The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1912-07-17
White Cat.
Copyright. 1910. by Bobbs.
 Merrill Co.


 piano music and none too steady masculine voice Hunter turned to me with his foot on the wooden steps.
 Above everything else" he warn- ed, keep your temper. Nobody gives hang in here whether you're the mayor of the town, the champion pool player of the first ward or the rounds | man on the beat,
 The door at the top of the steps was also Yale locked. We stepped at once into the. kitchen, from which imag- med that the house faced on another street and that for obvious reasons only its rear entrance was used. The kitchen was bright and clean. It was filtered, however. with half cut 1oaves of bread, glasses and empty bottles. Over the range man in his shirt sleeves was giving his whole attention to slice of ham sizzling on skillet, and at a table near by young fellow with his hair cut in barber's oval over the back of his neck was spread Ing slices of bread and cheese with mustard. ts.s
 "How are you, MT. Mayor?" Hunter said. "This. is, Mir. Knox, the man who's engineering the star-Eagle ight.''
 The man over the range wiped one greasy hand and held 1t out to me-
 I recognized the mayors He was a big fellow, handsome in a heavy way and Tommy to every one who knew him.. It seemed I was about to see my city government at play.
 Hunter vas thoroughly at home. "We take care of ourselves here" he explained, ssIf. you want sandwich there is cooked ham in the refrigerator and cheese-if our friend at the sink has left any. Get some cigars, will you? They're on a shelf in the pan try. I have my hands full.'' E I went for. the cigars, remembering to keep my eyes open. The pantry was a small room. It contained an icebox stocked with drinka bles, ham, eggs and butter: On shelves above were cards, cigars and liquors, and there, too, saw abox with an indorsement which showed the 'honor system" of the Cat club.
 "Sign checks and drop here" it read, and I thought about the old adage of honor among thieves and politicians.
 When I came out with the cigars Hunter was standing with group of new arrivals They included one of the city physicians, the director of pub lie charities and judge of a local court. The latter McFeely, a. little thin Irishman, knew me and accosted me at once. The mayor was busy over the range and was almost purple with heat and unwonted anxiety.
 When the three newcomers went up stairs instead of going into the grill room looked at. Hunter r ssIs' this where the political game is. played?' asked
 ''Yes, if the political game is poker" he replied.
 .4What time do they close up?" I ask ed. Tn answer Hupter pointed to a sign over the door. It was card. neatly printed, and 1t said, The White Cat Never Sleeps"
 The crowd was good humored. It paid little or no attention to us, and when some one at the piano began to thump waltz Hunter, under cover of the noise, leaned over to me.
 eve traced Fleming here through your corner man and the cabby," he said carefully. q haven't seen him, but it is a moral certainty he is skulking in one of the upstairs rooms. His pre- cious private secretary is here too don't know Fleming by sight, and the pictures we have of him were ta- ken good while ago. when he wore a mustache When he was in local pol-s itics before he went to the legislature he practically owned this place, pay ing for favors with membership tick cts. A man could hide here for year safely. The police never come here. and mans business is his owns
 Wardrop appeared. He ran down the painted wooden stairs and hurried through the room without looking to right or left. The piano kept on and the men at the tables were still en- crossed with their glasses and one an other. Wardrop was very pale. He bolted into a man at the door and pushed him aside without ceremony. ~ ou might go up now" Hunter said, rising. "I will see where the young