"Got him!" he announced triumphantly, after two or three blows.
"What was it--a bat?" asked Bess, in muffled tones.
"A centipede," answered Jack. "A big one, too. About seven inches
long."
"And their bite is--death!" murmured Bess, in awe-stricken tones.
"Nothing of the sort, though it's very painful" said Jack, shortly.
"Just as well to keep clear of them, however. I'll throw this
defunct specimen out of the window."
"Please do, and be sure my screen is down," begged Bess. "I wonder
how he got in?"
"Oh, there are more or less of them in all hotels, I guess," said
Jack, cheerfully enough.
"Don't you dare say so!" cried Belle. "Please look around my room,
and leave the light burning. I know I'll never sleep a wink."
Jack tossed out the centipede he had killed, and then looked among
the waste paper for more, standing with his bare foot raised, and
with ready slipper, for the bite of this insect, which grows to a
large size in Porto Rico, is anything but pleasant, though it is said
never to cause death, except perhaps in the case of some person whose
blood is very much impoverished.
Both Bess and Belle insisted on their lights being left aglow, though
Jack made a careful search and could discover no more of the
unpleasant visitors. How Belle had heard the one in her room, if it
really had been that which she said made the noise, was a mystery,
but the creature might have rattled paper as it did in the room of
Bess.
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