WILLIAM AND THE WHITE CAT
WILLIAM had before now met the strange species of male who succumbed to
the charms of his elder sister. William never could think what people
saw in Ethel. Red hair and blue eyes and a silly little voice.... Some
people (thought William) might call her pretty--but, Crumbs, what a
temper!--making a fuss if his dog Jumble chawed up any of her old
things, or if he jus' borrowed her bicycle, or if his pet rats got
loose in her room.
She didn't even like interesting things like pistols and rabbits and
insects. Girls were bad enough when they were at school, thought
William, but they were heaps worse when they grew up.
The female sex was an entire mystery to William. Except in the case
of his mother, he could see no reason for their existence. Yet he
grudgingly admitted to himself that Ethel's admirers had not been
useless to him. There was Mr. French, who had given him his first
couple of white rats, there was Mr. Drew, who had showered rare
postage-stamps upon him, there was Mr. Loughton, who had nervously
pressed sixpence into his hand whenever they met....
But Mr. Romford was different. He had a strange idea that William had
no influence with his elder sister. This happened to be true, but
that made it none the less annoying to William. He thought it only
right that any young man who was interested in Ethel should ensure his
(William's) sympathy by practical means. Mr. Romford treated him as if
he did not exist. William resented this very much.
"Wot's he _come_ for?" he said, indignantly. "He doesn't take no
interest in Jumble, nor the rats, nor the tool-shed, nor the bridge wot
I'm making over the stream, nor _me_. Wot's he come for?" he demanded
of his assembled family.
They all replied to him.
Ethel said, coldly:
"Don't talk about things that aren't your business."
His mother said:
"William, I wish something could be done about your hair. It _never_
looks tidy!"
His father said:
"That reminds me, William, you'd better go and weed your garden. It's
in a disgraceful state."
William went slowly to the door.
"Mr. Romford's going to give me a Persian cat for a Christmas present,"
Ethel went on to her mother.
William stopped.
"Wot about Jumble?" he said, indignantly. "Wot about Jumble with an ole
cat about the place? Wot about my rats? How d'you think they'll like
an ole cat about the place? My rats 've got as much right to live 's
an ole cat, you'd think, wun't you? My rats an' poor ole Jumble came
here first, I _think_--I _think_ they did, considering that the ole cat
hasn't come yet. You'd think that Jumble an' the poor old rats deserved
a _bit_ of peace...."
"Go and give your hair a good brushing, William," said his mother.
"Take every one of those weeds up. You can't have touched it for
weeks," said his father.
"You aren't the only person in the world who can keep animals," said
Ethel.
"A lot of int'rest you take in animals, don't you?--in _real_ animals."
William exploded bitterly. "A lot of int'rest you take in my insecks
an' rats an' things, don't you? I mus' say you take a lot of int'rest
in them," he went on in heavy sarcasm.
"Cats! Who'd call cats an animal? They aren't int'restin', are they?
Who ever found cats int'restin'? They don't follow you like dogs, do
they? They haven't int'restin' habits like insecks--oh, I mus' say
they're very int'restin'!"
He saw Ethel and his mother gathering breath to speak. His father had
retired behind a paper.
He hastily went out, shutting the door firmly behind him.
"_Cats!_" he remarked, contemptuously, to the empty hall.
William was walking slowly along the road, with his hands in his
pockets, whistling. He felt at peace with all the world. He had a
half-crown in his pocket. It would soon be Christmas. He was going
to have a bicycle for Christmas. Ethel had insisted on his having a
bicycle for Christmas, not for love of William, but because William's
secret experiments with her bicycle had such dire results.
"He'll only smash it up, if he has one, dear," his mother had said.
"Well, he'll only smash up mine, if he doesn't," Ethel had replied.
So William was going to have a bicycle and a mouth-organ and
pocket-compass, in addition, of course, to the strange things
always sent as presents by distant aunts and uncles. Those did not
count--pencil-boxes, and story-books about curious, exemplary boys, and
boxes of crayons and pens and things. They didn't count.
