I told them then that they were dead wrong in calling the stranger boy the cat killer.
“It was the cat killer,” I wound up, “that I saw in the willow patch.”
Mrs. O’Mally was shivering over my story.
“How awful!” she cried. “’Tis little wonder that ye were scared out of your wits.”
“I thought at first that it was an animal, crawling along on its stomach. But now I’m sure that it was a man. And who more likely than the cat killer, himself?”
“Ough!” further shivered Mrs. O’Mally. “Quit talkin’ about it. Sure, ye give me the creeps.”
Coming to his senses, the kid seemed to be none the worse for his mishap. I saw now that he had big black eyes. Nor were they sneaking eyes, either. Of course, after what had happened at the foot of the hidden stairs he showed no love for Poppy. But that was perfectly natural. If I had been banged around the way he had I would have been sore, too. But however much he glared at my chum, he showed no hatred for me. Instead, I caught him looking at me curiously.
Having failed to get a single word out of the stranger, Poppy drew me into the kitchen.
“What do you think of him, Jerry?”
“I’ve seen worse looking kids,” says I.