THE LADIES'’ FLORAL CABINET. 
193 
“Now, Marfy,” said George Abraham, coaxingly, 
“ yo’ can ten’ de baby ez well ez I can, but yo’ can’t go 
alone, an’ I can; an’ ef I don’t go, dere won’t neider ob 
us see the percession nor know nuffin ’bout it, but ef I 
goes I can tell yo’ all ’bout de amerils ez good ez if yo’ 
seed it all yo’self.” 
But the namesake of the Mother of her Country was 
not to be so easily pacified. 
“No, no; I’s gwine to tell mammy, an’she’ll lick ye,” 
she persisted. 
The iteration of this disagreeable fact rasped George 
Abraham to the point of desperation. 
“Marfy,” he broke out, “I’ll brung you a hunk of 
gingerbread if yo’ won’t tell mammy.” 
He had touched Martha’s vulnerable point; her most 
uncontrollable weakness was for gingerbread. She 
lifted the corner of her apron again and wiped her 
weeping eye. 
‘ ‘ Will yo’, shore ? ” she asked, dubiously. 
“Yes, shore,” returned George Abraham, recklessly. 
And he was not the first politician who has offered 
kingdoms of earth not his to give to carry a desired 
point. 
That Martha’s doubts were not wholly removed was 
shown in her conditional answer, now given very de¬ 
cidedly: 
“ Ef yo’ brungs de gingerbread I won’t tell, but ef yo’ 
don’t I’s gwine to tell shore, an’ jes see what yo’ 
ketch!” 
George Abraham flew out of the house; he had no¬ 
thing to tarry for; he did not desire to ponder on what 
he might “ketch” if he failed to produce the ginger¬ 
bread and he had no toilet to make; his only suit was 
upon his back, and it was much too small for him, mak¬ 
ing him look much more diminutive than he really was, 
though he was very small for his ten years. He 
directed his course toward Harrison Avenue, one 
block below Lawrence; he did this because he felt 
loath to add to the attractions of the procession a 
performance not down on the bills; namely, an encounter 
with his irate mother at the corner of Lawrence and 
Fourth. 
He had not gone far before he felt something occa¬ 
sionally touch his bare leg; but being so accustomed to 
the flapping of rags about his limbs, he paid no atten¬ 
tion to it at first. At length, however, a peculiar soft¬ 
ness in the touch attracted his notice, he looked down, 
and was struck with dismay on beholding his gray and 
black striped kitten Jonathan; David was not along. A 
David there had really been, but he had failed to fulfill 
the prophecy in his name by dying before Jonathan— 
succumbing sooner to Fairfax hospitality—and in de¬ 
parting had left Jonathan sole possessor of George 
Abraham’s heart: a heart, by the way, big enough to 
have taken in, to starve, every stray cat in the city, if 
his mother had been willing to harbor them. Just now, 
however, vexation quite got the better of affection in 
his sympathetic soul, as testifies the following eulogy 
which he poured forth upon Jonathan as soon as he 
could find his voice: 
“Yo’ goo’ for nuffin ring-straked little noosance, yo’! 
Can’t I nebber go nowhars widout you’s a-taggin’ at my 
heels? Now, what’s I gwine to do, I’d jes like to knew? 
Ha’n't got no time to go back an’ shet ye up, an’ yo’ll 
get los’ an’ tromped on in that crowd, shore.” He gave 
a moment to vexed cogitation on the situation, poking 
at Jonathan in the meantime with more vigor than 
affection, and then decided the question with an im¬ 
patient growl: “ Well, I specs I’s got to tote ye. Come 
long here den,” and, catching the cat by the back of the 
neck, he swung it on his shoulder, which position 
seemed to suit Jonathan exactly; he rubbed his furry 
head against George Abraham’s woolly one and purred 
loudly, while his unwilling bearer walked on, mutter¬ 
ing angrily: 
“Yes, sing away, yo’ skinny, green-eyed, ring-tailed 
tom-cat! Think I ’joys taking ’round such a critter 
whar all de boys gwine to yell at me, ‘ Oh, go Tong, 
darkey! Shoot dat cat!’ ” 
Just then the band, far up Fourth Street, struck up 
“ Hail Columbia.” George Abraham broke into a run, 
and, by putting into his legs all the energy he would 
have expended in scolding Jonathan, he soon gained 
the point he had aimed at, and awaited the arrival of 
the slow-moving procession, taking all the chaffing he 
expected on account of his cat, and a good deal more. 
But when the van of the procession appeared he forget 
all his vexations. The “’potamus” and several other 
animals of the billboards were not permitted the joy 
and privilege of looking out upon the crowd that lined 
either side of Fourth Street. Probably some of these 
were enjoying themselves more, at that moment, in 
looking out of their native jungles. But there were attrac¬ 
tions enough; had there been more, George Abraham’s 
eyes might have popped out of his head. As the last 
wagon in the line filed past him he drew in his over¬ 
strained orbs, and drew in, also, a long breath; by these 
tokens he should have been quite satisfied, but he was 
not; instead, he was seized on the spot with a frantic de¬ 
sire to see it all again. Ignoring all feline objections, he 
squeezed Jonathan under his arm and plunged in wild 
haste through the crowd. Nothing delayed him; he 
writhed like an earth-worm through masses of human¬ 
ity, dodging umbrellas and ducking under elbows. He 
upset four small children on his way, and the poodle 
that lay in his path never knew what killed it. Very 
soon he cleared the crowd, leaving wrath and conster¬ 
nation in his wake. Now he shot through alleys and 
side streets until he gained a point which the leading 
wagon was just passing; here, adjusting badly demoral¬ 
ized Jonathan comfortably, he settled himself to drink 
in the whole scene over again. 
Once again he repeated this performance, his point 
of view this time bringing him in sight of the 
door of the great tent through which he saw each 
wagon pass and disappear. Then a great sadness fell 
upon George Abraham. How should he see it all 
again ? 
As he stood in this disconsolate attitude he overheard 
the following conversation pass between two street 
urchins behind him: 
“The horses’ll be unhitched, and the wagons run up 
one against t’other all ’round one side the tent, and 
they’ll take the sides offen the boxes on the wagons, 
and there'll be the cages full of all the animals they 
won’t show in the percession. Make a feller pay a 
quarter to see ’em.” 
“ ’Nless you can crawl under the tent,” ventured the 
other boy. 
“’N jest let the de circus men ketch ye at that 
wunst!” returned the other, with blood-curdling signifi¬ 
cance. 
