LADY VICTORIA DISAPPEARS
Lady Victoria disappointed us quite as much as she amazed and mystified
us. Mindful of the cat’s value, as given in Mrs. Kepple’s letter, we
had expected something classy; a high-toned cat, as it were. But here
was a common yellow cat.
Scoop turned from the box with a disgusted look.
“If you were to give me my choice,” said he, “I’d take the five hundred
dollars.”
“You and me both,” said Red.
Peg was squinting into the box.
“The only classy thing about this cat is her copper collar,” he put in.
My attention thus drawn to the cat’s collar, I noticed that it was
copper, as Peg said, and apparently brand new.
“A two-cent cat,” laughed Red, “dressed up in a five-hundred-dollar
collar.”
“The collar isn’t made of gold and diamonds,” I put in.
“Of course not,” said Scoop. “You can buy a collar like that in any
harness store for seventy-five cents.”
So completely did Lady Victoria and the copper collar hold our
attention that we failed to take note of the fact that three more
crates of cats had arrived on the same train that brought Mrs. Kepple’s
five-hundred-dollar cat. When the baggage man shoved the cats at us we
felt sort of weak in the knees.
Scoop touched me on the arm.
“Jerry,” said he, “you better go to the brickyard and borrow your pa’s
dump cart.”
“All right,” I agreed.
“While you and Red and Peg are carting the cats to the old mill,” he
added, “I’ll skin down the street to the Western Union office and send
a telegram to the _Chicago Tribune_ ordering them to discontinue the
ad about the feline rest farm. I’ll have to bust the ten-dollar bill
to pay for the message, but if we don’t send the telegram we’re likely
to find ourselves with five hundred more cats wished onto us. This
is getting to be too much of a good thing to suit me,” he concluded
dismally, scowling at the crated cats.
The rest of us agreed with Scoop that he couldn’t send the telegram to
the _Chicago Tribune_ any too soon. What we would do if more cats came
in no one could imagine.
When we uncrated the cats that arrived that morning we counted
twenty-three. Already we had one hundred and twenty-seven in the
numbered boxes, so the new arrivals boosted the total to an even one
hundred and fifty.
Though it was hard for us to believe that a plain-looking cat like Lady
Victoria could be worth five hundred dollars, we nevertheless used
special care in handling her. She was given one of the larger boxes and
provided with a carpet roll for a bed. Acting the monkey, Red even put
a hook on the side of her box and told us it was for her tooth brush.
Peg said we should get her a powder puff. This fun helped to cheer us
up.
The traps were baited that morning and set in likely places in the
lower part of the old mill and in the brickyard barn. We were in hopes
that we would catch a rat or a mouse in each trap. This would help a
lot.
There was plenty for us to do. If you think it’s a snap to feed one
hundred and fifty cats, just try it. Of course we got some help from
the kids who hung around. Even the Stricker cousins came snooping that
afternoon to see what we were doing. We chased them away. Then they
fired rocks at the old mill from the top of the hill. Every time a rock
hit the roof the cats yowled like they were being killed.
When evening came we sat around and talked in a dispirited way. There
was a general lack of enthusiasm. As yet we were unwilling to give up
the cat farm; but, as Peg pointed out, this might become necessary and
we ought accordingly to shape our plans for getting rid of the cats. We
knew he was talking sense. But no one came forward with a suggestion
worthy of consideration, and that is what put a sober feeling into us.
Mrs. Maloney came over about eight-thirty to see how we were getting
along. She brought us a cherry pie. It was very welcome. As she was
leaving for home she reminded us to come over in the morning and get
some more milk for the cats.
“An’ maybe I’ll have some cookies for ye,” she added. Mrs. Maloney’s
all right.
