The Slum Cat 
Great changes had come over the ruined 
blocks. ‘Though silent on the night when she 
first saw them, they were crowded with noisy 
workmen all day. A tall building, well ad- 
vanced on her arrival, was completed at the 
end of October, and Slum Kitty, driven by 
hunger, went sneaking up toa pail that a negro 
had set outside. The pail, unfortunately, was 
not for garbage; it was a new thing in that re- 
gion: ascrubbing-pail. 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 impres- 
sion of the handle. Kitty had retreated across 
the street. He gazed at her. 
“Sho ef dat don’t look like de Royal Anka- 
lostan! Hyar, Pussy, Pussy, Pu-s-s-s-s-y! 
Co-0-0-o-m-e, Pu-u-s-s-sy, hyar! I ’spec’s 
she ’s sho hungry.” 
Hungry! She had n’t had a real meal for 
months. The negro went into the building 
and reappeared with a portion of his own 
lunch. 
65 
( =i, Wy) 
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