the office he was followed by sixteen boys. Some of them had spades,
some of them had small fire-shovels, some had only pointed sticks, but
all were ready to dig. He showed them where he had already dug.

"Twinty-five cints apiece, annyhow," he said, "an' five dollars fer th'
lucky wan that finds it."

"All right," said one. "Now what is it we are to dig for?"

"'Tis a cat," said Flannery, "a dead wan."

"Go on!" cried the boy sarcastically. "What _is_ it we are to dig for?"

"I can get you a dead cat, mister," said another. "Our cat died."

"'T will not do," said Flannery. "'T is a special cat I'm wantin'. 'T is
a long-haired cat, an' 't was dead a long time. Ye can't mistake it whin
ye come awn to it. If ye dig up a cat ye know no wan w'u'd want t' have,
that 's it."

The sixteen boys dug, and Flannery, in desperation, dug, but a square
mile is a large plot of ground to dig over. No one, having observed that
cat on the morning when Timmy planted it, would have believed it could
be put in any place where it could not be instantly found again. It had
seemed like a cat that would advertise itself. But that is just like a
cat; it is always around when it is n't needed, and when it is needed
it can't be found. Before the afternoon was half over the boys had tired
of digging for a dead cat and had gone away, but Flannery kept at it
until the sun went down. Then he looked to see how much of the plot was
left to dig up. It was nearly all left. As he washed his hands before
going to his boarding-house a messenger-boy handed him a telegram.
Flannery tore it open with misgivings.

"Cat has not arrived. Must come on night train. Can accept no excuse,"
it read.

Flannery folded the telegram carefully and put it in his hip pocket. He
washed his hands with more deliberate care than he had ever spent on
them. He adjusted his coat most carefully on his back, and then walked
with dignity to his boarding-house. He knew what would happen. There
would be an inspector out from the head office in the morning. Flannery
would probably have to look for a new job.

In the morning he was up early, but he was still dignified. He did not
put on his uniform, but wore his holiday clothes, with the black tie
with the red dots. An inspector is a hard man to face, but a man in his
best clothes has more of a show against him. Flannery came to the office
the back way; there was a possibility of the inspector's being already
at the front door.