them； and Pussy turned sick at heart in the utter hopelessness of
the case。 Her place…love was her master…mood。 She had given up
all to come to a home that no longer existed； and for once her
sturdy little heart was cast down。 She wandered over the silent
heaps of rubbish and found neither consolation nor eatables。 The
ruin had taken in several of the blocks and reached back from the
water。 It was not a fire； Kitty had seen one of those things。
This looked more like the work of a flock of the Red…eyed
Monsters。 Pussy knew nothing of the great bridge that was to rise
from this very spot。
When the sun came up she sought for cover。 An adjoining block
still stood with little change； and the Royal Analostan retired
to that。 She knew some of its trails； but once there； was
unpleasantly surprised to find the place swarming with Cats that；
like herself； were driven from their old grounds； and when the
garbage…cans came out there were several Slummers at each。 It
meant a famine in the land； and Pussy； after standing it a few
days； was reduced to seeking her other home on Fifth Avenue。 She
got there to find it shut up and deserted。 She waited about for a
day； had an unpleasant experience with a big man in a blue coat；
and next night returned to the crowded slum。
September and October wore away。 Many of the Cats died of
starvation or were too weak to escape their natural enemies。 But
Kitty； young and strong； still lived。
Great changes had come over the ruined blocks。 Though silent on
the night when she first saw them； they were crowded with noisy
workmen all day。 A tall building； well advanced on her arrival；
was completed at the end of October； and Slum Kitty； driven by
hunger； went sneaking up to a pail that a negro had set outside。
The pail； unfortunately； was not for garbage； it was a new thing
in that region： a scrubbing…pail。 A sad disappointment； but it
had a sense of comfortthere were traces of a familiar touch on
the handle。 While she was studying it； the negro elevator…boy
came out again。 In spite of his blue clothes； his odorous person
confirmed the good impression of the handle。 Kitty had retreated
across the street。 He gazed at her。
〃Sho ef dat don't look like de Royal Ankalostan！ Hyar； Pussy；
Pussy； Pu…s…s…s…s…y！ Co…o…o…o…m…e； Pu…u…s…s…sy； hyar！ I'spec's
she's sho hungry。〃
Hungry！ She hadn't had a real meal for months。 The negro went
into the building and reappeared with a portion of his own lunch。
〃Hyar； Pussy； Puss； Puss； Puss！〃 It seemed very good； but Pussy
had her doubts of the man。 At length he laid the meat on the
pavement； and went back to the door。 Slum Kitty came forward very
warily； sniffed at the meat； seized it； and fled like a little
Tigress to eat her prize in peace。
LIFE IV
XI
This was the beginning of a new era。 Pussy came to the door of
the building now whenever pinched by hunger； and the good feeling
for the negro grew。 She had never understood that man before。 He
had always seemed hostile。 Now he was her friend； the only one
she had。
One week she had a streak of luck。 Seven good meals on seven
successive days； and right on the top of the last meal she found
a juicy dead Rat； the genuine thing； a perfect windfall。 She had
never killed a full…grown Rat in all her lives； but seized the
prize and ran off to hide it for future use。 She was crossing the
street in front of the new building when an old enemy appeared；
the Wharf Dog；and Kitty retreated； naturally enough； to the
door where she had a friend。 Just as she neared it； he opened the
door for a well…dressed man to come out； and both saw the Cat
with her prize。
〃Hello！ Look at that for a Cat！〃
〃Yes； sah；〃 answered the negro。 〃Dat's ma Cat； sah； she's a
terror on Rats； sah！ hez 'em about cleaned up； sah； dat's why
she's so thin。〃
〃Well； don't let her starve；〃 said the man with the air of the
landlord。 〃Can't you feed her？
〃De liver meat…man comes reg'lar； sah； quatah dollar a week；
sah；〃 said the negro； fully realizing that he was entitled to the
extra fifteen cents for 〃the idea。〃
〃That's all right。 I'll stand it。〃
XII
〃M…e…a…t！ M…e…a…t！〃 is heard the magnetic； cat…conjuring cry of
the old liver…man； as his barrow is pushed up the glorified
Scrimper's Alley； and Cats come crowding； as of yore； to receive
their due。
There are Cats black； white； yellow； and gray to be remembered；
and； above all； there are owners to be remembered。 As the barrow
rounds the corner near the new building it makes a newly
scheduled stop。
〃Hyar； you； get out o' the road； you common trash；〃 cries the
liver…man； and he waves his wand to make way for the little gray
Cat with blue eyes and white nose。 She receives an unusually
large portion； for Sam is wisely dividing the returns evenly； and
Slum Kitty retreats with her 'daily' into shelter of the great
building； to which she is regularly attached。 She has entered
into her fourth life with prospects of happiness never before
dreamed of。 Everything was against her at first； now everything
seems to be coming her way。 It is very doubtful that her mind was
