It made Green sick.

And just then the hurricane reached the weathercock, and it began to revolve six hundred or seven hundred times a minute, the cat howling until you couldn't hear yourself speak .-- Now, Maria, you've had your put; you keep quiet .-- That cat stayed on the weathercock about two months--" "Mr.Fogg, that's an awful story; it only happened last Tuesday." "Never mind her," said Mr.Fogg, confidentially .-- And on Sunday the way that cat carried on and yowled, with its tail pointing due east, was so awful that they couldn't have church.

And Sunday afternoon the preacher told Bradley if he didn't get that cat down he'd sue him for one million dollars damages.

So Bradley got a gun and shot at the cat fourteen hundred times .-- Now you didn't count 'em, Maria, and I did .-- And he banged the top of the steeple all to splinters, and at last fetched down the cat, shot to rags; and in her stomach he found his thermometer.

She'd ate it on her way up, and it stood at eleven hundred degrees, so old--" "No thermometer ever stood at such a figure as that," exclaimed Mrs.
Fogg.
"Oh, well," shouted Mr.Fogg, indignantly, "if you think you can tell the story better than I can, why don't you tell it?
You're enough to worry the life out of a man." Then Fogg slammed the door and went out, and I left.