"Hi, Mame!" said Pete, in cordial greeting. "Shake hands wid me friend,
Mr.--er--aw hell! Shake hands wid bo!"
Omar Ben had never seen a lady-cat, and his ideal of the sex was
something modest and retiring. Miss Mame was not retiring. She greeted
her friend's friend without the courtesy of a "Mr.," looked in open
admiration at the handsome gentleman, and asked if he were single.
The aristocrat murmured a commonplace and edged away. At the slight the
lady took umbrage, spat warningly, and showed her claws, till Ringtail
averted trouble by a generous display of tact.
"Now, don't git phony, Mame!" he remarked in a gentle whisper. "De gent's
all right, but he's young, dat's all, an' I'm goin' to learn him--see?
You chase aroun' fer Lizzie, an' if de goil ain't got no udder date, yet
kin meet us here 'bout moondown, an' we'll bring yer a brace er frawgs.
So long, Mame! Remember dat I loves yer!"
With a partly mollified sniff, the lady retired to her gate-post, and the
two adventurers went on. They came to the evil-smelling tannery, and to
the frog-pond just behind it, stretching cold and still in the moonlight,
and covered with a noxious, slimy scum. It was horribly different from
the Persian's usual baths, but, once in he forgot its chill in the lust
of the hunt.
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