"This is black dye," said he; "perhaps if I reverse the label, it will become white dye. I'll try it anyway."
And quick as thought he had loosened the label and turned it upside down. Certain it is that the contents of the bottle changed to a snow-white on the instant.
Out came the cork. "Blub—blub—gog—gurgle, splash," and the cats were drenched with the liquid. "Pouf," and where Billy had seen thirteen black cats appeared thirteen snow-white ones.
The cats looked at one another in astonishment for a moment, and then forgetting all about Billy, began to flog one another with their nine tails.
"White ca-a-a-a-at—meow—flog him out of town," and off they went flogging each other mercilessly, each one thinking that he was the only black cat in the whole town and determined to beat the strangers out of Superstitionburg.
"There's some good in hair dye after all," laughed Billy, and dropping to the ground, he stepped from under the ladder, leaped into the air, and bade farewell to Superstitionburg for ever and ever.