It all appeared very simple to the elder boy; and even so in a less degree to his small assistant. But they had counted upon the non-resistance of the victim.
Now, it seemed as if she had heard their plotting, for all at once she sprung from the cushion-cover which served as her prison, and flew to the farthest corner of the big room. For an instant the two lads gazed after her in surprise that one who simulated submission so thoroughly should develop such a gift for self-preservation. Another instant, and Melville’s “roar” arose upon the air.
“You horrid little imp! After all the money I gave you, to let her go like that! I’d be ashamed to call myself a boy!”
“I didn’t let her go, she let herself go. But I’ll catch her again, see if I don’t.”
“You can’t! And I wanted to dissect her! Your Uncle Fritz says there is no reason why I shouldn’t be a great doctor, even if his famous surgeon doesn’t cure me. And how am I going to learn if I can’t trust anybody to help me! I say it’s too bad!” cried Melville.
The excitement of the chase, added to all this, acted upon the blood of little Fritz like flame upon gunpowder. His voice took on a tone which silenced the elder cousin’s complaints, and hushed him to watchfulness.
“You shut up a minute, so’s not to scare her so, an’ I’ll catch her again. I will, true as you live!”
Round and round the room, over chairs and tables darted poor “Marm Puss,” and Fritz behind her. He was almost as lithe as she, and even more determined. Twice they bounded across Melville’s lounge, but by then he had become himself so excited over the game that he merely ducked his head aside, and said not a word.
The chase ended with the victory in Fritz’s hands. The strength of the ancient animal was no match for his, and her spirit had long ago been broken. It had flamed up anew for a brief instant, but had died ignominiously, and she had not enough “fight” left in her to use her claws when she was finally captured and thrust, head foremost, into the bag.
Into the closet Fritz rushed; and banged the pillow-cover with his victim on the floor. Grimalkin’s spirit might have been dead, but her voice was not. It was her voice which had been the cause of much of her unhappiness in life, and was destined to be her final undoing. She miauled so lustily that she angered her little captor, and made him unmindful of his cousin’s loud remonstrance.