unhopefully at the soil here and there, but nothing came of it. But
suddenly his eyes lighted on a figure that he knew, just turning out of
the alley three buildings from the office. It was Timmy!

Flannery had no chance at all. He ran, but how can a man run in his best
clothes across soft, new soil when he is getting a bit too stout? And
Timmy had seen him first. When Flannery reached the corner of the alley
Timmy was gone, and with a sigh that was partly regret and partly
breathlessness from his run Flannery turned into the main street. There
was the inspector, sure enough, standing on the curb. Flannery had lost
some of his dignity, but he made up for it in anger. He more than made
up for it in the heat he had run himself into. He was red in the face.
He met the inspector with a glare of anger.

"There be th' key, if 'tis that ye're wantin', an' ye may take it an'
welcome, fer no more will I be ixpriss agint fer a company that sinds
long-haired cats dead in a box an' orders me t' kape thim throo th' hot
weather fer a fireside companion an' ready riferince av perfumery. How
t' feed an' water dead cats av th' long-haired kind I may not know, an'
how t' live with dead cats I may not know, but whin t' bury dead cats I
_do_ know, an' there be plinty av other jobs where a man is not ordered
t' dig up forty-siven acres t' find a cat that was buried none too soon
at that!"

"What's that?" said the inspector. "Is that cat dead?"

"An' what have I been tellin' th' dudes in th' head office all th'
while?" asked Flannery with asperity. "What but that th' late deceased
dead cat was defunct an' no more? An' thim insultin' an honest man with
their 'Have ye stholen th' cat out av th' box, Flannery, an' put in an