Virgie, however, made a delighted run, that sent the cat flying into the underbrush.
The sergeant looked amused and went on. “I didn’t know what to make of it when I looked down, and saw the king purring with joy, and rubbing himself against my legs. I said, ‘Boozy, go back to the Fens; this is no place for a cat, and maybe I’ll be sent there by and by.’”
“Did he return?” asked Eugene.
“Yes; he came straight back here; and I begged for an exchange, and here I found him on the lookout for me when I was sent back. Don’t fret, little miss; you can see the king another day. I will try to call up his chum for you,” and he whistled again. Boozy’s chum, however, did not come.
“He is probably hunting,” said the sergeant. “He and Boozy between them keep this end of the park clean, and do good service to the city of Boston. They know all the holes of the mice and moles that would destroy the plants, and many a morning bright and early have I seen those two cats watching beside them. They catch sparrows too; smart isn’t the word for them; and the other day Boozy tackled an eel.”
“An eel,” said Eugene, who was beginning to get interested; “one of those creatures parallel to a snake that lives in the water?”
“The same,” said the sergeant, chuckling. “The king got mad with the eel because he wouldn’t submit quietly to being killed, but wound himself tightly round his body. Boozy was surprised that the eel would dare to meddle with him, the king of the park; and he bit the life out of him in two minutes.”
“I have read,” said Eugene, “that cats dislike water.”
“They mostly do,” said the sergeant. “We have an old thing, though, down below that comes in every morning as wet as a seal from fishing. But she doesn’t dare to come up here. Boozy would box her ears, and send her home. This part of the park belongs to him and his chum. He makes the other twenty cats keep to their own end of it.”
“He is a naughty pussy to box the ears of the other pussies,” said Virgie warmly.