Now Weejums had not listened to any of this, because she was watching the view from the dog-cart, and wishing that Torn-nose might see her; but when they stopped at a grocer’s, and she was bundled into a covered basket, she began to think that something might be wrong. A little later she smelled engine-smoke, and knew by the rattle and noise that they were on the train, going she knew not where.
After this came the jingle of street-cars, and then a long, smooth ride in a queer kind of carriage driven by some one up in the air.
“Number —, Fifth Avenue, Ma’am,” called the man over their heads, and Weejums felt herself being carried up steps to a door which opened almost before the bell was rung.
“Oh, Fennels!” said Marian. “Is Mrs. Slocum in? We’ve found Octavia! Only think!”
“Very good, Miss. But the cat come home last night, Miss. They’ve been bathing her to-day for the show.”
“Octavia is back—is here? But she can’t be, Fennels, because I’ve got her in my basket.”
“Beg pardon, Miss Marian, but I don’t see how that could be, as I just saw the cat in the hall. But if you and Mrs. Armstrong would come in, Miss, while I speak to Mrs. Slocum.”
“Then if Octavia is here,” said Marian, in despair, “Auntie, what cat is it that we have in the basket?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OCTAVIA