“Well, doctor,” said I, after a pause, “let us now divide the prey.”
The doctor pulled a face of profound disgust, and, wiping the blood from his neck, said in the most aggressive tone I had heard from his lips—
“Wha that about dividing? Siseta gave me the cat in exchange for my books. Do you know my daughter ate nothing yesterday?”
“Siseta and the children have also eaten nothing,” I replied.
Don Pablo scratched his head, making ugly contractions with his mouth and nostrils—and taking the dead animal by the neck, said—
“Do bother me, Andres. The children can live on any rubbish they pick up in the street; but my invalid needs better food; do me the favour not to touch the cat.”
“Do you mean to say you wo divide the cat? Good, good,” I said, and advanced towards him. Our hands met; we struggled for a short time and then the doctor fell and rolled along the floor, leaving me in full possession of our prey.
“Thief! thief!” he exclaimed. “Is this the way you rob me? Just wait a moment!”
I was picking up our victim to leave the loft. But the doctor ran, or rather leapt like a cat, to the gun, and aimed it full at me, crying with a hoarse and tremulous voice—
“Drop the cat, or I’ll kill you.”