Eunice had just finished dressing her one day, when a white dog with an ugly lower jaw, came into the yard. Clytie saw him from the window, and knew from the set of his legs that he meant business. This was no ordinary cur, to be frightened away by a spit, and a stiff whisker; and she was just rejoicing that her mother and kittens were safe in the kitchen, when, oh, horrible! around the corner came Weejums, alone, making straight for the dog, without having stopped to consider his lower jaw.
The dog saw her, and, as a low whistle sounded from somewhere, rushed at her in the deadly silence that is worse than a hundred growls. Franklin also saw her, and rushed out of the house with a hot poker, resolved that if Weejums’ time had come, Boston’s bull-pup should never live to tell the tale. But he would have been too late if the dog had not suddenly stopped in his wild charge, and stared in horror at a strange, white object that came tearing around the house, like the enraged ghost of all the cats he had slain,—a fearful ghost in panties and petticoats, and with no head,—for the wind had tossed Clytie’s Mother Hubbard skirt over her ears,—and an orange tail, like flame.
Bodily terror could not have alarmed Boston’s bull-pup; but this was something unearthly, and beyond his experience. His lower jaw weakened, and, with a yelp of dismay, he turned and bolted from the yard. Franklin followed with the poker, but the bull-pup was already miles away, and for months afterwards he could not be induced to chase another cat. Boston finally sold him in disgust to some one who wanted a tame, gentle dog, and spent the money that he received for him in trying to keep out of Franklin’s way.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TORN-NOSE
THE new house was not far from the Children’s Hospital, and a young doctor who often passed that way, became much interested in the attire of Eunice’s cats.
“Why does the long, blue one wear tennis trousers?” he asked one day.
This was because Ivanhoe’s pantalettes were not ruffled like Weejums’, but made of stiff white piqué, with the trimming laid on plain.
“They’re more suitable,” Eunice replied. And she called his attention to Ivanhoe’s blanket, which was made from a gentleman’s handkerchief, with a green and red border of horseshoes and little whips.