“Don’t—don’t compare that prince of a boy with a rat,” said his wife dolefully.
“There, now,” pursued the sergeant, “you’re not mad with him. You won’t let any one abuse him but yourself. You still want him, I see; so he has got to come here—and anyway, law and order must be preserved. Even the cats in the park understand that. What do you think I found the king doing just now?”
“I don’t know,” sighed Mrs. Hardy in an absent-minded way.
“Well, I came across Squirrel, King Boozy’s chum, sitting on a stump, badly mauled. He was by turns polishing himself off with his tongue, and watching the king, who was licking a strange cat. Another strange cat, that had already been whipped, was running away, and I figured the matter out this way. Squirrel had been attacked by the two strangers; and as soon as he could get away, he had brought the king up, who was punishing them thoroughly.”
“I don’t see what the cats have to do with the boy,” said Mrs. Hardy.
“They have a good deal. Don’t you see that Boozy is an old head now; he was disciplining the young strangers that had interfered with Squirrel. Now, this French lad is young—a good bit younger than you and me. Of course he’s disagreeable. Who wouldn’t be, brought up as he has been? Parents and guardians have to lick young ones into shape. Now, you get the supper ready, and I’ll have the boy here in a jiffy, and you can punish him any way that you like. I guess it will be with kindness;” and with a soothing pat on her head her husband left her.