Mr. Jarvis' manner became unfriendly.
"Say, what do youse want? That's straight, ain't it? If youse want to buy a boid or a snake, why don't youse say so?"
"I stand corrected," said Smith; "I should have remembered that time is money. I called in here partly in the hope that, though you only met me once—on the stairs of my office, you might retain pleasant recollections of me, but principally in order that I might make two very eminent cat-fanciers acquainted. This," he said, with a wave of his hand in the direction of John, "is Comrade Maude, possibly the best known of English cat-fanciers. Comrade Maude's stud of Angoras is celebrated wherever the English language is spoken."
Mr. Jarvis's expression changed. He rose, and, having inspected John with silent admiration for a while, extended a well-buttered hand towards him. Smith looked on benevolently.
"What Comrade Maude does not know about cats," he said, "is not knowledge. His information on Angoras alone would fill a volume."
"Say"—Mr. Jarvis was evidently touching on a point which had weighed deeply upon him—"why's catnip called catnip?"
John looked at Smith helplessly. It sounded like a riddle, but it was obvious that Mr. Jarvis's motive in putting the question was not frivolous. He really wished to know.
"The word, as Comrade Maude was just about to observe," said Smith, "is a corruption of catmint. Why it should be so corrupted I do not know. But what of that? The subject is too deep to be gone fully into at the moment. I should recommend you to read Mr. Maude's little brochure on the matter. Passing lightly on from that—"
"Did youse ever have a cat dat ate bettles?" enquired Mr. Jarvis.
"There was a time when many of Comrade Maude's Felidae supported life almost entirely on beetles."