The moon came up at nine o’clock, a big white disc in the eastern sky
where the Tutter slaughter house lifts its roof on Knob Hill. It was
a very beautiful sight. Thirty minutes later we turned in, Peg and I
sleeping in separate cots while Red and Scoop shared the big cot we had
fixed up for the professor. An hour passed. I found it hard to get
to sleep, as the moonlight came through a window and fell on my face.
Without the mill the world of living things seemed to expire into a
tomb of silence. Canal frogs that croaked lustily in the gray dusk of
early evening were now asleep in their muddy beds. The katydid chorus
had disbanded. Through the open window I could see the trees that grew
on the hillside, but the leaves had tired of the day’s adventures and
rested with closed and unobserving eyes. It was a peachy night. Once
I got up from my cot and went to the window. The shadows beneath the
trees seemed possessed of goblin-like shapes. A creepy feeling came out
of the night and touched me. Then I laughed at my vague fears and went
back to bed. The others were asleep. Scoop was snoring. I counted a few
hundred hurtling sheep and shortly joined my companions in the land of
dreams.
I don’t know how long I slept. Maybe not more than half an hour.
Suddenly I found myself sitting upright in bed. In a dazed way I
realized something was wrong. The cats in the adjoining room were
yowling and spitting. I could hear barking dogs and the low tones of
tittering voices.
By this time the other fellows were awake.
“Somebody’s got their dogs in there lettin’ ’em chew up our cats,”
Scoop cried, springing to his feet.
The noise increased to a din. We could not doubt that a wild battle was
in progress between our cats and a number of unknown dogs. Then I heard
a giggle and a rock whizzed through the open window, narrowly missing
my head.
“It’s the Stricker gang,” I cried, and the fear that had gripped me
went down under a flood of anger. “It’s just like them,” I added
bitterly, “to come sneaking around here after dark with a lot of dogs
to try and bust up our cat farm.”
“We’ll chase ’em out of here,” cried Peg. “Everybody grab a club. Take
a board--anything. All fixed? Atta boy! Come on, gang.”
He opened the connecting door. Four big dogs were bounding about the
outer room, tipping over the cat boxes and clawing at the slats.
Several of the cats had escaped and were clinging to the posts that
supported the roof beams.
Peg raised his club and dashed forward. The Stricker cousins and the
other members of the Zulutown gang were just inside the door. When they
saw us they gave a jeering shout and ran away. Out through the open
door we chased the dogs. I gave one a good whack with my club. He let
out a fearful yelp. I was glad I hit him. Only I wished it was Bid
Stricker I was hitting instead of his dog. We didn’t try to follow the
Strickers. We knew we couldn’t find them in the shadows that lay heavy
and black beneath the surrounding trees. When they were gone from sight
and the dogs had been chased away we returned to the mill to see how
much damage had been done.
“Just wait,” Scoop declared, when we were putting the cat boxes to
rights. “We’ll make the Stricker gang pay dear for this night’s work.”
“You bet your sweet life,” growled Peg, nodding his head.
“The only reason they got the upper hand of us to-night,” continued
Scoop, “was because they caught us unprepared. To-morrow night we’ll
lay for them.”
“I doubt if they’ve got nerve enough to come back,” said Peg.
“You never can tell,” returned Scoop. “Anyway, we’ll be on guard. If
they do come back we’ll give them a trimming they won’t forget for a
few weeks. Um---- Leave it to me, fellows. I’ll think up some kind of a
scheme for trapping ’em.”
We corrected the disorder as best we could, repairing the broken boxes
and putting them in their proper places. Then we caught the cats that
were loose in the room. I was happy under the thought that our job was
almost completed when suddenly Scoop let out a screech that sent my
heart skidding into my throat. I wheeled to find him dumbly pointing
to Lady Victoria’s box. It was empty! In the fracas the box had been
tipped over and the five-hundred-dollar, rose-colored cat had escaped
into the night or had been carried away by the Stricker gang.
When I thought of what the loss of the cat meant to us I wasn’t
surprised that Scoop’s voice was filled with dismay.