“Isn’t he a good pussy now?” asked Virgie.
“Oh, yes!” said the sergeant, smiling; “he is good, but he is a little sharper than he used to be. He has got to know the world; and he believes that might is right, and he lords it over the other cats in the park. He thinks every one is down on him but me. He has lost faith in human nature—you will understand that when you get to be a big girl.”
“I would like to see that pussy,” said Virgie wistfully.
“I’ll call him up,” said the sergeant, “if your nurses will stand back. He hates women.”
“Och, the old rascal!” said Bridget wrathfully.
“You see, it’s this way,” and the sergeant spoke in an apologetic tone of voice. “Probably he was the kitchen cat and the cook’s pet, because he isn’t a fancy breed like those parlor cats. When the cook cast him off he lost his liking for women.”
“I don’t want to see the old turncoat,” said Bridget disdainfully. “Come on, Virtue Ann;” and she twitched herself to a little distance, leaving the two children with the sergeant.
“You want to see the king, don’t you?” the sergeant asked Eugene pointedly.