"Am I correct in believing that I have the pleasure of addressing Mr.
Sunderland?" she said, with gentle politeness.
I bowed--the jar slipped from my grasp and fell to the floor; I made a
hasty movement to take the hand she had offered me, and in so doing put
my foot on the jar; it was crushed to atoms, and the seeds and syrup flew
in every direction! The obstacle beneath my feet made me stagger; I
grasped the folds of a window-curtain in the hope of saving myself, but
my equilibrium was too far gone--down came the curtain--over I went, head
first, against a flower-stand, on which were a nondescript array of
flowerpots, a canary bird in a cage, and a big Maltese cat in a basket.
The force of my fall upset the stand, and, with all its favorites, it
turned over on the carpet! Plants, cat, bird, cage, and Roy Sunderland,
all lay in one mass of ruin together at the feet of the astonished Miss
Hay. The cat was the first to recover her presence of mind, and with a
"midnight cry" which would have appalled the stoutest heart, she sprang
into my face, tearing up the skin with a violence worthy the admiration
of all persons who believe in the wisdom of "getting at the root of a
matter" at once.
I scrambled up--gave the animal a blow that sent her to the other side of
the room--and hatless, and bloody, made for the door.
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