Anyway, a bicycle was a bicycle. He wanted to be able to take a bicycle
right to pieces and put it together again. He'd never been able to have
a really good try at Ethel's. She made such a fuss. He was thinking
about this, with a faint smile on his face, when he observed a man
coming along with a covered basket in his hands. It was Mr. Romford.
William looked at him coldly. He had no hopes of a Christmas present
from Mr. Romford. But Mr. Romford stopped.
"Are you going home, William?" he asked.
"Yes," said William ungraciously.
"Would you mind taking this to your sister? It's a present I am giving
her for Christmas. Don't open the lid. It's a very valuable white cat."
William took it. Something was moving about inside.
"It's in a highly nervous state," went on the donor; "I shouldn't look
at it if I were you."
"All right," said William, coldly.
William walked on down the road. His smile had gone. He no longer
thought about Christmas. He swung the basket carelessly as he walked.
An infuriated scratching and snarling came from inside. William swung
it still more carelessly.
"I'm not a cat-carrier," he muttered, indignantly. "Makin' me into a
cat-carrier for him!"
He sighted Ginger, his ever faithful friend and ally, in the distance,
and hailed him with a piercing whistle. Ginger came to him.
"What d'you think's in here?" queried William.
"Dunno!"
"An ole cat! An' whose d'you think it is?"
"Dunno!"
"Well, a man's givin' it to my sister. An' how much d'you think he's
givin' me for takin' it?"
"Dunno!"
"_Nothin'!_" said William, bitterly. "Nothin'. Makin' a cat-carrier of
me for nothin'."
"Listen at it!" said Ginger, enraptured.
"It's been carryin' on something dreadful ever since I got it," said
William. "It's a beautiful, nice quiet cat, isn't it? It'll be nice for
Jumble an' those poor ole rats when this sort of wild thing gets loose,
won't it? It'll be nice for them, then."
Sarcasm was a new weapon of William's, and as yet his use of it was
heavy.
"Let's have a look at it," said Ginger.
"Oh, yes," said William. "It's all right for you. You aren't going to
have looks at it all the res' of your life. You aren't going to have
your life an' the lives of your dog an' rats made a misery by it for
the rest of your life. I don't feel inclined to waste time lookin' at
it. Listenin' at its carryin' on's enough for me _jus'_ at present.
You've not been made a cat-carrier for nothing. You don't feel like I
do about it."
"Let me jus' peep, William."
"All right, if you take any int'rest in it. I don't. I should think
there's some law about givin' wil' animals for presents. There oughter
be. Human life oughter be sacreder than wot it seems to be to him.
All right. Look at it. Don't blame me if it leaves its mark on you
for life. It's a nice, quiet-tempered sort of cat. Oh, yes! Very!" he
laughed, sarcastically.
Ginger cautiously opened the basket top a fraction of an inch.
A small, white paw shot out. Ginger closed it hastily and sucked his
hand with an expression of agony on his face.
"Golly!" he ejaculated.
"There!" said William, triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you? It'll prob'ly
give you blood-poisoning. All I hope is, if you die of it, he'll get
hung. He oughter be--sendin' wild cats without tamin' them first."
Ginger assumed a heroic expression.
"It wasn't much of a scratch. Let's have another look."
He opened the lid of the basket again. Both William and Ginger
disclaimed responsibility for what followed. William said he wasn't
touching it, and Ginger said that he only opened it a bit and he didn't
know that the creature was mad--not really mad--not right off its
head like that. Anyway, a white ball of fury hurled itself out of the
basket, dealt William a long scratch across his cheek, nearly tore off
Ginger's ear, and disappeared over the nearest wall.
"Well," said William, coldly. "What you going to do now?"
"_Me?_" said Ginger.
