“I’ll show you,” he said. “Promise to wait here? No, I’ll let you come into the workroom. Wait a minute, please.”
The boy drew a key from under his blouse, where it had hung suspended from a chain, and unlocked the door of his shop. He went inside, closed the door, and Welles could hear him moving about for a few moments. Then he came to the door and beckoned.
“Don’t tell grandmother,” said Tim. “I haven’t told her yet. If it lives, I’ll tell her next week.”
In the corner of the shop under a table there was a box, and in the box there was a Siamese cat. When she saw a stranger she tried to hide her kittens; but Tim lifted her gently, and then Welles saw. Two of the kittens looked like little white rats with stringy tails and smudgy paws, ears and nose. But the third—yes, it was going to be a different sight. It was going to be a beautiful cat if it lived. It had long, silky white hair like the finest Persian, and the Siamese markings were showing up plainly.
Welles caught his breath.
“Congratulations, old man! Haven’t you told anyone yet?”
“She’s not ready to show. She’s not a week old.”
“But you’re going to show her?”
“Oh, yes, grandmother will be thrilled. She’ll love her. Maybe there’ll be more.”
“You knew this would happen. You made it happen. You planned it all from the start,” accused Welles.