A Night Out | Page 4

and came to a clump of catnip. True, Omar Ben had tasted the herb before, but dry and in five-cent packages, which was different from the pure article direct from nature's still and exuding its sharp, intoxicating breath. Pete and Omar fell upon it greedily, rolled upon it, wallowed among the scattered leaves, and chewed and chewed till their senses swam in a spirit-dance of ecstasy. Then, after a nap, the two reeled homeward down the road, Pete smiling his twisted smile, and Omar Ben Sufi wrapped in the comforting belief that he was singing tunefully.
"Say, R.T.," the Persian chuckled happily, "what did you say was the name of your lady friend's other lady friend?"
"Lizzie," answered Ringtail, astounded at the tone of familiarity; "an' take it from me she's white!"
"In color, do you mean?"
"Naw--in disposition. Outside, she's kind of striped, but inside, de lady's white; an' don't yer fergit it, bo, she's de owner of four good sets of claws.
"Thank you," said Omar Ben airily. "I shall endeavor to remember. Come along, R.T.!"
Pete objected somewhat to this pointed abbreviation of his name, but forgave his friend on the grounds that he was drunk; so the two went on and sought their rendezvous. The ladies were waiting, seated expectantly on the gate-posts, but descended at Ringtail's call, and the "swell gent" was formally introduced. Miss Lizzie seemed to like him immensely, and the two progressed so well that Ringtail stretched his single eye to its utmost capacity, cursing softly at his friend's unprecedented cheek. For Omar Ben--thanks to his nip of catnip--so far forgot his strained reserve that Miss Lizzie herself said afterward to a friend, in confidence:
"I never see sech a forward gent sence me 'n' you was a couple er half-way-drownded kits!"
The flirtation, however, was short-lived, for suddenly, without an instant's warning, Miss Lizzie, Miss Mame, and Pete himself went clawing up a water-pipe to a convenient roof above, while down the street came floating a shrill, defiant yowl.
"Chase yerse'f, bo!" called Pete in a voice of fear. "It's Ash-Can Sam!"
Now, Ash-Can Sam had a reputation of his own, as every cat in the neighborhood could testify with sorrow and with tears. He weighed eleven pounds. He kept himself in training; and, where others lived for love or wealth or art, Ash-Can Sam existed for a finish fight alone. At the present speaking he came swaggering around a corner, and paused in astonishment at the sight of a stranger sitting in the middle of the street. The insolence of it! It was past belief!
"Oh, please, Mr. Bo!" wailed Lizzie, wringing her paws as she perched upon the roof. "Do hurry while youse has got de chanst! He'll rip you somethin' terrible! For my sake, dearie, won't you slope?"
"No, not upon your life!" called Omar Ben gravely. "I will not demean myself by retreating from any cat alive."
This statement was fat with brave audacity, but lean in the matter of discretion; so Pete leaned down with one last friendly whisper of appeal:
"W'y, you chowder-headed ass, he'll make yer look like a moth-et flannel shirt! Beat it!"
The patrician declined to "beat it," and Ash-Can Sam edged a little closer, wearing a dissolute, wicked leer of joy. He circled slowly round the stranger cat, eying Omar Ben's glossy coat and humming a sort of vulgar chant:
Ain't it a sham-m-m-m-e! To chaw up mommer's sugar-pet, An' hurt his nose, not soon, but yet. Oh, ain't it a sham-m-m-m-e!
Omar Ben regarded the bully in calm scorn. "You disreputable beast," he said, "shut up!"
Sam, in no uncertain terms, stated his unwillingness to shut up, and the conversation became personal.
"Yer blink-eyed yard er silk, I'm a goin' to turn you cat-out-the-skin an' sell yer tail fer a fancy dustin'-brush!"
"Bosh! You'd run from a pet canary."
"You're a liar!"
"You're another!"
"So's yer pa an' so's yer mother!"
"Pfst! Zzz-i-ttt! Y-eo-w!"
And the battle was on.
"Oh, dear!" mewed Lizzie tearfully. "An' Mr. Bo was sech a easy-mannered gent'man, too!"
Sub-consciously, she was already referring to the foolish Persian in the past tense; yet, in view of probable results, and in the stress of such violent circumstance, her anti-mortem sorrow might at least be pardoned.
Omar Ben had never had a fight, and yet the memory of inheritance had waked within him, revealing other traits besides his yearning for debauchery and "frawgs"; so now he squared himself and uncurled his velvet toes.
Ash-Can Sam crouched low and came in with a headlong rush. Omar Ben side-stepped and raked him with a stiffly extended paw. It was a good rake, and there was fur upon his claws--and blood.
"Hully gee!" breathed Pete into Mame's convenient ear. "Did yer pipe de way bo upper-cut 'im? Gee!"
Ash-Can Sam was wounded--not so much in body as in pugilistic pride. He turned to wipe away the stain, and, incidentally, to wipe the