"Pretty pussy! Pretty pussy! an' I feel more like murderin' it," said William.
The cat sidled up to them.
William picked it up, stroking it affectionately with an expression of intense hatred on his face.
"Open the basket, Ginger, quickly."
"Mother!" came a shrill voice in his rear. "Boys is stealin' our cat!"
William dropped the cat and fled down the road, followed by a broomstick, flung after him by the cat's owner, and a stone thrown by the child. The extent to which William's spirit had been broken by his troubles is shown by the fact that he endured these outrages without retaliation.
When it was safe to relax his speed, he turned to Ginger.
"I'll try one more cat," he said, "and that's all. I've done with cats after that."
They found one more cat. It responded to William's oily flattering. It deigned to be taken up in his arms and stroked.
It was not till it was almost lowered into the basket that it showed the falseness of its friendliness. Its wildness then surpassed even the wildest of the first occupant of the fateful basket.