"Yes. Jus' tell me how you're going to _re_place a valu'ble cat wot
you've just let loose. Jus' tell me wot I'm goin' to do. Am I going
home to say I've got a valu'ble cat, in a highly nervous state, and
then them find there's nothing in the basket but jus' air? This is all
I get for being his cat-carrier! Well, you let it loose, an' you've got
to _re_place it. That's sense, isn't it? I was jus' quietly carryin' a
valu'ble cat, in a highly nervous state, down the road, an' you come
along an' let it loose. Well, wot you goin' to do?"
"Well, wot can I do?" said Ginger, helplessly. "I din't know the thing
was a cat lunatick, did I? It oughter be in a cat asylum. You never
told me you was carryin' a wild cat or a mad cat. You jus' said a cat.
You----"
But the white ball of fury had appeared again, flying over the wall
and down the road at full speed. William grasped his empty basket, and
started after it.
"Come on!" he shouted, as he ran. "Come on! Catch it! Catch it!"
They raced down the road after the flying white ball--first the cat,
then William, then Ginger--through a garden, leaving a cursing gardener
in their rear--in and out of a house, leaving its irate owner ringing
up the police--first the cat, then William, then Ginger, breathless and
afire with the chase.
Along a wall, the cat on the top and William and Ginger at the foot.
They nearly got her then. She fell into a rain-tub in a private garden
at the foot of the wall, but scrambled out and fled again, dripping
and grimy ... through a muddy ditch ... the ball of fury was now, not
white, but a dingy grey ... and suddenly right into a tabby cat with a
broken ear, who was washing its face by the roadside. There was a whirl
of claws and flying fur....
"Get it now!" yelled William. "Get it while they're fighting."
Ginger seized the basket and effected the capture neatly, but not
without a dozen or so more scratches. They fastened up the basket and
resumed their journey.
[Illustration: THE WHITE CAT RAN SUDDENLY INTO A TABBY CAT WITH A
BROKEN EAR. THERE WAS A WHIRL OF FURY. "GET IT NOW!" YELLED WILLIAM.
"GET IT WHILE THEY'RE FIGHTING!"]
"Well, you can't say I din't do that, can you?" said Ginger,
vaingloriously. "You can't say I din't do that pretty neatly! You can't
say you helped much there. I bet if _you'd_ got all these scratches
there'd be some sort of a fuss!"
"Yes, and who let it loose? That's all I'm asking. Who let it loose?...
Oh, come on! Let's get it home. I'm about sick of it. I'm about sick
of being his cat-carrier!"
They walked along in silence for a bit.
"Seems a bit quieter, doesn't it?" said Ginger.
"Speck it knows now it's no use makin' a fuss. Speck it din't quite
know before wot sort of cat-catchers we was."
"Let's have another look at it, William!"
"Oh, yes, an' go lettin' it loose all over the place again. Oh, yes,
do!"
"It's quiet now. It'll not mind me lookin'. I want to see if it's got
very dirty."
William weakened.
"I'll have a look at it this time," he said, "then p'raps it won't get
loose all over the place!"
Cautiously he opened the basket lid. Over his face came a look of
horror. It faded, leaving it grim and scornful.
"Oh, yes, you did it," he said, with heavy sarcasm. "You did it pretty
neatly, as you said you did. Oh, yes, I din't help much. Oh, yes, you
caught it."
He opened the basket wider. A friendly tabby, with a broken ear,
regarded them and gave a tentative purr.
"Oh, yes, you caught it all right, but you caught the _wrong_ one!"
Ginger looked at it, aghast, speechless. Then he pulled himself
together.
"Well, we'll have to pretend that it's the one."
"Oh, yes," said William. "She'll believe it's a valu'ble white cat,
in a highly nervous state, won't she? Oh, yes, she's quite likely to
believe that!"
They sat down by the roadside and stared at each other
hopelessly. The tabby showed no signs of wishing to leave them,
though, in their despair, they had left the basket open.
