“It was Mr. Clairdyce gave her that,”
said Florence. “He’d been to Florida;
but she didn’t care for it very much, and she
didn’t make any fuss at all when grandpa got
the florist to take it. Grandpa hates animals.”
“He don’ hate ’em no wuss’n
whut I do,” said Kitty Silver. “An’
he ain’t got to ketch ’em lookin’
at him outen of his kitchen sink—an’
he ain’t fixin’ to be no cat-washwoman
neither!”
“Are you fixing to?” Florence asked
quickly. “You don’t need to do it,
Kitty Silver. I’d be willing to, and so’d
Herbert. Wouldn’t you, Herbert?”
Herbert deliberated within himself, then brightened.
“I’d just as soon,” he said.
“I’d kind of like to see how a cat acts
when it’s getting bathed.”
“I think it would be spesh’ly inter’sting
to wash Persian cats,” Florence added, with
increasing enthusiasm. “I never washed a
cat in my life.”
“Neither have I,” said Herbert. “I
always thought they did it themselves.”
Kitty Silver sniffed. “Ain’t I says
so to you’ Aunt Julia? She done tole me,
‘No,’ she say. She say, she say Berjum
cats ain’t wash they self; they got to take
an’ git somebody else to wash ’em!”
“If we’re goin’ to bathe ’em,”
said Florence, “we ought to know their names,
so’s we can tell ’em to hold still and
everything. You can’t do much with an animal
unless you know their name. Did Aunt Julia tell
you these cats’ names, Kitty Silver?”
“She say they name Feef an’ Meemuh.
Yes’m! Feef an’ Meemuh! Whut
kine o’ name is Feef an’ Meemuh fer cat
name!”
“Oh, those are lovely names!” Florence
assured her, and, turning to Herbert, explained:
“She means Fifi and Mimi.”
“Feef an’ Meemuh,” said Kitty Silver.
“Them name don’ suit me, an’ them
long-hair cats don’ suit me neither.”
Here she lifted the cover of the basket a little,
and gazed nervously within. “Look at there!”
she said. “Look at the way they lookin’
at me! Don’t you look at me thataway,
you Feef an’ Meemuh!” She clapped the lid
down and fastened it. “Fixin’ to
jump out an’ grab me, was you?”
“I guess, maybe,” said Florence, “maybe
I better go ask Aunt Julia if I and Herbert can’t
wash ’em. I guess I better go ask
her anyhow.” And she ran up the steps and
skipped into the house by way of the kitchen.
A moment later she appeared in the open doorway of
a room upstairs.
It was a pretty room, lightly scented with the pink
geraniums and blue lobelia and coral fuchsias that
poised, urgent with colour, in the window-boxes at
the open windows. Sunshine paused delicately just
inside, where forms of pale-blue birds and lavender
flowers curled up and down the cretonne curtains;
and a tempered, respectful light fell upon a cushioned
chaise longue; for there fluffily reclined,
in garments of tender fabric and gentle colours, the
prettiest twenty-year-old girl in that creditably
supplied town.
