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208
Animal Heroes
·
Ernest Thompson Seton
3
"Meat!
Meat!"
And
still
they
came
to
get
their
portions.
All
were
well
known
to
the
meat-man.
There
was
Castiglione's
Tiger;
this
was
Jones's
Black;
here
was
Pralitsky's
"Torkershell,"
and
this
was
Madame
Danton's
White;
there
sneaked
Blenkinshoff's
Maltee,
and
that
climbing
on
the
barrow
was
Sawyer's
old
Orange
Billy,
an
impudent
fraud
that
never
had
had
any
financial
backing,--all
to
be
remembered
and
kept
in
account.
This
one's
owner
was
sure
pay,
a
dime
a
week;
that
one's
doubtful.
There
was
John
Washee's
Cat,
that
got
only
a
small
piece
because
John
was
in
arrears.
Then
there
was
the
saloon-keeper's
collared
and
ribboned
ratter,
which
got
an
extra
lump
because
the
'barkeep'
was
liberal;
and
the
rounds-man's
Cat,
that
brought
no
cash,
but
got
unusual
consideration
because
the
meat-man
did.
But
there
were
others.
A
black
Cat
with
a
white
nose
came
rushing
confidently
with
the
rest,
only
to
be
repulsed
savagely.
Alas!
Pussy
did
not
understand.
She
had
been
a
pensioner
of
the
barrow
for
months.
Why
this
unkind
change?
It
was
beyond
her
comprehension.
But
the
meat-man
knew.
Her
mistress
had
stopped
payment.
The
meat-man
kept
no
books
but
his
memory,
and
it
never
was
at
fault.
Outside
this
patrician
'four
hundred'
about
the
barrow,
were
other
Cats,
keeping
away
from
the
push-cart
because
they
were
not
on
the
list,
the
Social
Register
as
it
were,
yet
fascinated
by
the
heavenly
smell
and
the
faint
possibility
of
accidental
good
luck.
Among
these
hangers-on
was
a
thin
gray
Slummer,
a
homeless
Cat
that
lived
by
her
wits--slab-sided
and
not
over-clean.
One
could
see
at
a
glance
that
she
was
doing
her
duty
by
a
family
in
some
out-of-the-way
corner.
She
kept
one
eye
on
the
barrow
circle
and
the
other
on
the
possible
Dogs.
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