All the afternoon they followed the sounds at intervals, listening at the floor, and calling over and over. George W. seemed to be exploring the entire interior of the house. Late in the afternoon, the cries came more constantly from the floor of the trunkroom, a small apartment off the garret, and directly over Eunice's room. There was a small knot-hole in the floor, and the light from a window fell directly on it, probably attracting George W. there. Saws and hatchets were brought, and the boys soon had a piece of the floor up, making a hole large enough for several cats the size of George to come up.
"George evidently likes this sort of thing," said Archie, hacking away. "First the tin can, then the floor. Come out here, old fellow." But he was evidently frightened away by the noise, and could not be induced to come up.
"Bring a saucer of milk, Edna," said Mrs. Somers. "Stand it at one side, and then we will all go away and he will soon come up." So the milk was brought, and as it was supper-time, they all went down and left George W. to his own devices. Cricket was much disposed to stay and make sure that he came up, but she was finally persuaded to come down with the rest.
"Isn't it funny how his voice came from all over?" she said, at the supper-table. "Probably he was right there under the trunkroom floor all the time. He was a regular philanthropist."
"A regular what?" asked grandma and Auntie Jean, together.
"A philanthropist. Don't you know? a man who--who talks where he isn't?"
"A _ventriloquist_!" said Will. "That's what you mean."
"Do I? Auntie, what is a philanthropist, then?"
"A philanthropist is one who loves man, dear, and who--"
"Then when a girl's engaged, is she a philanthropist?" broke in Cricket, with her glass of milk half raised. The others all laughed.
"I know the man she is engaged to is called her _financé_, but I never knew she was called a philanthropist," went on Cricket, thoughtfully.
"_Fiancé_, dear," said auntie, as soon as she could speak, "and the girl isn't often _called_ a philanthropist, though she often is one."
"Dear me," sighed Cricket. "Words are very puzzling. They seem to be made to say what you don't think."
"Oftentimes, my little Talleyrand," said grandma.