"Mr. Brown," I said, "greatly regrets that a golf-ball playfully thrown
at Mr. Trumpington's black cat whilst sitting on his, Mr. Brown's, wall,
should have caused annoyance to Mr. Trumpington."
* * * * *
When I went out into the garden on the following day I could see Mr.
Trumpington's head, tastefully framed in pink hollyhock buds, apparently
following the spoor of a green-fly. He looked up almost at once and
caught my eye, but made no sign of recognition. I breathed a sigh of
relief. Thank heaven, I thought to myself, the worst has not happened.
The danger that I feared yesterday has blown over. There is no immediate
prospect of Mr. Trumpington and myself becoming boon companions. I
strolled a little further down the path, and, still occupying its old
strategic position on the party-wall and licking its fur in the sun, I
beheld the black cat.
As I approached him he smiled an ambiguous smile, and jumped down once
more upon Trumpington soil. A wave of great friendliness for the unhappy
quadruped swept over me. "Persecute," I thought; "not likely." I went
indoors and, after a short consultation with Harriet, came out again
carrying a small round fish-cake on a spoon. I lobbed it far and wide
over the wall, and it fell noiselessly and quite in the middle of Mr.
Trumpington's most buttony calceolaria-bed. Some time later I was
rewarded by the sight of a black cat stealing with a look of grateful
memory on its face towards the Trumpington back-door.
* * * * *