The masterly woman pressed her face between the rails; stretched a
snapping finger and thumb; in an intense voice murmured, "Tweetikins
puss!"
Tweetikins puss continued thoughtfully to turn the soil. This was a
nicely mannered cat.
"Tweety little puss!" cooed Mrs. Major. "Tweety pussikins! puss,
puss!"
Tweety pussikins turned to regard her. Mrs. Major moistened her finger
and thumb; snapped frantically. "Puss, puss--tweety pussy!"
Tweety pussy advanced till the snapping fingers were within an inch of
its nose.
"Pussikins, pussikins!" implored Mrs. Major.
Pussikins very deliberately seated itself; coiled its fine tail about
its feet; regarded Mrs. Major with a sphinx-like air.
Mrs. Major pressed till the iron railings cut her shoulders. She
stretched the forefinger of her extended arm; at great peril of
slipping forward and rasping her nose along the rails effected to
scratch the top of the sphinx's head.
"Puss, puss! Tweety, _tweety_ puss!"
By not so much as a blink did tweety puss stir a muscle.
Mrs. Major was in considerable pain. Her bent legs were cramped; the
railings bit her shoulder; her neck ached: "Tweety little puss! Tweety
puss! Puss! _Drat_ the beast!"
In great physical agony and in heightening mental distress--since time
was fleeting and the cat as statuesque as ever,--Mrs.
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