The Book People
Tippoo Sahib and Sally Brass and—I must go back. If anything should happen, fling your arms round the nearest Porpoise and trust to luck. These Book People can't kill—they can only stupefy."
"But how do you know them all?" Mavis asked. "Do they often attack you?"
"No, only when the sky falls. But they always howl outside the gate at the full moon."
So saying she turned away and disappeared in the crowd of faithful Porpoises.
And outside the noise grew louder and the words more definite.
"I am Mrs. Randolph. Let me in!"
"I am good Mrs. Brown. Let me in!"
"I am Eric, or Little by Little. I will come in!"
"I am Elsie, or Like a Little Candle. Let me in—let me in!"
"I am Mrs. Markham."
"I am Mrs. Squeers."
"I am Uriah Heep."
"I am Montdidier."
"I am King John."
"I am Caliban."
"I am the Giant Blunderbore."
"I am the Dragon of Wantley."
And they all cried, again and again: "Let us in! Let me in! Let me in!"
The strain of listening for the names and calling out "I don't know you!" when they didn't, and saying nothing when they did, became almost unbearable. It was like that horrid game with the corners of the handkerchief, "Hold fast" and "Let loose," and you have to remember to do the opposite. Sooner or later an accident
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