THE "SPOTTED LEOPARD."
Kitty was miserable that night. An Irish girl has always her ups and
downs. She is either up in the seventh heaven of bliss, or she is down
almost below the ordinary earth in misery. Kitty was suffering from an
intense revulsion of spirits. Laurie was in trouble. He was the best
brother in all the world; he was Kitty's idol. There never was anybody
more reckless, more passionate, more dare-devil than Laurie Malone; and
Kitty had always been with him heart and soul, always from the time that
they had been little tots together. And now Laurie was in danger. The
best broth of a boy might be condemned to go to a school in England; he
might be condemned to the misery, the want of freedom, which she was now
enduring. Oh, she must save him at any risk. She could do so. She could
send him ten pounds; she would have exactly that sum in her possession
if only Elma returned the eight which she had lent her. It did not occur
to Kitty as at all difficult for Elma to return the money. She had never
yet know money difficulties herself; and when Elma had asked for the
loan of it she imagined that she could have it back at any time. If this
was not the case it would not greatly matter; but now, of course,
Laurie's letter altered the complexion of everything.
Kitty was too unsettled and anxious to stay quiet for a single moment.
She fidgeted Alice, who was busily engaged preparing her lessons for the
following day.
"Kitty," she said, when that erratic young person had jumped up to lean
her body half out of the window for the twentieth time, "if you cannot
sit still yourself, you ought to have some thought for me. What am I to
do if you keep rushing to the window and back again to your seat every
couple of minutes?"
"I am looking for Elma," said Kitty.
"For Elma Lewis? Do you expect her to-night?"
"Yes, and on a matter of vital importance. Oh, don't talk to me please,
Alice. If she doesn't come soon, I believe my heart will burst."
"That is exactly like one of your exaggerated statements," said Alice.
"People's hearts don't burst. Oh, if you only would stay quiet."
"I believe that's herself turning round the corner," cried Kitty,
bending out so far now that it was a wonder she was not overbalanced.
"Really, Kitty, you make my heart stand still," said Alice. "You will
fall out if you are not careful. Oh, for goodness' sake, don't stoop out
any further."
"It's not her," said Kitty, popping in her head. "I was only stooping
far enough to catch a glimpse of her boots. Elma always wears such
horrid shabby boots; and her feet are too large. By the way, Alice, what
do you think of these shoes; do you like them with straps across, and
little rosettes?"
"I don't like anything in the way of dress at the present moment," said
Alice. "I want quiet and peace. It is impossible for me to do anything
while you fidget as you do."
Kitty jumped with a bang into the nearest chair; opened a novel, and
tried to read it upside down.
"If she isn't in time I won't be able to send the letter to-night and
then--Alice, do you mind my interrupting you for a moment? What time
does the last post go?"
"The pillar outside the gate is cleared at twelve," said Alice.
"It is only nine now. You don't happen to be able to tell me when a
letter, cleared at twelve, would reach Castle Malone?"
"I cannot tell you. Forgive me, Kitty, I cannot stay in the room any
longer. I am going to our bedroom."
Alice gathered up her books, and swept out of tho room. When she reached
the bedroom she shut and locked the door.
Kitty was now left alone in the drawing-room, for Mr. and Mrs. Denvers
were spending the evening out. She was glad of this, as she could lean
as far out of the window as she dared, and there was no one to shout at
her. She could also pace up and down the room, which she presently did
with the rapidity and eagerness of a young tigress.
Oh, to be back again at Castle Malone! What was Laurie doing now?
Suppose Paddy Wheel-about really told her father about Laurie!
Squire Malone was extremely kind to Kitty; there was no saying what he
would not do for Kitty were she in trouble; but Laurie and Pat were
different matters. He had fits of severity-with them--only fits, mind
you; for he was too Irish in his character, too generous-hearted, ever
to keep his anger long; but in these fits he often made strange
resolves, and when these resolves were made, as a rule, he carried them
out. He was too proud to change his mind. If once he decided that the
boys were to go to school to England, to school they must go--to
"prison," Kitty termed it. Tears rose in her bright eyes, they rolled
down her cheeks. Oh, why was not Elma in time? How dreadful, how
dreadful if she (Kitty) missed the twelve-o'clock post! She was in this
state of fret and worry, when Fred entered the room. Fred hated all
girls, with the exception of Kitty Malone. He could not be said by this
time to hate her, for he admired her very much indeed. The moment she
saw him she called out to him to come in.
