“These blamed cats,” he told the children, “don’t know when they’re well off. They keep climbing out of that box and first thing you know I’m going to step on one; then there will be a nice squalling.”
Dot and Twaddles helped him stuff the kittens into the box and he pulled the rug over the top, saying that if it was dark enough inside, perhaps they would go to sleep.
“I have to take your father out to the foundry,” said Sam, opening the big door. “Now see that I don’t run over any live stock on my way out.”
The twins watched him take the car and saw to it that no kittens were in his path. As soon as he had gone, Twaddles looked at Dot.
“Let you and me find homes for ’em,” he said distinctly.
“Homes for the kittens?” Dot asked doubtfully. 154
“Of course. We can do it,” declared Twaddles with magnificent confidence.
“Suppose people don’t want them,” Dot offered. “Lots of people have cats.”
“Well, lots haven’t,” was Twaddles’ reply to this argument. “We’ll keep going till we find the folks who haven’t any.”
But Dot was not feeling ambitious that morning.