“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 long as the cat had gone also.  He turned to the tasks of the day with a light heart.

The afternoon mail brought him a letter from the New York office.  “Regarding W.B. 23645,” it said, “and in answer to yours of yesterday’s date.  In our previous communication we clearly requested you to have a veterinary look at the cat.  We judge from your letter that you neglected to do this, as the veterinary would certainly have told you what to feed the cat.  See the veterinary at once and ask him what to feed the cat.  Then feed the cat what he tells you to feed it.  We presume it is not necessary for us to tell you to water the cat.”

Flannery grinned.  “An’ ain’t thim th’ jokers, now!” he exclaimed. “’Tis some smart bye must have his fun with ould Flannery!  Go an’ see th’ veterinary!  An’ ask him what t’ feed th’ cat!  ‘Good mornin’, Misther Pomeroy.  Do ye remimber th’ dead cat ye looked at yisterday?  ’Tis in a bad way th’ mornin’, sor.  ‘Tis far an’ away deader than it was yisterday.  We had th’ funeral this mornin’.  What w’u’d ye be advisin’ me t’ feed it fer a regular diet now?’ Oh yis!  I’ll go t’ th’ veterinary—­not!”

He stared at the letter frowningly.

“An’ ‘tis not nicessary t’ tell me t’ water th’ cat!” he said.  “Oh, no, they’ll be trustin’ Flannery t’ water th’ cat.  Flannery has loads av time.  ‘Tis no need fer him t’ spind his time doin’ th’ ixpriss business.  ‘Git th’ sprinklin’-can, Flannery, an’ water th’ cat.  Belike if ye water it well ye’ll be havin’ a fine flower-bed av long-haired cats out behint th’ office.  Water th’ cat well, an’ plant it awn th’ sunny side av th’ house, an’ whin it sprouts transplant it t’ th’ shady side where it can run up th’ trellis.  ’T will bloom hearty until cold weather, if watered plinty!’ Bechune thim an’ me ‘tis me opinion th’ cat was kept too long t’ grow well anny more.”

Mrs. Warman was very much surprised that afternoon to receive a letter from the express company.  As soon as she saw the name of the company in the corner of the envelope her face hardened.  She had an intuition that this was to be another case where the suffering public was imposed upon by an overbearing corporation, and she did not mean to be the victim.  She had refused the cat.  Fond as she was of cats, she had never liked them dead.  She was through with that cat.  She tore open the envelope.  A woman never leaves an envelope unopened.  The next moment she was more surprised than before.