“Well, now, seem’ you’ve got Ben’s cap on your head, you ought to have some sense like Ben has, in your head.” The stage-driver, at that, raised the reins and “g’langed” to his horses, and away they went once more settling down to work.
Suddenly all three up on the top seat began to be aware that there was a lively commotion down within the old stage, and a long crutch waved out of the window, besides various cries in as many different voices, made Mr. Tisbett think he must pull up his horses and get down and investigate, which he did at once, thrusting his red face in the window. “What in creation—” But he got no further, the young woman who had waved her father’s crutch to attract attention and stop the coach, vying with Mrs. Sprigg to make herself heard. The old gentleman said nothing, but his eyes blazed.
“One of you ladies, at a time,” begged Mr. Tisbett, waving his hands deprecatingly. “I’d be delighted to hear it all, if one of you would wait for th’ tother—”
But that was precisely what neither would do, but Mrs. Sprigg got her story in shrilly above the other woman.
“My cat’s gone—he’s let it out o’ th’ basket.”
“Indeed, I did not.” The old gentleman was so indignant, he found his voice.
“Pa hasn’t touched her old cat,” cried the young woman, angrily. “The very idea!”
“He’s done nothin’ but poke th’ basket all the while with his crutch,” declared Mrs. Sprigg, “ever sence he got in, an’ th’ cover’s flew up, an’ see there!” She held up the basket, and sure enough, the cover was up, and no cat there.
“Well, the cat’s under th’ seat prob’ly,” said Mr. Tisbett, in the midst of the babel of tongues. “I’ll wait while you get down an’ get her, Mis’ Sprigg, but you must hurry up.” With that he rested one foot on the step and his hands on the window casing, while with many mutterings about neighbors who wouldn’t keep their meddling sticks and crutches to themselves, and just as emphatic answers that there hadn’t been any meddling sticks and crutches, and that the rickety old cover was to blame for the whole performance, Mrs. Sprigg slid off from the old leather swinging seat and began to prowl about in the dark corners for her straying pet, when, without a bit of warning, out shot something big and furry over Mr. Tisbett’s head, clawing the straw hat as it went, to land a dozen feet away on the roadside, and disappear over the stone wall.
“My land o’ Goshen!” exclaimed the stage-driver, pushing back his straw hat where it had been thrust over his eyes, as Mrs. Sprigg’s face came up to the window. “Oh, my cat!” she screamed wildly, and rattling the door to get out; “catch him—catch him!”