They went to see the cats.
There were the Siamese in their cages, and the Persians in their cages, and there, in several small cages, the short-haired black cats and their hybrid offspring. “We take them into the house, or let them into this big cage, for exercise,” explained Tim. “I take mine into my shop sometimes. These are all mine. Grandmother keeps hers on the sun porch.”
“You’d never know these were not all pure-bred,” observed Welles. “Which did you say were the full Persians? Any of their kittens here?”
“No; I sold them.”
“I’d like to buy one. But these look just the same—it wouldn’t make any difference to me. I want a pet, and wouldn’t use it for breeding stock. Would you sell me one of these?”
Timothy shook his head.
“I’m sorry. I never sell any but the pure-breds.”
It was then that Welles began to see what problem he faced. Very dimly he saw it, with joy, relief, hope and wild enthusiasm.
“Why not?” urged Welles. “I can wait for a pure-bred, if you’d rather, but why not one of these? They look just the same. Perhaps they’d be more interesting.”
Tim looked at Welles for a long, long minute.