Finally, in her indignation against Pomp for some aggressive act,
she scratched him sharply.
"You wicked old debble!" exclaimed Pomp wrathfully.
He kicked at the cat; but she was lucky enough to escape, and ran
out of the room as fast as her four legs could carry her.
"Big ugly debble!" muttered Pomp, watching the blood ooze from
his finger.
"What's the matter, Pomp?"
"Old cat scratch me."
"And what did you do to her, Pomp? I am afraid you deserved your
scratch."
"Didn't do noffin', Mass' Frank," said Pomp virtuously.
"I don't think you always tell the truth, Pomp."
"Can't help it, Mass' Frank. 'Spec' I've got a little debble
inside of me."
"What do you mean, Pomp! What put that idea in your head?"
"Dat's what mammy says. Dat's what she al'ays tells me."
"Then," said Frank, "I think it will be best to whip it out of
you. Where's my stick?"
"Oh, no, Mass' Frank," said Pomp, in alarm; "I'll be good, for
sure."
"Then sit down and get your lesson."
Again Pomp assumed his cricket.
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