Argosy: The Short Story Magazine — page 25: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

25 % When a sea-dog picks on a cat, 1t’s trouble ahoy! Except for this @uthor—a radio officer—for whom “Cat’s-Paw” won a first prize in the Seafarers’ Education Service short story competition. CAT'S -PAW BY W. 8S. MONEY he ship was ready to leave and we were having a smoke while waiting for the pilot, when Charlie noticed his bunk. ‘‘ Blimey, I ’ate cats!’ he fumed. “ Just look at my counter- pane, dirty paw-marks all over the place.” ‘“ Strewth! ” said Slim, his room-mate, “I thought we’d got rid of ’em all in London. Is this another one, then? ”’ “No, it isn’t another one,” snapped Charlie testily, “ it’s that big ugly stinker from last trip. As fast as we put ’im on the dock, "e jumped back aboard. ‘There’s on’y one way to get shut of "1m: chuck ’im over the wall one dark night at sea. ‘* That’s the one we called Tiger. He’s a tough baby. If you threw ’im over the side, ’e’d crawl back aboard—even the sharks wouldn’t tackle ’im.’’ Charlie did his best to wipe the sooty marks from his freshly changed bed-linen. ‘ That’s where ’e’s goin’ if I get ’old of ’im. I’ve enough trouble with cats at ’ome, I come to sea to get away from ’em.” “Cats, Charlie?” queried Slim. “I thought you on’y ’ad one?” ‘“* And what the ’ell do yer think me sister-in-law is? ”” snorted Charlie, with heavy sarcasm. “ A ’uman bein’? And that tabby at ‘ome is just such another as Tiger. She’s looked after like a bloomin’ queen: she’s on’y got to miaow to get a saucer o’ milk poured out—and that’s after bein’ out on the tiles all night, bawlin’ 'er fat ’ead off along of every tom-cat from ’ere to Aldgate. She’s got more right in the ’ouse than I ’ave. If I turf ’er out of me own chair she spits at me, and every time I go ’ome I ’ave the job of gettin’ rid of a batch of ’er kittens. I'll poison ’er one of these days, mark my words! “But the wife’s sister—blimey! ‘Charles,’ she says—she calls me Charles.” Charlie’s voice switched to a querulous falsetto. “‘“ Don’t say blimey, Charles. It’s uncouth!’ ” His voice slipped back to its normal croak. ‘ Proper misery. comiclbooks.comnn