“Apparently so, for the fox-terrier cowed her—”
“Dogged her you mean,” muttered Jimmy Dory.
“Cowed her into submission,” went on Serena severely, “and Dolly had to relate the entire disgraceful occurrence. Afterward, the fox-terrier rehearsed the matter to the cat known as Angora Girl, and Angora Girl communicated the news to a cat who lives next door to us, and she gossiped over the wall with Jimmy Dory. The story, as it reached our ears, was to the effect that you had excited, braved, or, in some way, roused the indignation of the street cat, Slyboots. She had inflicted summary castigation on you, even to the extent of bruising, pounding and otherwise injuring your body,” and Serena lifting her head, looked at me through her imaginary glasses as if to say, “I am sorry for you, but I fear it served you right.”
“What kind of a cat is this Slyboots, anyway?” inquired Jimmy Dory.
“She is a poor outcast cat,” I replied, “and I have tried to be kind to her.”
“An elegant name,” remarked Serena ironically.
“And she hurt you very much,” murmured my mother in my ear.
“She gave me a fearful beating,” I said frankly.
“You have not yet told us the occasion of the altercation,” said my father.
I told all about Slyboots; then, with a humble air, I waited for the verdict of my family.