He pushed the key in, and turned it to the left.
When Flannery returned the cat was gone, and so was Timmy. The grocer
next door handed Flannery the key, and Flannery's face grew red with
rage. He opened the door of the office, and for a moment he was sure the
cat was not gone, but it was. Flannery could not see the box; it was
gone. He threw open the back door and let the wind sweep through the
office, and it blew a paper off the desk. Flannery picked it up and read
it. It was from Timmy.
"Mike Flannery, esquire," it said. "Take youre old job. Im tired of the
express bisiness. Too much cats and missus Warmans in it. im going to
New York to look for a decent job. I berried the cat for you but no more
for me. youres truly."
Flannery smiled. The loss of Timmy did not bother him so long as the cat
had gone also. He turned to the tasks of the day with a light heart.
The afternoon mail brought him a letter from the New York office.
"Regarding W.B. 23645," it said, "and in answer to yours of yesterday's
date. In our previous communication we clearly requested you to have a
veterinary look at the cat.
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