she never seemed to mind them; and although eventually he fired off
pretty nearly every movable thing in the house excepting the piano,
she continued to shriek and scream in a manner that was simply
appalling. At last, one day, Potts made a critical examination of the
premises, and, guided by the noise, he finally located the cat in the
tin waterspout which descends the north wall of the house. He thinks
the cat must have been skylarking on the roof some dark night and
accidentally tumbled into the spout.

Potts tried to shake her down by hammering on the spout with a stick;
but the more he pounded, the louder she yelled, and the two noises
roused the entire neighborhood and attracted the attention of the
police. Then he procured a clothes-prop; and ascending to the roof, he
endeavored to push the animal out. But the stick was not long enough
to reach her. All it was good for was to make her howl more loudly;
and it did that. At last Potts concluded to take the spout down and
coax the cat out. When he got it on the ground, he peeped in at the
end, and he could see the animal's eyes shining like balls of fire far
back in the darkness of the hole. After shaking her up for a while
without inducing her to move, he made up his mind that she must be
jammed in the pipe and unable to budge. He wanted to cut the pipe
open, but Butterwick said it would be a pity to spoil such a good
spout for a mere cat.

So Potts finally determined to blow her out with powder. He procured a
small charge; and pushing it pretty well in with a stick, he "tamped"
the end of the spout with clay and lighted the slow-match. Two minutes
later there was an explosion, and the tamping-clay flew out and struck
Butterwick with some violence in the ribs, curling him all up on the
grass by the pump. When he recovered his breath, he got up and said,