Mike Flannery | Page 4

with the cat?" asked Doc Pomeroy.
"Look at it," said Flannery pleasantly. "Nawthin' but look at it. Thim is
me orders. 'Have a veterinary look at th' cat,' is what they says. An' I
can see be th' look on ye that 'tis yer opinion 'tis a mighty dead cat."
"That cat," said the veterinary slowly, "is as dead as it can be. A cat
can't be any deader than that one is."
"It cannot," said Flannery positively. "But it can be longer dead."
"If I had a cat that had been dead longer than that cat has been dead,"
said Doc Pomeroy as he moved away, "I wouldn't have to see it to
know that it was dead. A cat that has been dead longer than that cat has
been dead lets you know it. That cat will let you know it pretty quick,
now."
"Thank ye," said Flannery. "An' ye have had a good look at it? Ye
w'u'dn't like t' look at it again, mebby? Thim is me orders, t'allow
ixamination be th' veterinary, an' if 't w'u'd be anny comfort t' ye I will
draw up a chair so ye can look all ye want to."
The veterinary raised his sad eyes to Flannery's face and let them rest
there a moment. "Much obliged," he said, but he did not look at the cat
again. He went back to his headquarters.
That afternoon Flannery and Timmy began walking quickly when they
passed the box, and toward evening, when Flannery had to make out
his reports, he went out on the back porch and wrote them, using a
chair-seat for a desk. One of his tasks was to write a letter to the New
York office.

"W.B. 23645," he wrote, "the vetinnary has seen the cat, and its
diseased all right. he says so. no sine of Mrs. Warman yet but ile keep
the cat in the offis if you say so as long as i cann stand it. but how cann
i feed a diseased cat. i nevver fed a diseased cat yet. what do you feed
cats lik that."
The next morning when Flannery reached the office he opened the front
door, and immediately closed it with a bang and locked it. Timmy was
late, as usual. Flannery stood a minute looking at the door, and then he
sat down on the edge of the curb to wait for Timmy. The boy came
along after a while, indolently as usual, but when he saw Flannery he
quickened his pace a little.
"What's th' matter?" he asked. "Locked out?"
Flannery stood up. He did not even say good morning. He ran his hand
into his pocket and pulled out the key. "Timmy," he said gently, almost
lovingly, "I have business that takes me t' th' other side av town. I have
th' confidence in ye, Timmy, t' let ye open up th' office. 'T will be good
ixperience fer ye." He cast his eye down the street, where the car line
made a turn around the corner. The trolley wire was shaking. "Th' way
ye open up," he said slowly, "is t' push th' key into th' keyhole. Push th'
key in, Timmy, an' thin turrn it t' th' lift. Wait!" he called, as Timmy
turned. "'Tis important t' turrn t' th' lift, not th' right. An' whin ye have
th' door open"--the car was rounding the corner, and Flannery stepped
into the street--"whin ye have th' door open--th' door open"--the car
was where he could touch it--"take th' cat out behint th' office an' bury
it, an' if ye don't I'll fire ye out av yer job. Mind that!"
The car sped by, and Flannery swung aboard. Timmy watched it until it
went out of sight around the next corner, and then he turned to the
office door. He pushed the key in, and turned it to the left.
When Flannery returned the cat was gone, and so was Timmy. The
grocer next door handed Flannery the key, and Flannery's face grew red
with rage. He opened the door of the office, and for a moment he was
sure the cat was not gone, but it was. Flannery could not see the box; it
was gone. He threw open the back door and let the wind sweep through

the office, and it blew a paper off the desk. Flannery picked it up and
read it. It was from Timmy.
"Mike Flannery, esquire," it said. "Take youre old job. Im tired of the
express bisiness. Too much cats and missus Warmans in it. im going to
New York to look for a decent job. I berried the cat for you but no more
for me. youres truly."
Flannery smiled. The loss of Timmy did not bother him so