I did not reply. I had never seen a cat that affected me so disagreeably. Not even Slyboots, for there was some moderation and restraint about her. This creature was so forward, so unmannerly, so conceited, so rude—and then I paused. How wicked I was to take such a dislike to him.
“Would you like a little walk outside?” asked my new friend politely.
“No, thank you—I am dead tired. I believe I will go to bed. I wonder which room my little mistress is to have.”
“I know,” said the tabby politely. “I will show you.”
She was just about leading me into the hall to go up-stairs when I heard a fearful shriek. “Meow! Wow! Black-Face!”
It was my sister's voice, and she was calling to me. I flew out of the sitting-room into the kitchen, and out on the veranda. Which way? Ah! there was the noise and there were the combatants.
Out on the ploughed land under the apple trees, a furry ball was rolling over and over. It did not seem to be two cats but one.
Aunt Tabby had not come with me, but another cat form was leaping along beside me, and a voice that I had heard before was saying in my ear, “That's Blizzard fast enough, that's the way he gets in his work.”
I turned as I ran and saw Joker.
“We must separate them,” he gurgled in his throat, as if this were something to be enjoyed and prolonged, “but go easy, strange cat, go easy.”