and he would lower his hand for me to 

 jump into, and then he would lift me up 

 on the desk. I generally hunted first 



