“I shall lose it if it does 'ave exercise,” ses George Barstow, “that I know.”
He sat down thinking arter Henery Walker 'ad gone, and then he 'ad a little collar and chain made for it, and took it out for a walk. Pretty nearly every dog in Claybury went with 'em, and the cat was in such a state o' mind afore they got 'ome he couldn't do anything with it. It 'ad a fit as soon as they got indoors, and George Barstow, who 'ad read about children's fits in the almanac, gave it a warm bath. It brought it round immediate, and then it began to tear round the room and up and downstairs till George Barstow was afraid to go near it.
It was so bad that evening, sneezing, that George Barstow sent for Bill Chambers, who'd got a good name for doctoring animals, and asked 'im to give it something. Bill said he'd got some powders at 'ome that would cure it at once, and he went and fetched 'em and mixed one up with a bit o' butter.
“That's the way to give a cat medicine,” he ses; “smear it with the butter and then it'll lick it off, powder and all.”
He was just going to rub it on the cat when George Barstow caught 'old of 'is arm and stopped 'im.
“How do I know it ain't pison?” he ses. “You're a friend o' Joe Clark's, and for all I know he may ha' paid you to pison it.”
“I wouldn't do such a thing,” ses Bill. “You ought to know me better than that.”
“All right,” ses George Barstow; “you eat it then, and I'll give you two shillings in stead o' one. You can easy mix some more.”
“Not me,” ses Bill Chambers, making a face.