At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. Then Sheila noticed the stains. He was not used to not getting his way. The chief of these was a figure of Liberty, with a cat at her feet, in allusion to the supposed origin of the fortunes of its former founder, Sir Richard Whittington.
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