"We--might do something to make it nervous," suggested Ginger, feebly.
He began to make strange noises of obviously hostile and insulting
intent to the cat. The cat began to purr. William watched with cold
scorn.
"Oh, yes, and then do somethin' to make it valu'ble, an' then do
somethin' to make it white!"
They were both strangely silent at this last suggestion. The
hopelessness of their countenances seemed to clear.
"It mightn't stay on, of course," said William, "but it might make it
look all right for a bit."
"Where can we get some?" asked Ginger, cryptically.
"P'raps old Lawkins has some," said William. "You can pay for it."
They carefully replaced the tabby cat in the basket and went towards
the village shop.
William entered and stated his needs.
"White paint?" said the shopman. "I think so. I think so. For iron
work?"
"Well," admitted William, "it's really for fur--I mean----" he
corrected himself hastily, "for somethin'--for somethin' a bit softer
than iron."
"For wood?" suggested the old man.
"I 'speck that'd do," said William, "and a brush too, please."
They retired to a deserted field to perform the delicate task.
William took the brush in one hand and put down the paint-pot on the
grass by his feet. Then he took out the cat.
"Now, _I'm_ going to do this," he explained "because I want it done
prop'ly. I don't want this cat let loose all over the place."
He held the cat in one hand and drew a bold line of white paint down
its back. The next moment he was sucking a deep, red scratch on either
hand, and a white-flecked tabby cat was disappearing in the distance.
"You did that all right, din't you?" said Ginger, not without
satisfaction.
William rose wearily, picking up the empty basket. He was too
disheartened even to save what was left of the paint.
"Oh, let's leave it and go home," said Ginger.
"Oh, yes, that's all right," burst out William. "It's all right for
_you_. You've not to go home and say you've lost a valu'ble white cat,
in a highly nervous state, wot someone was giving to Ethel."
"Well, what can I do?" snapped Ginger.
"You can perduce some sort of a cat," said William firmly. "That's all
I say. You let the first one loose all over the place, and you can
perduce another. That's all I say. I'm not going home without some sort
of a cat. I don't mind about it bein' valu'ble, or white, or nervous;
but I must go home with some sort of a cat. All I ask you is to perduce
some sort of a cat."
"I wish you'd stop saying that," said Ginger, irritably.
"Well, perduce one an' I will," said William, imperturbably.
"There ought to be lots of cats about," said Ginger. "Let's go to the
road again."
They went down the village street. Only one cat was to be seen. William
and Ginger approached it cautiously.
"Pretty pussy!" said William, hoarsely.
"Puss, puss, puss!" said Ginger, in honeyed accents.
"Pretty pussy! Pretty pussy! an' I feel more like murderin' it," said
William.
The cat sidled up to them.
William picked it up, stroking it affectionately with an expression of
intense hatred on his face.
"Open the basket, Ginger, quickly."
"Mother!" came a shrill voice in his rear. "Boys is stealin' our cat!"
William dropped the cat and fled down the road, followed by a
broomstick, flung after him by the cat's owner, and a stone thrown by
the child. The extent to which William's spirit had been broken by his
troubles is shown by the fact that he endured these outrages without
retaliation.
When it was safe to relax his speed, he turned to Ginger.
"I'll try one more cat," he said, "and that's all. I've done with cats
after that."
They found one more cat. It responded to William's oily flattering. It
deigned to be taken up in his arms and stroked.
It was not till it was almost lowered into the basket that it showed
the falseness of its friendliness. Its wildness then surpassed even the
wildest of the first occupant of the fateful basket.
"Well, I've done with cats," said William solemnly, withdrawing his
hand from his mouth and watching the furry, flying creature in the
distance. "I've done with cats. If they was to come in crowds now,
_askin'_ to be put in the basket, I wun't touch them. I've _done_ with
cats. I'll feel sick whenever I see a cat for the rest of my life."
