"Poor Kitty" I said; "poor Kitty! It is a shame!" And I thought tenderly of all the thousands of hungry, hunted cats who stink and suffer its a great city.
Later, when I tried to sleep, and up across the stillness rose the raucous shrieks of some of these same sufferers, my pity turned cold. "Any fool that will try to keep a cat in a city!" I muttered, angrily.
Another yell—a pause—an ear-torturing, continuous cry. "I wish," I burst forth, "that every cat in the city was comfortably dead!"
A sudden silence fell, and in course of time I got to sleep.
Things went fairly well next morning, till I tried another egg. They were expensive eggs, too.
"I can't help it!" said my sister, who keeps house.
"I know you can't," I admitted. "But somebody could help it. I wish the people who are responsible had to eat their old eggs, and never get a good one till they sold good ones!"
"They'd stop eating eggs, that's all," said my sister, "and eat meat."
"Let 'em eat meat!" I said, recklessly. "The meat is as bad as the eggs! It's so long since we've had a clean, fresh chicken that I've forgotten how they taste!"
"It's cold storage," said my sister. She is a peaceable sort; I'm not.