Harry Cat's Pet Puppy by George Selden Read Free Book Online

“Hello.” He couldn’t see anything funny.

    The pigeon introduced Tucker and Harry to Max. He was a gray dog, tough and much bigger than the cat. His eyes weren’t round, like Huppy’s eyes, beneath his fur; they were lifted a little—not slanted exactly, but questioning something: suspicious eyes. Ordinarily the animals in New York get along with each other fairly well, but Harry suspected that if he’d met Max on a prowl in the street he’d have gotten a snarl—maybe barking, and a fight. Not now, though. Lulu had explained everything, and Max just flicked his eyes disdainfully over both cat and mouse. “Come on, kid,” he commanded Huppy softly. “Almost sunup. The cops’ll be making their first rounds soon.”
    â€œJust like that? ” burst out Tucker Mouse. “You take him away—”
    â€œSure, Tucker baby,” said Max. “Just like that. You want me to show him the ropes, don’t you?”
    Tucker was about to launch into a string of orders—what he wanted, and didn’t want, Max to do—but Harry shushed him and simply said, “We want you to take care of him. For a couple of days. Until we can find him a permanent home.”
    â€œOh—a permanent home.” Max laughed. “I’ve heard that before. And so has every other stray mutt in New York.”
    From the east a dull morning, lowering with clouds, inched toward the city. The wind had grown colder.
    â€œGo on, Huppy,” urged Harry Cat. “Go on with Max. We’ll be back tonight. To make sure you’re all right.”
    â€œGoodbye,” said Huppy.
    They watched him shamble reluctantly off, and then run, to keep up with the lean and stealthy dog.
    â€œI guess I’d better get going too,” said Lulu.
    â€œSo go,” muttered Tucker.
    The cat and the mouse headed back to Times Square.
    To put a dent in an iron silence Harry said, “I think the weather’s going to change.”
    â€œThe heck with the weather!” fumed Tucker Mouse. “What did you think of Max?”
    â€œWell, I thought he looked—I mean, he looked—”
    â€œHe looked as if his father was a wolf and his mother was a weasel!” It didn’t help Tucker one bit to remember that the whole thing had been his own idea.
    And it didn’t help either one of them to see Huppy’s house when they got back home—empty.
    â€œWe aren’t going to throw it out,” declared Harry.
    â€œYou’re darn right we’re not!” It was loyalty, love—a pledge to Huppy—to keep it there, useless though it had become.
    All morning long Tucker furiously rearranged his possessions. That was his way of trying to think. Harry’s was just to sit in the drainpipe opening and watch—and not watch—the commotion go by; like having a background radio on but not bothering to listen to it.
    Noon came, and the people who tramped down the subway stairs were dusted with white: it was snowing outside.
    â€œThere he is again,” said Harry.
    â€œWho?” The mouse was holding a special prize: a red unbroken Christmas tree bauble, salvaged only a month ago.
    â€œMr. Smedley,” said Harry.
    â€œI don’t know why he comes down here so often.” Tucker couldn’t decide where to relocate this latest treasure. “Sometimes he doesn’t even buy a paper—just stands by the newsstand for hours, talking with Mama and Papa Bellini.”
    Mr. Smedley was the piano teacher who first—after Tucker—had discovered Chester Cricket’s great gift. It was his letter to The New York Times that had made the cricket famous.
    The mouse made up his mind: propped up on the high heel—the left rear corner—the ornament would look best. “He must be lonely.”
    â€œLonely?”
    â€œLonely!” A crash! Red smithereens shimmered all over the drainpipe floor. Tucker