"Oh--they're both killed!"
Behind the easy chair they sat, two little mute, obstinate figures,
palpably worn out, and each still holding on grimly to a battered thing
of felt and ribbon that once had been a hat of Nell's. In Jim's thin
little hands, as they gripped the hat, bunches of black fur were
discernible, which told a tale. At their approach K.K. arose, panting,
and renewed the struggle. She was very strong and Jim was very small.
With her teeth fixed firmly in the felt, she pulled and pulled, backing
all round the room, and at the other end of the hat came Jim, hopping,
sliding, but never letting his hold slip. His pathetic little wizened
face added to the ludicrousness of the spectacle. In the end Denis
bethought him brilliantly of a way to end the struggle with fairness to
both sides. He took a knife and sawed Nell's hat in halves.
Immediately each went straight for the piece the other held, and as each
dropped its own piece, Nell picked them up, and the battle was perforce
at an end.
Jim fled, chattering with rage, to the top of the curtain, and Kate
Kearney had resort to what no doubt she would have termed a hurt
dignity, but what looked considerably like a fit of the sulks.
"Now," said Denis, "how did that little beggar undo his cage door?"