At this moment little Virgie came running up crying, “The naughty fly flewed away. He wouldn’t play wif me. Oh! there’s the sweet pussy;” and she precipitated herself toward Boozy.
The king was in great distress. He sprang nimbly from side to side, waving his tail angrily in the air as he tried to elude the little girl’s caresses, and at the same time keep the attention of the sergeant fixed on himself.
“I understand you, Boozy,” said the sergeant. “Walk on, and I’ll come. Look here, little girl, you stop chasing him, will you, and take my hand? We’ll see what he’s leading us to.”
“Perhaps he has some little kittens to show us,” suggested Virgie.
“No; the king isn’t fond of kittens. Probably it’s a mole or a mouse he’s caught, or perhaps his chum is in trouble. One day he was caught in a wire fence, and Boozy came for me to set him free. Can you trot along a little faster, he seems to be in a hurry?”
“Yes,” said the child, hopping and skipping along by his side, her blue eyes wandering to and fro across the broad avenue. “Where’s Eugene?” she asked suddenly, “Virgie hasn’t seen him for lots and lots of time.”
“He’s in the park somewhere,” said the sergeant. “He spends a great deal of time here. He has taken a great fancy to Boozy, and sits for hours watching him. I guess the cat teaches him a good many lessons.”
“The king is a good pussy,” remarked Virgie sagely.
“He is not perfect, but he is about as good as a cat can be,” said her companion.
Virgie stopped to pick up some shining pebbles from the ground, but the sergeant hurried her on. “Make haste, little girl, if you want to come with me. There’s something queer about the king’s actions. See how he is running.”