A DISCUSSION ABOUT RED CATS AND WHITE SNOW.
In a fit of terror the constable dropped the lantern, and the cat, unseen by the occupants of the kitchen, scuttled away.
"If you don't light the candle," gasped Mrs. Middlemore, "I shall go off." And she forthwith proceeded to demonstrate by screaming, "Oh, oh, oh!"
"She's done it, Wigg," said Constable Nightingale. "Strike a light, there's a good fellow, and pick up the lantern. I can't do it myself; I've got my arms full."
Constable Wigg had now recovered his courage, and inspired by jealousy, quickly struck a match and lit the candle. Mrs. Middlemore lay comfortably in the arms of Constable Nightingale, who did not seem anxious to rid himself of his burden. Stirred to emulative sympathy, Constable Wigg took possession of one of Mrs. Middlemore's hands, and pressed and patted it with a soothing, "There, there, there! What has made you come over like this? There's nothing to be frightened of, is there, Nightingale?"
"Nothing at all," replied Constable Nightingale, irascibly, for he by no means relished his comrade's insidious attempt to slide into Mrs. Middlemore's affections. "You're better now, ain't you?"
"A little," murmured Mrs. Middlemore, "a very little."
"Take a sip of this," said Constable Wigg, holding a glass to her lips, "it'll bring you round."
Ignoring her previous declaration that she did not "drink sperrits," Mrs. Middlemore sipped the glass of whiskey, and continued to sip, with intermittent shudders, till she had drained the last drop. Then she summoned sufficient strength to raise herself languidly from Constable Nightingale's arms, and look toward the door.
"Where's it gone to?" she asked, in a trembling voice. "What's become of the 'orrid creature?"