“‘Ah, well, you take an opportunity of doing so one day, sir,’ answered the old fellow; ’it’s worth the experiment.  If you’re telling a story before a cat, and she don’t get uneasy during any part of the narrative, you can reckon you’ve got hold of a thing as it will be safe for you to tell to the Lord Chief Justice of England.

“‘I’ve got a messmate,’ he continued; ’William Cooley is his name.  We call him Truthful Billy.  He’s as good a seaman as ever trod quarter-deck; but when he gets spinning yarns he ain’t the sort of man as I could advise you to rely upon.  Well, Billy, he’s got a dog, and I’ve seen him sit and tell yarns before that dog that would make a cat squirm out of its skin, and that dog’s taken ’em in and believed ’em.  One night, up at his old woman’s, Bill told us a yarn by the side of which salt junk two voyages old would pass for spring chicken.  I watched the dog, to see how he would take it.  He listened to it from beginning to end with cocked ears, and never so much as blinked.  Every now and then he would look round with an expression of astonishment or delight that seemed to say:  “Wonderful, isn’t it!” “Dear me, just think of it!” “Did you ever!” “Well, if that don’t beat everything!” He was a chuckle-headed dog; you could have told him anything.

“’It irritated me that Bill should have such an animal about him to encourage him, and when he had finished I said to him, “I wish you’d tell that yarn round at my quarters one evening.”

“‘Why?’ said Bill.

“‘Oh, it’s just a fancy of mine,’ I says.  I didn’t tell him I was wanting my old cat to hear it.

“‘Oh, all right,’ says Bill, ‘you remind me.’  He loved yarning, Billy did.

“’Next night but one he slings himself up in my cabin, and I does so.  Nothing loth, off he starts.  There was about half-a-dozen of us stretched round, and the cat was sitting before the fire fussing itself up.  Before Bill had got fairly under weigh, she stops washing and looks up at me, puzzled like, as much as to say, “What have we got here, a missionary?” I signalled to her to keep quiet, and Bill went on with his yarn.  When he got to the part about the sharks, she turned deliberately round and looked at him.  I tell you there was an expression of disgust on that cat’s face as might have made a travelling Cheap Jack feel ashamed of himself.  It was that human, I give you my word, sir, I forgot for the moment as the poor animal couldn’t speak.  I could see the words that were on its lips:  “Why don’t you tell us you swallowed the anchor?” and I sat on tenter-hooks, fearing each instant that she would say them aloud.  It was a relief to me when she turned her back on Bill.

“’For a few minutes she sat very still, and seemed to be wrestling with herself like.  I never saw a cat more set on controlling its feelings, or that seemed to suffer more in silence.  It made my heart ache to watch it.