The Puma's Cry

Montgomery interrupted my tangle of mystification and suspicion about one o’clock, and his grotesque attendant followed him with a tray bearing bread, some herbs and other eatables, a flask of whiskey, a jug of water, and three glasses and knives. I glanced askance at this strange creature, and found him watching me with his queer, restless eyes. Montgomery said he would lunch with me, but that Moreau was too preoccupied with some work to come.

Around one o’clock, Montgomery interrupted my confused and suspicious thoughts. His grotesque attendant followed him, carrying a tray. It held bread, some herbs and other food, a flask of whiskey, a jug of water, and three glasses and knives. I glanced warily at the strange creature and found him watching me with his odd, restless eyes. Montgomery said he would have lunch with me, but Moreau was too absorbed in his work to come.

“Moreau!” said I. “I know that name.”

“Moreau!” I said. “I know that name.”

“The devil you do!” said he. “What an ass I was to mention it to you! I might have thought. Anyhow, it will give you an inkling of our—mysteries. Whiskey?”

“You do, do you!” he said. “What an idiot I was to mention it to you! I should have known. Anyway, it will give you a glimpse of our mysteries. Whiskey?”

“No, thanks; I’m an abstainer.”

“No, thanks. I don’t drink.”

“I wish I’d been. But it’s no use locking the door after the steed is stolen. It was that infernal stuff which led to my coming here,—that, and a foggy night. I thought myself in luck at the time, when Moreau offered to get me off. It’s queer—”

“I wish I had. But there’s no use locking the door after the horse has been stolen. That infernal stuff brought me here, along with a foggy night. I thought I was lucky when Moreau offered to get me off. It’s strange...”

“Montgomery,” said I, suddenly, as the outer door closed, “why has your man pointed ears?”

“Montgomery,” I said suddenly as the outer door closed, “why does your man have pointed ears?”

“Damn!” he said, over his first mouthful of food. He stared at me for a moment, and then repeated, “Pointed ears?”

“Damn!” he said as he took his first mouthful of food. He stared at me for a moment, then repeated, “Pointed ears?”

“Little points to them,” said I, as calmly as possible, with a catch in my breath; “and a fine black fur at the edges?”

“Little points on them,” I said as calmly as I could, catching my breath. “And fine black fur at the edges?”

He helped himself to whiskey and water with great deliberation. “I was under the impression—that his hair covered his ears.”

He slowly poured himself some whiskey and water. “I thought his hair covered his ears.”

“I saw them as he stooped by me to put that coffee you sent to me on the table. And his eyes shine in the dark.”

“I saw them when he bent down beside me to put the coffee you sent me on the table. And his eyes shine in the dark.”

By this time Montgomery had recovered from the surprise of my question. “I always thought,” he said deliberately, with a certain accentuation of his flavouring of lisp, “that there was something the matter with his ears, from the way he covered them. What were they like?”

By then, Montgomery had recovered from his surprise at my question. “I always thought,” he said deliberately, his slight lisp becoming more noticeable, “that there was something wrong with his ears, from the way he covered them. What were they like?”

I was persuaded from his manner that this ignorance was a pretence. Still, I could hardly tell the man that I thought him a liar. “Pointed,” I said; “rather small and furry,—distinctly furry. But the whole man is one of the strangest beings I ever set eyes on.”

His manner convinced me that he was pretending not to know. Still, I could hardly tell the man I thought he was a liar. “Pointed,” I said, “rather small and furry, definitely furry. But the whole man is one of the strangest beings I’ve ever seen.”

A sharp, hoarse cry of animal pain came from the enclosure behind us. Its depth and volume testified to the puma. I saw Montgomery wince.

A sharp, hoarse cry of animal pain came from the enclosure behind us. Its deep, loud sound told me it was the puma. I saw Montgomery wince.

“Yes?” he said.

“Yes?” he said.

“Where did you pick up the creature?”

“Where did you pick up the creature?”

“San Francisco. He’s an ugly brute, I admit. Half-witted, you know. Can’t remember where he came from. But I’m used to him, you know. We both are. How does he strike you?”

“San Francisco. He’s an ugly brute, I admit. Not very bright, you know. He can’t remember where he came from. But I’m used to him, you know. We both are. What do you think of him?”

“He’s unnatural,” I said. “There’s something about him—don’t think me fanciful, but it gives me a nasty little sensation, a tightening of my muscles, when he comes near me. It’s a touch—of the diabolical, in fact.”

