THE GRAY CAT
knocked him off, and whipped out my iron. He was away in a streak. He knew. And I've had plenty of proof since that he knows. He'd bite me now if he had the chance, but he understands that he hasn't got the chance. I'm often half inclined to take him on plain—shooting barred—and to feel my own hands breaking his damned neck!'
'Really, old man, really!' said the Archdeacon in perfunctory protest, as he rose and mixed himself another drink.
'Sorry to use strong language, 'but I don't love that cat, you know.'
The Archdeacon expressed his surprise that in that case Breddon did not get rid of the brute.
'You come across him on board ship and he flies at you. You save his life, give him board and lodging, and he still hates you so much that he won't let you touch him, and you are no fonder of him than he is of you. Why don't you part company?'
'As for his board, I've
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