And, furthermore, it served
me right. It was on a very hot July morning that, coming down
Mulberry Street, I saw a big gray cat sitting on a beer-keg outside
a corner saloon. It was fast asleep, and snored so loudly that it
aroused my anger. It is bad enough to have a man snore, but a cat--!
It was not to be borne. I hauled off with my cane and gave the
beast a most cruel and undeserved blow to teach it better manners.
The snoring was smothered in a yell, the cat came down from the
keg, and to my horror there rose from behind the corner an angry
Celt swearing a blue streak. He seemed to my anguished gaze at
least nine feet tall. He had been asleep at his own door when my
blow aroused him, and it was his stocking feet, propped up on the
keg as he dozed in his chair around the corner, I had mistaken
for a gray cat. It was not a time for explanations. I did the only
thing there was to be done; I ran. Far and fast did I run. It was
my good luck that his smarting feet kept him from following, or
I might not have lived to tell this tale. As I said, it served me
right.
Pages:
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275