He looked resentfully at the cat in the box.

"I wonder sh'u'd I put th' late laminted out on th' back porrch till th'
veterinary comes t' take its pulse? I wonder what th' ixpriss company
wants a veterinary t' butt into th' thing fer annyhow? Is it th' custom
nowadays t' require a certificate av health fer every cat that 's as
dead as that wan is before th' funeral comes off? Sure, I do believe th'
ixpriss company has doubts av Mike Flannery's ability t' tell is a cat
dead or no. Mebby 'tis thrue. Mebby so. But wan thing I'm dang sure av,
an' that is that sh'u'd the weather not turrn off t' a cold wave by
to-morry mornin' 't will take no coroner t' know th' cat is dead."

He opened the letter again and reread it. As he did so the scowl on his
face increased. He held up the letter and slapped it with the back of
his hand.

"'Kape it carefully in your office,'" he read with scorn. "Sure! An'
what about Flannery? Does th' man think I'm t' sit side be side with
th' dead pussy cat an' thry t' work up me imagination t' thinkin' I'm
sittin' in a garden av tuberoses? 'Tis well enough t' say kape it, but
cats like thim does not kape very well. Th' less said about th' way they
kapes th' betther."

[Illustration: "_''Tis well enough t' say kape it, but cats like thim
does not kape very well'_"]

Timmy entered the office, and as he passed the box he sniffed the air
in a manner that at once roused Flannery's temper.