Mike Flannery | Page 2

that sh'u'd ye wait too long Missus
Warman will not be receivin' th' consignment at all. She's wan av th'
particular kind, Timmy."
In half an hour Timmy was back. He came into the office lugging the
box, and let it drop on the floor with a thud.
"She won't take no damaged cats," said Timmy shortly.
Mike Flannery laid his pen on his desk with almost painful slowness
and precision. Slowly he slid off his chair, and slowly he picked up his
cap and put it on his head. He did not say a word. His brow was drawn
into deep wrinkles, and his eyes glittered as he walked up to the box
with almost supernaturally stately tread and picked it up. His lips were

firmly set as he walked out of the office into the hot sun. Timmy
watched him silently.
In less than half an hour Mike Flannery came into the office again,
quietly, and set the box silently on the floor. Noiselessly he hung up his
cap on the nail above the big calendar back of the counter. He sank into
his chair and looked for a long while at the blank wall opposite him.
"An' t' think," he said at last, like one still wrapped in a great blanket of
surprise, "t' think she didn't swear wan cuss th' whole time! Thim ladies
is wonderful folks! I wonder did she say th' same t' ye as she said t' me,
Timmy?"
"Sure she did," said Timmy, grinning as usual.
"Will ye think of that, now!" said Flannery with admiration. "'Tis a
grand constitution she must be havin', that lady. Twice in wan
afternoon! I wonder could she say th' same three times? 'Tis not
possible."
He ran his hand across his forehead and sighed, and his eyes fell on the
box. It was still where he had put it, but he seemed surprised to see it
there. He had no recollection of anything after Mrs. Warman had begun
to talk. He picked up his pen again.
"Interurban Express Co., New York," he wrote. "Consiny Mrs. Warman
wont reciev cat way bill 23645 Hibbert and Jones consinor cat is--"
He grinned and ran the end of the pen through his stubble of red hair.
"What is th' swell worrd fer dead, Timmy?" he asked. "I'm writin' a
letter t' th' swell clerks in New Yorrk that be always guyin' me about
me letters, an' I 'll hand thim a swell worrd fer wance."
"Deceased," said Timmy, grinning.
"'Tis not that wan I was thinkin' of," said Flannery, "but that wan will
do. 'Tis a high-soundin' worrd, deceased."

He dipped his pen in the ink again.
"--cat is diseased," he wrote. "Pleas give disposal. Mike Flannery."
When the New York office of the Interurban Express Company
received Flannery's letter they called up Hibbert & Jones on the
telephone. Hibbert & Jones was the big department store, and it was
among the Interurban's best customers. When the Interurban could do it
a favour it was policy to do so, and the clerk knew that sending a cat
back and forth by rail was not the best thing for the cat, especially if the
cat was diseased.
"That cat," said the manager of the live-animal department of Hibbert
& Jones, "was in good health when it left here, absolutely, so far as we
know. If it was not it is none of our business. Mrs. Warman came in
and picked the cat out from a dozen or more, and paid for it. It is her cat.
It doesn't interest us any more. And another thing: You gave us a
receipt for that cat in good order; if it was damaged in transit it is none
of our affair, is it?"
"Owner's risk," said the Interurban clerk. "You know we only accept
live animals for transportation at owner's risk."
"That lets us out, then," said the Hibbert & Jones clerk. "Mrs. Warman
is the owner. Ring off, please."
Westcote is merely a suburb of New York, and mails are frequent, and
Mike Flannery found a letter waiting for him when he opened the office
the next morning. It was brief. It said:
"Regarding cat, W.B. 23645, this was sent at owner's risk, and Mrs.
Warman seems to be the owner. Cat should be delivered to her. We are
writing her from this office, but in case she does not call for it
immediately, you will keep it carefully in your office. You had better
have a veterinary look at the cat. Feed it regularly."
Mike Flannery folded the letter slowly and looked down at the cat.
"Feed it!" he exclaimed. "I wonder, now, was that a misprint fer

fumigate it, fer that is what it will be wantin' mighty soon, if I know