“That’s a horse on you,” chuckled Danny Griswold.
Despite himself, Bruce Browning had not been able to keep from turning his head a moment to see what all the excitement was about. As he did so, a street urchin slipped out quickly and hitched a dead cat onto the end of the line that lay in the street, losing not a moment in scampering out of sight.
Bruce pulled up the line to cast it out again, and the cat came with it.
Then there was another shout of merriment.
“Browning has met with a cat-astrophe,” laughed Frank.
“He’s caught a cat-fish,” cried Danny Griswold.
“Spt! spt! Me-e-e-ow! Ma-ri-ar!”
Danny Griswold gave vent to a perfect volley of cat-calls, and there was an uproar of mirth around that corner.
Through it all Browning retained his sober dignity, removing the cat from his hook, as if he had captured a fish, and flinging the line out into the street again.
A policeman, who was sauntering along at a distance, heard the sounds, and came rushing forward. He was a green man on the force, and he had not been many moons on this side of the “pond.” He had red hair, and a face that looked like a painful accident.