"Ah, then, Fred, it is you. Come along in," she cried; "you'll be a
drain of a comfort--not much, but still a drain. Oh, Fred, it's I who am
in the trouble entirely. You wouldn't think it to look at me, but I am."
"Dear me, Kitty I am sorry," said Fred. "What's up? Has Alice been
teasing you as usual?"
"Oh, bother Alice! as if I minded her little pinpricks. It's that
darling Laurie in Ireland. He has got into trouble, the broth of a boy
that he is."
She then related what had occurred in connection with Paddy
Wheel-about's coat.
"And the poor old coat is in the bottom of the lake," she added, "and
the lake is feet deep in mud just at the bottom, and anything that falls
with a weight into it would sink and sink. Oh, they will never find the
coat till the day of judgment, and it full of beautiful money! And Paddy
Wheel-about has lost the little grain of sense he ever possessed, and
Laurie will be sent to one of those prisons."
"To prison?" cried Fred; "but surely your father--"
"Oh, I mean a school--it's all the same. Don't interrupt me, Fred. When
my mind is full I must rattle off the speech somehow."
"And he wants you to send him ten pounds?"
"Yes."
"And have you got ten pounds to send him?"
"To be sure I have--I have ten pounds ten. I am an awful girl for
spending money. I bought a whole pound's worth of chocolate yesterday. I
only wish I had the money now instead; but poor little Agnes Moore and
the other girls in my class, they do love chocolate, and they quite seem
to fatten them. I bought the chocolates, and I have got ten shillings in
my pocket."
"But you showed me a whole purseful of gold the other day," said Fred.
"Well, it's gone, Fred, and it isn't gone; but I know who could help me
to find it if I could catch a sight of her."
"And who is that?" asked Fred.
"Elma Lewis."
"Elma Lewis! Do you like her?"
"I can't say that I like her--no I don't think I do; but she would help
me, if I could only get to see her."
"Then, do you want me to go to her house and tell her so?"
"Why, Fred, that's a splendid idea. You are a jewel, a darling, a duck!
Let me fetch my hat, and you and I will go together."
"But I don't know my lessons yet. It is that beastly German. I have
pages to translate. It is such rot."
"Oh, what does the German matter? Think of the misery poor Laurie is in.
Just stay where you are, Fred; I'll be back in a minute."
Kitty dashed upstairs, two or three steps at a time, and thundered a
loud tattoo on the locked door of Alice's bedroom.
"You cannot come in, whoever you are," cried Alice from within.
"Yes, but I must, Alice, aroon; let me in, jewel that you are. I want my
hat, and gloves and jacket, nothing else. Do, for goodness' sake, let me
in, Alice, asthore!"
But Alice was obdurate. Once let Kitty in, she would never be able to
get rid of her again, and her lessons must be learned. They were
specially difficult and required all her attention.
"Then if you won't," cried Kitty, whose quick temper was beginning to
rise, "at least fling the things out of the window."
"You know you must not go out at this hour."
"If you won't give them to me," said Kitty, "I'll go without them."
"You are not to have them; you are not to go out. It isn't right,"
called Alice, who felt strong in the cause of virtue.
Kitty rattled violently on the handle for a moment longer, and then
rushed downstairs again to where Fred was waiting.
"I can't get my hat," she said; "but it doesn't matter. I'll go as I
am."
Now Kitty's dress was more picturesque than suitable. She had on a
crimson blouse and a skirt bedizened with many ribbons and frills. The
blouse had only elbow sleeves and was cut rather low in the neck.
Nothing could be more becoming to the dancing eyes, the rose-bloom
cheeks, the head of dark hair.
"Lend me a cap of yours, Fred, there's a darling," called Kitty, "and
we'll be off. Alice is in one of her tantrums, and she won't let me into
our room nor give me my hat and jacket. If your mother were there it
would be all right."
