TIBERIUS SMITH
"‘Except this biggest one, he telephoned back. 'I may need him awake.'
"And friend Feeney, believing it was the last act, threw back his head and laughed in low gurgles. His blood-curdling jollity seemed to jerk the head tabby into radical action, and a streak of white marked her spring.
"‘Missed!' I yelled.
"‘Rotten,' cried Tib, as he also scored a zero, and the target lighted on our uneasy parapet.
"Then the breastworks came to life.
"And, say, sir, if the dope had quieted old Nero so far as we were concerned, it didn't preclude his having a little argument with puss. Screeching and roaring they rolled over and over, while the other cat looked on in amazement.
"‘Nail her!' directed Tib.
"And ping! I did, at a distance of twenty feet. She whacked her paws against her nose in vain, for the aroma would not down, and while thus engaged Tib ran in and gave her her congé.
"Then we turned to watch the duel, just in time to see the cart-wheel of beasts strike the barriers fairly opposite the chief's lookout.
"There was a crash, and the whirling, furry forms bounded out into the audience.
"As the orchestra-circle emptied in flight, Feeney, indigo with rage, raised his axe to hurl at me, who
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