"Pray, Sir Hurricane, what have you been doing to my cat?"
The admiral, who prided himself in putting any one who applied to him on what he called the wrong scent, endeavoured to play off Mrs. Jellybag in the same manner.
"What have I done to your cat, my dear Mrs. Jellybag? Why, my dear Madam," (said he, assuming an air of surprise,) "what should I do to your cat?"
"You should have left him alone, Mr. Admiral; that cat was my property; if my master permits you to ill-treat the poultry, that's his concern; but that cat was mine, Sir Hurricane—mine, every inch of him. The animal has been ill-treated, and sits moping in the corner of the fire-place, as if he was dying; he'll never be the cat he was again."
"I don't think he ever will, my dear Mrs. Housekeeper," answered the admiral, drily.
The lady's wrath now began to kindle. The admiral's cool replies were like water sprinkled
