“Ps-s-st—ye-ow!”
The rising yowl broke the silence of the shop like a trumpet-call. The little girl dropped her bag and seized the dog’s collar with both hands.
“Prince!” she cried, “don’t you speak to that cat—don’t you dare speak to it!”
The dog quivered all over in an ague of desire. The instincts of the chase possessed his doggish soul, but his little mistress’ word was law to him.
“Bless me!” croaked a voice from the office.
The tom-cat uttered a second “ps-s-st—ye-ow!” and shot up a ladder to the top shelf, from which vantage he looked down, showering insults on his enemy in a low and threatening tone.
“Bless me!” repeated Joseph Stagg, taking off his eyeglasses and leaving them in the ledger to mark his place. “What have you brought that dog in here for?”
He came to the office door. Without his glasses, and with the girl standing between him and the light, Mr. Stagg squinted a little to see her, stooping, with his hands on his knees.
“I—I didn’t have any place to leave him,” was the hesitating reply to the rather petulant query.
“Hum! Did your mother send you for something?”