Fred only thought that Kitty looked remarkably pretty. It did not occur
to him as at all queer that she should want to walk a couple of miles in
this erratic dress. He went downstairs, accommodated her with a small
cap which bore the college coat of arms in front, and the two were soon
hurrying along the roads at a rapid rate in the direction of Elma's
house.
There were two ways to Elma's home. One way was by crossing a wide
common, cutting off a certain corner, walking down a by-street, and so,
by a series of short cuts, reaching Constantine Road. By the other and
slightly longer way you had to pass an open thoroughfare in the center
of which blazed, with its shining lights and its gay exterior, a large
public-house called the "Spotted Leopard." Now the "Spotted Leopard" was
by no means a nice place to pass at night. Men considerably the worse
for drink were apt to linger about the doors. Gossiping and idle fellows
would congregate just by this special corner, ready to take up any bit
of fun or nonsense which might be coming, meaning no special mischief,
but being decidedly disagreeable to meet at night.
Fred was as careless a schoolboy as could be found in the length and
breadth of Great Britain; Kitty was equally reckless, perhaps more so,
if that were possible. That special evening Fred decided that they would
not take the short cut across the common.
"A beastly lonely place at this hour of night," he said, "and the road
is so uneven and there are no lamps. We'll go round by the 'Spotted
Leopard'. You don't mind, do you, Kit?"
"Never a bit," answered Kitty. "Come along, Fred; stretch your legs. I
must get to see Elma Lewis to-night as quickly as possible."
Fred walked fast, and Kitty laughed and talked and danced by his side.
Now that she was in action she forgot her fears; her volatile spirits
rose once again to a height. She entertained Fred with numerous stories
relating to Paddy Wheel-about, Laurie, and Pat, and invited him to come
to Castle Malone for the whole of the summer holidays, assuring him that
the fishing would be splendid, the cycling superb, the riding such as
would make your eyes water, and the shooting and the hunting when that
season began all that could stimulate the least ambitious of boys. And
when Kitty spoke she was apt to illustrate her words, dancing now in
front of her companion, now keeping by his side, now lingering a little
behind him, all the time gesticulating with eyes and lips and gay
motions. She was like a restive young colt--beautiful, excitable. The
boy felt that he had never had such a charming companion before.
All went well, and Kitty's bizarre dress, her hair tossed wildly over
her head and hanging partly down her shoulders, her little feet encased
in the shoes with the rosettes and steel buckles, the frills on her gay
skirt, her bare arms, failed to attract any special attention. But when
they got into the neighborhood of the "Spotted Leopard," a blaze of
light fell full across her. She was a remarkable enough figure to be out
at this hour, and when joined to the somewhat peculiar spectacle, the
wild-looking boys--for they were little more--who had congregated round
this special corner, saw the college cap on her head, they made a rush
forward and the next moment had surrounded her.
They began to laugh and to make facetious remarks. It was all done in a
second. Kitty stood stock still as if some one had shot her. He gay
manner ceased on the instant, she drew herself erect, and the next
moment aimed a blow straight from the shoulder at the nearest of the
men, knocking him over as completely as though he had been a ninepin;
then taking hold of Fred's arm--who had come to her rescue, although the
poor lad had not the least idea what to do--marched away, her face as
crimson as her gay silk blouse.
"Well, Kitty, you did that splendidly," he said.
"The impertinent wretches! Don't speak to me about them," answered
Kitty. But just then she came face to face with a more serious
obstacle. This was no less a person than Miss Worrick herself.
Now if there was a prim mistress in the whole length and breadth of
England, it was Matilda Worrick. She liked girls to be neatly dressed;
she could not bear to see them out at what she called inclement hours.
She would have thought it the height of impropriety for Kitty and Fred
to walk together at such an hour; but when in addition to this Kitty
went out in a dress which Miss Worrick would have thought very
unsuitable for home, when she wore a boy's college cap on her head, and
when she had so far distinguished herself as to have been for a moment
the center of a lot of low noisy, rough men, Miss Worrick felt that the
moment had come for her to interfere. She grasped Kitty Malone firmly by
the arm.
"What are you doing, Miss Malone?" she said. "How dare you be out at
this hour?"
