"
Just at this moment there was a knock at the door and I hurried
out. The postmaster's boy was there with a telegram. I tore it
open, glanced at it, and dashed back into the room.
"What is it now?" cried Ismay, beholding my face.
I held out the telegram. It was from Aunt Cynthia. She had
wired us to send Fatima to Halifax by express immediately.
For the first time Max did not seem ready to rush into the breach
with a suggestion. It was I who spoke first.
"Max," I said, imploringly, "you'll see us through this, won't
you? Neither Ismay nor I can rush off to Halifax at once. You
must go to-morrow morning. Go right to 110 Hollis Street and ask
for 'Persian.' If the cat looks enough like Fatima, buy it and
take it to Aunt Cynthia. If it doesn't--but it must! You'll go,
won't you?"
"That depends," said Max.
I stared at him. This was so unlike Max.
"You are sending me on a nasty errand," he said, coolly. "How do
I know that Aunt Cynthia will be deceived after all, even if she
be short-sighted. Buying a cat in a joke is a huge risk. And if
she should see through the scheme I shall be in a pretty mess."
"Oh, Max," I said, on the verge of tears.
"Of course," said Max, looking meditatively into the fire, "if I
were really one of the family, or had any reasonable prospect of
being so, I would not mind so much. It would be all in the day's
work then. But as it is--"
Ismay got up and went out of the room.
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