A Night Out | Page 4

after a restful pause, "what do yer say to a
nip?"

"A nip?" asked Omar Ben in astonishment. "What kind of a nip?"
"W'y, a catnip, yer bloomin' bladderskite! Wot did yer t'ink I meant--a
cornder of de moon? I'm talkin' 'bout jes' straight catnip. Are you on?"
"Yes, certainly," returned the Persian gravely. "I am on!"
On the homeward way they turned into a lane 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