Hartwell, who was waiting to receive
them.
Bertram laughed. Cyril scowled, and occupied himself in finding a chair.
William had already dropped himself wearily on to the sofa near his
sister. Billy still continued to talk.
"Now when Spunk and I get to training--oh, and you haven't seen Spunk!"
she interrupted herself suddenly. "Why, the introductions aren't half
over. Where is he, Uncle William--the basket?"
"I--I put it in--in the hall," mumbled William, starting to rise.
"No, no; I'll get him," cried Billy, hurrying from the room. She
returned in a moment, the green covered basket in her hand. "He's been
asleep, I guess. He's slept 'most all the way down, anyhow. He's so used
to being toted 'round in this basket that he doesn't mind it a bit. I
take him everywhere in it at the Falls."
There was an electric pause. Four pairs of startled, questioning,
fearful eyes were on the basket while Billy fumbled at the knot of the
string. The next moment, with a triumphant flourish, Billy lifted from
the basket and placed on the floor a very small gray kitten with a very
large pink bow.
"There, ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, Spunk."
The tiny creature winked and blinked, and balanced for a moment on
sleepy legs; then at the uncontrollable shout that burst from Bertram's
throat, he faced the man, humped his tiny back, bristled his diminutive
tail to almost unbelievable fluffiness, and spit wrathfully.
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