o the office lugging the box,
and let it drop on the floor with a thud.

"She won't take no damaged cats," said Timmy shortly.

Mike Flannery laid his pen on his desk with almost painful slowness and
precision. Slowly he slid off his chair, and slowly he picked up his
cap and put it on his head. He did not say a word. His brow was drawn
into deep wrinkles, and his eyes glittered as he walked up to the box
with almost supernaturally stately tread and picked it up. His lips were
firmly set as he walked out of the office into the hot sun. Timmy
watched him silently.

In less than half an hour Mike Flannery came into the office again,
quietly, and set the box silently on the floor. Noiselessly he hung up
his cap on the nail above the big calendar back of the counter. He sank
into his chair and looked for a long while at the blank wall opposite
him.

"An' t' think," he said at last, like one still wrapped in a great
blanket of surprise, "t' think she didn't swear wan cuss th' whole time!
Thim ladies is wonderful folks! I wonder did she say th' same t' ye as
she said t' me, Timmy?"

"Sure she did," said Timmy, grinning as usual.

"Will ye think of that, now!" said Flannery with admiration. "'Tis a
grand constitution she must be havin', that lady. Twice in wan
afternoon! I wonder could she say th' same three times? 'Tis not
possible."

He ran his hand across his forehead and sighed, and his eyes fell on the
box. It was still where he had put it, but he seemed surprised to see it
there. He had no recollection of anything after Mrs. Warman had begun to
talk. He picked up his pen again.

"Interurban Express Co., New York," he wrote. "Consiny Mrs. Warman wont
reciev cat way bill 23645 Hibbert and Jones consinor cat is--"

He grinned and ran the end of the pen through his stubble of red hair.

"What is th' swell worrd fer dead, Timmy?" he asked. "I'm writin' a
letter t' th' swell clerks in New Yorrk that be always guyin' me about
me letters, an' I 'll hand thim a swell worrd fer wance."

"Deceased," said Timmy, grinning.

"'Tis not that wan I was thinkin' of," said Flannery, "but that wan
will do. 'Tis a high-soundin' worrd, deceased."

He dipped his pen in the ink again.

"--cat is diseased," he wrote. "Pleas give disposal. Mike Flannery."

When the New York office of the Interurban Express Company received
Flannery's letter they called up Hibbert & Jones on the telephone.
Hibbert & Jones was the big department