"Bill, old man, when you grow up, don't you ever become one
of these fellows who can't walk two blocks without stopping three times
to catch up with their breath. If you get like that mutt Dana Ferris
you'll break my heart. And you're heading that way, poor kid."
"What's Ferris?"
"He's a man I met at dinner the other night. When he was your age he
was the richest child in America, and everybody fussed over him till he
grew up into a wretched little creature with a black moustache and two
chins. You ought to see him. He would make you laugh; and you don't get
much to laugh at nowadays. I guess it isn't hygienic for a kid to
laugh. Bill, honestly--what _do_ you think of things? Don't you
ever want to hurl one of those sterilized bricks of yours at a certain
lady? Or has she taken all the heart out of you by this time?"
This was beyond Bill, as Kirk's monologues frequently were. He changed
the subject.
"I wish I had a cat," he said, by way of starting a new topic.
"Well, why haven't you a cat? Why haven't you a dozen cats if you want
them?"
"I asked Aunty Lora could I have a cat, and she said: 'Certainly not,
cats are--cats are----"
"Unhygienic?"
"What's that?"
"It's what your Aunt Lora might think a cat was. Or did she say
pestilential?"
"I don't amember."
"But she wouldn't let you have one?"
"Mamie said a cat might scratch me.
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