A boy came down the road, his pockets bulging with something that moved.
"What's that?" said William, without interest or spirit.
The boy took out a small furry animal.
"Ferrit. Me Dad catches rabbits with 'um! You've gotter be careful 'ow
you 'olds 'em."
"Will you sell it?" asked William sadly, taking out his half-crown.
"It's not a cat," said Ginger, wearily.
But William had not lost his optimism.
"Some folks don't know much about animals," he said, hopefully. "They
might think it was a cat!"
William's father and mother and sister were in the morning-room when he
entered with his basket. He held it out to Ethel.
"There's your cat," he said.
"From Mr. Romford?"
"Yes," said William, gloomily.
She opened the lid a fraction, then shut it in silence. She looked
mystified.
"It isn't a cat!"
William's face was expressionless.
"All I can say is wot he told me," he said in a monotonous voice. "He
said it was a valu'ble white cat, in a highly nervous state."
"_This?_"
"It may have got a bit mixed up on the way, but that's what he said. He
said that it was a valu'ble white cat, in a highly nervous state."
"You needn't keep on saying that," said Ethel, irritably.
"It's wot he said," said William, doggedly. "He said distinctly that it
was a valu'ble white cat, in a----"
"Be _quiet_, William!"
[Illustration: "BE QUIET, WILLIAM," SAID WILLIAM'S SISTER. WILLIAM'S
FATHER LIFTED THE LID AND PEERED IN. SUDDENLY HE WITHDREW HIS FINGER
WITH A YELL OF PAIN.]
William's father came across the room and held the lid open, peering
in. Suddenly he withdrew his finger with a yell of pain and rushed from
the room, uttering muffled curses.
"Do you mean to say, William," said Mrs. Brown, "that Mr. Romford sent
Ethel that--whatever it is?"
"All I can say is wot he told me," said William. "He said it was a
valu'ble----"
"Mother, if William says that once more I shall go mad."
William came across to it curiously.
"Let's have a look at it," he said. "Oo--ow--_ow!_ It's bit me!"
It was out of the basket suddenly and across the room. Ethel gave
a piercing scream. It met Jumble in the hall, and a mad chase
ensued--scampering down the hall--round the drawing-room--the crashing
of a small table and all its ornaments--the ferocious growling of
Jumble--then silence.
"I can't stand much more of this," said Mrs. Brown. "I don't know
what's the matter, or what the animal is, or whether it's killed Jumble
or Jumble's killed it--but how _any_ man could send ... for a Christmas
present, too.... William your finger's bleeding, and it's covered with
dirt. You'd better go and wash it."
"Yes, mother," said William meekly.
Then he saw a man coming up the drive carrying a dirty, bedraggled
white cat.
"Look!" he said in an awe-struck voice, "That's him."
"It's Mr. Romford," said Ethel.
She went out into the hall. The conversation was distinctly audible.
"How d'you do, Miss Brown! I'm afraid there's been some little
accident. I've----"
"Thank you very much," said Ethel, coldly. "But we don't want any more
_cats_ here."
"I'm afraid there's been a mis----"
"The kindest thing to think, Mr. Romford," said Ethel, "is that you
hadn't the least idea what you were doing."
"There's been a mis----"
"My father and my poor little brother have been very badly injured.
These things often prove fatal."
"There's been a mis----"
"My mother is terribly upset by it. You must excuse me if----"
"I can explain, Miss Brown----"
"I dare say you can. You must excuse me. Good-bye."
She shut the door and returned to the morning-room.
"Go and wash your hands, William," said Mrs. Brown.
William was watching Mr. Romford's crestfallen departure. His
indignation returned.
"Makin' me his cat-carrier!" he muttered.
"William, will you go?"
"An' how much do you think he gave me for bringing it?"
"I've no idea, and if once the dirt gets right into a bite like
that----"
"_Nothin'_," said William, dramatically, as he turned to the door.