Mugwump, indeed, was fawning round Tom in a servile manner.
“He’s liked me ever since he had a taste of my coat,” observed the young man.
“If you won’t take a walk with me, let me row you over to Bobbetty’s Island this afternoon,” pursued Tom.
Berty shook her head, but said, eagerly, “Do tell me how Mafferty is getting on.”
“Finely—he says that’s a first-class shanty we put up for him—the stove is a beauty, and, Berty, another consignment of cats has arrived.”
“Oh, Tom, what are they like?”
The young man launched into a description of the new arrivals. “There are four white kittens—one pair yellow eyes, three pairs blue, for which you should charge twenty dollars to intending purchasers; three black Persian kings, worth thirty dollars, and a few assorted kittens from five dollars up.”
Berty listened in rapt attention. When he had finished, she said, “You’ve been tremendously good about my tramp, Tom.”
“I like partnerships,” he said, modestly; “in fact, I—”
“That reminds me,” interrupted Berty, unceremoniously; “has he had another letter from his wife?”