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Oh, if the Fifth Avenue family could only have seen her in her native Orient! After a long rest she came quietly down from the cracker-box toward the steps leading to the cellar, engaged in her old-time pursuit of seeking for eatables. The door opened, and there stood the negro. He shouted to the bird-man inside: "Say, boss, come hyar. Ef dere ain't dat dar Royal Ankalostan am comed back!"
A sad disappointment, but it had a sense of comfort there were traces of a familiar touch on the handle. While she was studying it, the negro elevator-boy came out again. In spite of his blue clothes, his odorous person confirmed the good impression of the handle. Kitty had retreated across the street. He gazed at her. "Sho ef dat don't look like de Royal Ankalostan!
There is no reason to suppose that she ever caught another Rat; but the negro secures a dead one when he can, for purposes of exhibition, lest her pension be imperilled. The dead one is left in the hall till the proprietor comes; then it is apologetically swept away. "Well, drat dat Cat, sah; dat Royal Ankalostan blood, sah, is terrors on Rats." She has had several broods since.
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