"That's a funny looking coon," I said, as I eyed the thing suspiciously. I heard Horace laugh and saw him turn and make a break for the road. I looked up. Old Bogair had run up, red-faced and breathless.
"By gar," he yelled, as soon as he saw what I'd done, "vut fur you keeled ze house cat fur? Vut fur?"
It was true; but never had I seen a tomcat look more like a coon. On a distant hillside I could see my deserting friend rolling on the grass and shouting.
In vain I apologized. Old Bogair kept dancing around and shouting, "Vut fur you keel ze house cat fur? Vut fur?"
"What are you damaged?" I said at last, with disgust.
"Ah, en passant—dees one from T'ronto, I breeng. Hee's registraire—fife taller, an' fife fur treespaire."
I paid it like a man. Old Bogair smiled and bowed, with his hand on his stomach.
"Eet vus all right now."
I took up the cat by the tail.
"Vut fur? You don't vant heem?" he gasped.