"Sthop that!" he shouted. "I'll have none av yer foolin' t'-day. What
fer are ye puckerin' up yer nose at th' cat fer? There's nawthin' th'
matther with th' cat. 'Tis as sound as a shillin', an' there 's no call
fer ye t' be sniffin' 'round, Timmy, me lad! Go about yer worrk, an'
lave th' cat alone. 'Twill kape--'twill kape a long time yet. Don't be
so previous, me lad. If ye want t' sniff, there 'll be plinty av time by
an' by. Plinty av it."

"Ye ain't goin' t' keep th' cat, are ye?" asked Timmy with surprise.

"Let be," said Flannery softly, with a gentle downward motion of his
hands. "Let be. If 'tis me opinion 't w'u'd be best t' kape th' cat fer
some time, I will kape it. Mike Flannery is th' ixpriss agint av this
office, Tim, me bye, an' sh'u'd he be thinkin' 't w'u'd be best fer th'
intherists av th' company t' kape a cat that is no longer livin', he
will. There be manny things fer ye t' learn, Timmy, before ye know th'
whole av th' ixpriss business, an' dead cats is wan av thim."

"G'wan!" said Timmy with a long-drawn vowel. "I know a dead cat when I
see one, now."

"Mebby," said Flannery shortly. "Mebby. An' mebby not. But do ye know
where Doc Pomeroy hangs out? Go an' fetch him."

As Timmy passed the box on the way out he looked at the cat with renewed
interest. He began to have a slight doubt that he might not know a dead
cat when he saw one, after all, if Flannery was going to have a
veterinary come to look at it. But the cat certainly _looked_
dead--extremely dead.