"Oh, yes," said William. "It's all right for you. You aren't going to have looks at it all the res' of your life. You aren't going to have your life an' the lives of your dog an' rats made a misery by it for the rest of your life. I don't feel inclined to waste time lookin' at it. Listenin' at its carryin' on's enough for me jus' at present. You've not been made a cat-carrier for nothing. You don't feel like I do about it."
"Let me jus' peep, William."
"All right, if you take any int'rest in it. I don't. I should think there's some law about givin' wil' animals for presents. There oughter be. Human life oughter be sacreder than wot it seems to be to him. All right. Look at it. Don't blame me if it leaves its mark on you for life. It's a nice, quiet-tempered sort of cat. Oh, yes! Very!" he laughed, sarcastically.
Ginger cautiously opened the basket top a fraction of an inch.
A small, white paw shot out. Ginger closed it hastily and sucked his hand with an expression of agony on his face.
"Golly!" he ejaculated.
"There!" said William, triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you? It'll prob'ly give you blood-poisoning. All I hope is, if you die of it, he'll get hung. He oughter be—sendin' wild cats without tamin' them first."
Ginger assumed a heroic expression.
"It wasn't much of a scratch. Let's have another look."
He opened the lid of the basket again. Both William and Ginger disclaimed responsibility for what followed. William said he wasn't touching it, and Ginger said that he only opened it a bit and he didn't know that the creature was mad—not really mad—not right off its head like that. Anyway, a white ball of fury hurled itself out of the basket, dealt William a long scratch across his cheek, nearly tore off Ginger's ear, and disappeared over the nearest wall.