"How dare you interfere?" answered Kitty, who, excited already, could
not for a moment brook Miss Worrick's interference.
"I shall march you straight home," said the mistress. "If Miss Sherrard
knew of this she would expel you from the school. You are a very wicked
girl. Fred Denvers, you can go home or go on with your walk, just as you
like, but I have charge of Miss Malone; she belongs to the Middleton
School, and I must see her home before I go a step further."
Poor Kitty felt staggered.
"I really meant no harm," she said. "I cannot imagine what you are
talking about. I could not get my hat and jacket, and as it was most
important that I should see Elma Lewis, Fred promised to take me to her
house. Please don't ask me to return now with you, Miss Worrick, I
really cannot come."
But Miss Worrick was inexorable. She grasped Kitty very firmly by the
arm, turned abruptly in the direction of home, and walked forward with a
firm step. There was no help for it; Kitty Malone must accompany her.
They soon found themselves back again at the Denvers' house. Mr. and
Mrs. Denvers were out, but Miss Worrick inquired for Alice.
"Ask Miss Alice to come to me immediately," she said to the servant.
The girl looked pityingly at Kitty, who was a prime favorite with her,
and then went away to fulfill her errand.
The instant Alice got this somewhat startling message, she forgot her
lesson, unlocked her bedroom door, and flew downstairs as fast as she
could. Miss Worrick was standing in the center of the drawing-room.
Kitty was leaning up against one of the window-curtains. Kitty's face
was red, her hair was tossed in wild confusion, and her dark eyes seemed
to flash fire.
"Alice," said Miss Worrick, coming straight up to Alice when she
appeared. "I must ask you to take charge of Kitty Malone."
"Why so?" asked Alice in some astonishment.
"Just do what I say. Your father and mother are out. Kitty is not to
return to school to-morrow until she hears from Miss Sherrard. In the
absence of your parents I put her in your charge, Alice. She has behaved
disgracefully, and I shall have the great pain of reporting what I have
just witnessed to our head-mistress to-morrow."
So saying, Miss Worrick walked quickly out of the room and out of the
house.
"Well, thank goodness, she's gone--the old cat!" cried Kitty.
"Now, Kitty what have you done?" said Alice. "Oh, this is terrible!
Fresh scrapes! We seem to live in constant hot water. What is the matter
now, you headstrong and dreadful girl?"
"Nothing is the matter," replied Kitty, "absolutely nothing. It is all a
storm in a teacup. But if any one is to blame you are the one."
"I?" cried Alice. "What next?"
"Well, you are. You would not give me my hat and jacket. I have a nice
plain hat and a jacket to match. I should have put them on if you had
not locked our bedroom door, and prevented my coming into the room,
which is just as much mine as yours. As it was imperative for me to see
Elma Lewis immediately, I asked Fred if he would walk round with me to
her house, and I wore his college cap. When we were passing the 'Spotted
Leopard' a lot of rough, rude boys rushed out and began to make
impertinent remarks about my dress. I just gave one of them a black eye
and knocked him over. The next moment I found myself under the fire of
Miss Worrick's anger."
"And small wonder," said Alice. "Kitty, what is to be done? Before you
came here I thought myself a respectable girl--all we Middleton girls
did; and now for such a fearful thing to happen. Why, it will be all
over the place in the morning. They will talk of it everywhere. Oh,
Kitty, you have disgraced me for ever."
Here Alice burst into tears.
"Good gracious!" cried Kitty, "what are you crying about? I did nothing;
it was the rude men, or boys, or whatever you like to call them, who
were to blame."
"You did nothing, going out in that dress?" cried Alice--"that red
blouse, and your arms bare, and with Fred's college cap on your head. I
should not be a bit surprised if Fred were expelled; he will certainly
get into an awful scrape. Oh dear! oh dear!"
"I cannot imagine what you are talking and crying about," said Kitty.
"But there; I have got a headache, and am going to bed. I suppose there
is no chance of my--Oh, poor Laurie! What a wicked girl Elma Lewis is!"
Kitty rushed up to her room. Not that she was frightened--that was not
her way; but she saw that disagreeable things might be pending. In the
meantime her most anxious thoughts were for Laurie. What would happen if
she could not send him the money by an early post?