"Good gracious!" the Persian gasped, as they streaked through the alley's filth. "What are they?"
"Boys," grinned Pete. "De town is gittin' fair congested wid 'em. But 'tain't nuttin', son; it's jes' a part er de game er life. Come on."
The way was easier now, and they journeyed without alarm. Presently Ringtail turned to his friend with his twisted smile:
"Yer see dat lady settin' on de gate-post? Well, dat's me steady. I'll interjuce yer in a minute."
The lady in question was a thin, dirty white cat with bold eyes and a brazen bearing, and Omar Ben was doubtful of her caste.
"Thank you," he murmured non-committally, and hurried on; but the meeting was unavoidable, for the lady crossed the street and stood directly in his path.
"Hi, Mame!" said Pete, in cordial greeting. "Shake hands wid me friend, Mr.—er—aw hell! Shake hands wid bo!"
Omar Ben had never seen a lady-cat, and his ideal of the sex was something modest and retiring. Miss Mame was not retiring. She greeted her friend's friend without the courtesy of a "Mr.," looked in open admiration at the handsome gentleman, and asked if he were single.
The aristocrat murmured a commonplace and edged away. At the slight the lady took umbrage, spat warningly, and showed her claws, till Ringtail averted trouble by a generous display of tact.
"Now, don't git phony, Mame!" he remarked in a gentle whisper. "De gent's all right, but he's young, dat's all, an' I'm goin' to learn him—see? You chase aroun' fer Lizzie, an' if de goil ain't got no udder date, yet kin meet us here 'bout moondown, an' we'll bring yer a brace er frawgs. So long, Mame! Remember dat I loves yer!"