Another of bolder stamp thought the hotel was on fire and rushed to
the rescue with her water jug.

"Don't kill him!" Oscar and Edmund kept crying, a cry not
calculated to reassure the nervous. Down the hall dashed the boys.
At the far end an agitated group, variously armed with canes,
brooms and umbrellas, was gathered about a fainting chambermaid
supported in the arms of a waiter and fanned by another chambermaid
with a brush broom. Just behind her stood the head waiter in his
immaculate dress suit, disgust painted on his countenance and a
dustpan held aloft in his hand.

Something very like a groan burst from Edmund's lips; for, there,
on the dustpan, his gleaming length trailing limply over the edges,
bruised, battered, crushed, lay poor little dead Marcus Aurelius.
Thus tragically had all his travels ended.

"It's our snake!" cried Oscar, making a spring and snatching the
dustpan from the man's hand. Without another word he darted off at
full speed. He did not hear the head waiter's dignified reproof:
"Young gentlemen as keeps snakes for pets better keep 'em safe
'ome, in _my_ opinion;" or one of the women's speeches: "I
expect he have got a baby tiger hid somewhere; them American
children will do anythink!"

But Edmund heard. Too dejected to retort, he crawled back to his
room. This was the end of it, then. The poor pet must die because
of his wicked wishes. He knew only too well that it was his haste
to hide the snake lest his aunt should see it, that had displaced
the cover. Had he spoken up like an honest boy he could have taken