Henry reached the hall corner as he finished his song.
He sat down and iggled and wiggled about with fun.
“Oh, is this
fun
!” he said aloud.
Then a strange sound came from around the
corner, and Henry grabbed for his pickle protector.
The sound went “sniff, snuff, fnff.”
Henry peered around the corner and something like cat-
whiskers stroked his head. He pulled his back and
shivered, since of course he was terribly picklish.
“Who’s that?” asked Henry.
“Hmpf,” whispered the voice. “Who do you think!? I’m
the cat, of course. And what are you doing in the hall
wriggling around that way? Are you trying to imitate a
mouse or something? It’s enough to give a cat the
willies.”
“Imitate a mouse?” said Henry. “Why, I wouldn’t
want to imitate anything. I’m proud of what I am. Why,
I’m an iggly wiggly. . . ”
“Yeah, I know
all
about it,” said the cat. “I just
heard you sing that awful song. You sure need a few
singing
lessons.”
“Is
that
so?” said Henry, whose temper began to
rise. “Can
you
sing any better?”
“Can I sing any
better
?” asked the cat. “What a
question! Of
course
I can. I’m the best singer there is.
Everybody knows cats are the best of
all
at singing.”
“Well, let’s hear you
sing
, instead of whispering,
then!
“What?—and wake up the
People?
” said the cat,
sitting back on his haunches. “Are you crazy? Do you
HENRY
THE
PICKLE
30
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