broadened by travel； but she knew what she wanted and she got it。
She has achieved her long…time great ambition by catching； not a
Sparrow； but two of them； while they were clinched in mortal
combat in the gutter。
There is no reason to suppose that she ever caught another Rat；
but the negro secures a dead one when he can； for purposes of
exhibition； lest her pension be imperilled。 The dead one is left
in the hall till the proprietor comes； then it is apologetically
swept away。 〃Well； drat dat Cat； sah； dat Royal Ankalostan blood；
sah； is terrors on Rats。〃
She has had several broods since。 The negro thinks the Yellow Tom
is the father of some of them； and no doubt the negro is right。
He has sold her a number of times with a perfectly clear
conscience； knowing quite well that it is only a question of a
few days before the Royal Analostan comes back again。 Doubtless
he is saving the money for some honorable ambition。 She has
learned to tolerate the elevator； and even to ride up and down on
it。 The negro stoutly maintains that once； when she heard the
meat…man； while she was on the top floor； she managed to press
the button that called the elevator to take her down。
She is sleek and beautiful again。 She is not only one of the four
hundred that form the inner circle about the liver…barrow； but
she is recognized as the star pensioner among them。 The liver…man
is positively respectful。 Not even the cream…and…chicken fed Cat
of the pawn…broker's wife has such a position as the Royal
Analostan。 But in spite of her prosperity； her social position；
her royal name and fake pedigree； the greatest pleasure of her
life is to slip out and go a…slumming in the gloaming； for now；
as in her previous lives； she is at heart； and likely to be；
nothing but a dirty little Slum Cat。
ARNAUX
THE CHRONICLE OF A HOMING PIGEON
We passed through the side door of a big stable on West
Nineteenth Street。 The mild smell of the well…kept stalls was
lost in the sweet odor of hay； as we mounted a ladder and entered
the long garret。 The south end was walled off； and the familiar
〃Coo…oo； cooooo…oo； ruk…at…a…coo；〃 varied with the 〃whirr； whirr；
whirr〃 of wings； informed us that we were at the pigeon…loft。
This was the home of a famous lot of birds； and to…day there was
to be a race among fifty of the youngsters。 The owner of the loft
had asked me； as an unprejudiced outsider； to be judge in the
contest。
It was a training race of the young birds。 They had been taken
out for short distances with their parents once or twice； then
set free to return to the loft。 Now for the first time they were
to be flown without the old ones。 The point of start； Elizabeth；
N。 J。； was a long journey for their first unaided attempt。 〃But
then；〃 the trainer remarked； 〃that's how we weed out the fools；
only the best birds make it； and that's all we want back。〃
There was another side to the flight。 It was to be a race among
those that did return。 Each of the men about the loft as well as
several neighboring fanciers were interested in one or other of
the Homers。 They made up a purse for the winner； and on me was to
devolve the important duty of deciding which should take the
stakes。 Not the first bird back； but the first bird into the
loft； was to win； for one that returns to his neighborhood
merely； without immediately reporting at home； is of little use
as a letter…carrier。
The Homing Pigeon used to be called the Carrier because it
carried messages； but here I found that name restricted to the
show bird； the creature with absurdly developed wattles； the one
that carries the messages is now called the Homer； or Homing
Pigeonthe bird that always comes home。 These Pigeons are not of
any special color； nor have they any of the fancy adornments of
the kind that figure in Bird shows。 They are not bred for style；
but for speed and for their mental gifts。 They must be true to
their home； able to return to it without fail。 The sense of
direction is now believed to be located in the bony labyrinth of
the ear。 There is no creature with finer sense of locality and
direction than a good Homer； and the only visible proofs of it
are the great bulge on each side of the head over the ears； and
the superb wings that complete his equipment to obey the noble
impulse of home…love。 Now the mental and physical equipments of
the last lot of young birds were to be put to test。
Although there were plenty of witnesses； I thought it best to
close all but one of the pigeon…doors and stand ready to shut
that behind the first arrival。
I shall never forget the sensations of that day。 I had been
warned： 〃They start at 12； they should be here at 12：30； but look
out； they come like a whirlwind。 You hardly see them till they're
in。〃
We were ranged along the inside of the loft； each with an eye to
a crack or a partly closed pigeon…door； anxiously scanning the
southwestern horizon； when one shouted： 〃Look outhere they
come！〃 Like a white cloud they burst into view； low skimming over
the city roofs； around a great chimney pile； and in two seconds