“He’s unnatural,” I said. “There’s something about him. Don’t think I’m imagining things, but when he comes near me, I get an unpleasant feeling. My muscles tighten. There’s something almost devilish about him.”

Montgomery had stopped eating while I told him this. “Rum!” he said. “I can’t see it.” He resumed his meal. “I had no idea of it,” he said, and masticated. “The crew of the schooner must have felt it the same. Made a dead set at the poor devil. You saw the captain?”

Montgomery had stopped eating while I told him this. “Strange!” he said. “I don’t see it.” He resumed his meal. “I had no idea,” he said, chewing. “The schooner’s crew must have felt the same way. They all turned on the poor devil. You saw the captain?”

Suddenly the puma howled again, this time more painfully. Montgomery swore under his breath. I had half a mind to attack him about the men on the beach. Then the poor brute within gave vent to a series of short, sharp cries.

Suddenly the puma howled again, this time in greater pain. Montgomery swore under his breath. I almost confronted him about the men on the beach. Then the poor animal inside let out a series of short, sharp cries.

“Your men on the beach,” said I; “what race are they?”

“Your men on the beach,” I said, “what race are they?”

“Excellent fellows, aren’t they?” said he, absentmindedly, knitting his brows as the animal yelled out sharply.

“Great fellows, aren’t they?” he said absentmindedly, frowning as the animal let out a sharp cry.

I said no more. There was another outcry worse than the former. He looked at me with his dull grey eyes, and then took some more whiskey. He tried to draw me into a discussion about alcohol, professing to have saved my life with it. He seemed anxious to lay stress on the fact that I owed my life to him. I answered him distractedly.

I said nothing more. There was another outcry, worse than the first. He looked at me with his dull gray eyes, then drank more whiskey. He tried to draw me into a discussion about alcohol, claiming he had used it to save my life. He seemed eager to emphasize that I owed him my life. I answered him distractedly.

Presently our meal came to an end; the misshapen monster with the pointed ears cleared the remains away, and Montgomery left me alone in the room again. All the time he had been in a state of ill-concealed irritation at the noise of the vivisected puma. He had spoken of his odd want of nerve, and left me to the obvious application.

Soon our meal ended. The misshapen monster with pointed ears cleared away the leftovers, and Montgomery left me alone in the room again. Throughout the meal, he had barely concealed his irritation at the noise of the puma undergoing vivisection. He had spoken of his strange lack of nerve and left me to draw the obvious conclusion.

I found myself that the cries were singularly irritating, and they grew in depth and intensity as the afternoon wore on. They were painful at first, but their constant resurgence at last altogether upset my balance. I flung aside a crib of Horace I had been reading, and began to clench my fists, to bite my lips, and to pace the room. Presently I got to stopping my ears with my fingers.

I found the cries terribly irritating. They grew deeper and more intense as the afternoon wore on. At first, they were painful, but their constant return finally shattered my composure. I threw aside the translation of Horace I had been reading. I began clenching my fists, biting my lips, and pacing the room. Soon I was plugging my ears with my fingers.

The emotional appeal of those yells grew upon me steadily, grew at last to such an exquisite expression of suffering that I could stand it in that confined room no longer. I stepped out of the door into the slumberous heat of the late afternoon, and walking past the main entrance—locked again, I noticed—turned the corner of the wall.

The cries affected me more and more. At last, they expressed such intense suffering that I could no longer bear to stay in that confined room. I stepped outside into the drowsy heat of the late afternoon. I walked past the main entrance, which I noticed was locked again, and turned the corner of the wall.

The crying sounded even louder out of doors. It was as if all the pain in the world had found a voice. Yet had I known such pain was in the next room, and had it been dumb, I believe—I have thought since—I could have stood it well enough. It is when suffering finds a voice and sets our nerves quivering that this pity comes troubling us. But in spite of the brilliant sunlight and the green fans of the trees waving in the soothing sea-breeze, the world was a confusion, blurred with drifting black and red phantasms, until I was out of earshot of the house in the chequered wall.

The crying sounded even louder outside. It was as if all the pain in the world had found a voice. Yet I have since thought that I could have stood it well enough if the pain next door had been silent. Pity troubles us when suffering finds a voice and sets our nerves shaking. The sunlight was brilliant, and the green fans of the trees waved in the soothing sea breeze. But the world seemed confused, blurred by drifting black and red visions. It stayed that way until I was out of earshot of the house in the checkered wall.