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 time to be careful and poor Marcus would still be rejoicing in the sun. He did not dare to lift his eyes as he entered the room; he was afraid to look again on that pitiful spectacle of his making. Oscar had laid a newspaper on the bed and placed the dustpan on it and now was looking mournfully down at Marcus. "'Tain't no use," he muttered, "head's smashed. It's an awful shame! Don't see how it got out of the room--I shut the door tight. Wish I'd locked it! Guess Aunt Nellie'll be vexed when she finds I've lost Ned's snake. Well, she's vexed about something most of the time, so it can't be helped!" Then, for the first time seeing Edmund's miserable face, he tried to comfort him. "It's lucky you didn't have him long, Ned, so you hadn't got fond of him. And I'll buy you another"-- Edmund lifted his head. Though Oscar did not guess it, in those last few moments he had fought; a bitter fight with himself. He interrupted his cousin: "The snake isn't mine. I didn't buy it. It's Lady Margaret Vincent's." He went on to tell of his finding the snake. "Whew!" whistled Oscar. "You're bright to guess all that; probably 'tis hers. And you didn't tell Aunt Nora or Aunt Nellie?" "They'll know fast enough now," replied Edmund gloomily, "after all this racket--they're running about yet!" "Well, we'd had to told them anyhow," said candid Oscar, "and I guess I'll catch it. It's truly my fault. _You_ didn't do nothing. But I ought to have staid and watched and--I declare I'd forgotten it till this very minute--aunt Nellie told me I mustn't run out in the streets, ever, without Celeste; she tells me so many things I can't keep track of all. And there's Lady Margaret too"-- "M-must we tell her?" stammered Edmund. "Why, it's her snake," said Oscar, opening his honest eyes; "how can we help it?" "I suppose we _can't_ help it," said Edmund. "But we might telegraph," said Oscar; "it's a heap easier than writing and you can get lots of words for a shilling."