“You have been good to him!” cried the lady, moved by such devotion. “I wish I could make it right with you, some’ow!”
“I done it because I took a fancy to the cat,” said Mr. Lock, “and I don’t want no reward. I shall miss the old chap, though,” he went on, lowering his voice. “I’m sorry to part with him, for his sake as well as my own. If he could only have had a bit longer under my care, he’d ’ave been cured for good and all of them fits. As it is, there’s always the chance that they may come on after a while, and I’ll be far away by then.”
“But—but can’t you stop here in Shorehaven?”
“No, mum. I’ve got my living to earn, and there ain’t a job going here that would suit me. I want to give up the sea. I used to be a milkman afore I was a sailor, and naturally I’d like to take on the job of milkman again, only there ain’t no vacancies in this ’ere town.”
“That’s just where you’re wrong!” cried the lady, in high good humour. “I’m starting a dairy business here next week, and I’m looking out for a man to take the milk-round!”
“Well, well,” breathed Mr. Lock, “if ever there was a coincidence—”
He ceased abruptly, for sometimes Coincidence has two long arms and uses both simultaneously. Mr. Lock, gazing spellbound at the doorway, saw Mr. Golightly framed in it, and clasped in Mr. Golightly’s embrace was a black cat.
“Jonathan!” stated Mr. Golightly, simply.
“What?” screamed the lady.
“Just found him outside the back door, mewing enough to break his heart,” said her husband. “Look at him! Covered in mud, half starved—”