And Solomon rejoiced. Poor man, he did not know how the popularity of his gift was destined to endure; he did not know that he had let loose upon the circumambient air sounds worse than any ever emitted by the Calico Cat. Filled with the pleasant sense of having "made it up" with the boy whom he thought he had so greatly injured, Solomon started along the path toward the kitchen door. He began to realize that he had an appetite--something now long unfamiliar to him. As he drew near, an appetizing odor smote his nostrils. "Eyesters, I swanny!" he ejaculated. It was unheard of! There was nothing which Solomon, who had a keen relish for good things to eat, and would even have been extravagant in this one particular had his firm-willed wife permitted, enjoyed more than an oyster stew, or which he had a chance to taste less often. Oysters could be had in town for sixty cents a quart, a sum that seems not large; but in Mrs. Peaslee's mind they were associated with the elegance and luxury of church "sociables," and with the dissipation of supper after country dances. They were extravagant food. Solomon could not believe his nose. He entered the door, and there upon the table stood the big tureen, with two soup plates at Mrs. Peaslee's place. There was nothing else but the stew, of course, but it lent a gala air to the whole kitchen. "Why, Sarepty, Sarepty!" he said to his wife. "You goin' to be arrested?" asked Mrs. Peaslee, sharply. She wanted no sentiment over her unwonted generosity; but, truth to tell, when she had seen Solomon depart that morning, and realized that he might be going to arrest, possibly to trial, perhaps to conviction and to jail, she had felt a sudden fright, a sudden sympathy for her husband, and she had bought half a pint of oysters for a stew--in spite of expense. "No, I ain't going to be arrested," said Solomon, with satisfaction. "The grand jury found there wa'n't anythin' to it; but--but, Sarepty--" He paused helplessly, unable to express his complex feelings about the stew, and the attitude on the part of his wife which it revealed. "Oh, well," said his wife, "after all, 't ain't 's if you'd gone and lost money." And after supper Mr. Peaslee carefully poured some skimmed milk into a saucer and went out to the barn. "Kitty, kitty!" he called. "Kitty, come, kitty!" The Calico Cat did not respond. But in the morning the saucer was empty. +------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's Note | | | |The cover illustration referred to in the | |Author's Note at the beginning of this | |book was not available for this electronic| |version of the text. | +------------------------------------------+ End of Project Gutenberg's The Calico Cat, by Charles Miner Thompson