GEORGE W. AND MARTHA.
A rattling, banging, clattering sound, like a small army of tin pans on
a rampage, suddenly woke the echoes one still, sultry afternoon. Auntie
Jean thought it was the circus, and sighed as she wondered if they were
going to keep it up long enough to make it worth while for her to leave
her cool room and her afternoon nap, to go and stop them. Grandma heard
it, and supposed it was Cricket, trying some new experiment as a tinware
merchant, and hoped she would soon turn her attention to some different
employment. Cricket heard it, and promptly started for the scene of
action, meeting, in the hall, Eunice and Edna, who came running
down-stairs, as well as the boys, who appeared from the kitchen, where
they had been foraging for a mid-afternoon lunch.
The disturbance came from the front piazza, but when they went out there
nothing, for a moment, was visible, though the same mysterious whacking
and banging went on, under the table.
"What is it?" they all exclaimed, but straightway the question was
solved, for out from under the table-cover backed a half-grown black
kitten, with its head firmly wedged into a tin tomato can. Backing and
scratching, as a cat will when its head is covered, the poor little
thing, evidently half frantic, tumbled up against the chairs and the
side of the house, mewing most frightfully and banging its inconvenient
headdress against the piazza floor.
"You poor little cat! Has some horrid boy been abusing you?" cried
Cricket, making a dive for it, but dropping it, when she caught it, with
equal promptness, as its sharp claws tore her hands. "Why, stop! you
dreadful little thing! How you hurt me!"
"Pick it up, boys," begged Edna, as the cat resumed its backward way.
"Do get that can off. How did any one ever get it on, do you suppose?
Here, kitty! kitty!"
"Curiosity killed a cat, they say," said Will, watching his chance at
it. "I suppose it wanted to see the inside of that can, and now that it
has seen it, it isn't satisfied. There's no suiting some people. There
you are, sir!" and Will, having caught the table-cloth from the table,
sending the magazines and papers in a shower to the floor, threw it
over the poor little black thing, so that, in picking it up, he could
muffle its claws, so that it could not scratch. Its neck was torn a
little, with the sharp, rough edges of the tin can, and a redoubled
chorus of frightened meows greeted his first attempt to remove it.
"Should think a whole orchestra of cats was shut up in here," Will
observed, trying another direction. "Arch, get out your knife, and see
if you can rip up this can a little. Jove, but it's snug! We can
dispense with a little of that music, my fine fellow. There--you--are,"
as Archie, with a final careful twist, drew off the can. Once out of its
tin bondage, the little creature seemed too frightened to move, and
suddenly curled down under the protecting table-cover, to restore its
ruffled fur, with many a piteous mew.
The girls gathered around to pet and soothe it.
"Keep away, girls. Don't touch it yet with your hands. It's so
frightened still it might scratch you. Here, Cricket, take it in the
table-cloth, there. Better give it something to eat. It's a stray cat,
and probably half starved, and that's why it tried to eat tomato cans,
like a goat."
Cricket bore off her charge to the kitchen, where she fed and soothed it
with such good effect that, when she came back, half an hour later, the
little black cat cuddled down on her arm, purring like a teakettle in
spite of its wounded neck.
"Isn't it a dear?" she said, admiringly. "I think grandma will let me
keep it. We haven't any cat in the house since Wallops died, and I love
them."
Grandma was entirely willing that the little waif should be added to the
family, and so it was legally adopted by Cricket, with all sorts of
solemn ceremonies. Then came the naming it, always a serious difficulty.
"I want a very appropriate name," meditated Cricket, aloud.
"The Cat in the Iron Mask," suggested Will.
"Too long. Think of calling all that out when I want him in a hurry."
"Cantankerous," said Archie.
"No, I want a regular name."
"Can-on Farrar, then. That's a regular name, and it's a very appropriate
one."
"I don't like that, either. I want just a plain, common, every-day sort
of name, like George Washington."
"Very well, take George Washington, then. That is very appropriate
indeed. He couldn't tell a lie, and probably your cat can't either."
"Do you think he's dignified enough to be called George Washington!"
asked Cricket, doubtfully, watching the Nameless jump around after his
tail. She had had him for two days now, and he had quite recovered from
his tinny imprisonment. He proved to be a most well-bred and
entertaining little cat, for he came when he was called and went when he
was bid, in orthodox fashion, and made himself entirely at home.
"Probably George was frisky in his youth," said Will. "Especially when
he was courting Martha."
"Then I'll do this: I'll call him George Washington as far as his tail,
and I'll call that Martha, because he runs after it. Come here, George
W., you've run after Martha long enough now. Come here, and be
christened."
[Illustration: FEEDING GEORGE WASHINGTON--"CRICKET BORE OFF HER CHARGE
TO THE KITCHEN"]
And so George Washington he remained to the end of the chapter. He soon
learned his name, and would come flying at the first sound of it. He
proved to be a pet that required considerable attention. He was of an
especially sociable nature, and, if left alone in any room, he would
howl in mournful and prolonged meows, that speedily brought some one to
the rescue. He tagged the girls like a little dog, and would stand on
the shore crying like a child if they went off in the boat and would not
take him. He slept in Cricket's bed at night, and if by any chance he
was shut out when the family went to bed, and the house was locked up,
he would make night hideous with lamentations, to an extent that would
soon bring some one down to let him in.
One day the familiar meow sounded, and Cricket, who was curled up in the
hammock, reading, instantly sprang up.
"There's George W.," for so his name was generally abbreviated, "and
he's shut up somewhere, and I let him out myself only a few minutes ago.
I believe he gets into places through the keyholes, and I don't see why
he doesn't get out through 'em."
But George was not to be found in any of his usual haunts, and his meows
ceasing, Cricket went back to her book. Presently, a prolonged cry was
heard again, and again Cricket started in quest of him. She looked and
called everywhere, but George W. was nowhere to be found, though his
meow, with a quality peculiar to himself, seemed to come from no
particular place, but to pervade the air generally.
"Come and help me find George W.," she called to Eunice and Edna, who
were also on the piazza. "He's mewing dreadfully, and I can't find him."
"He's worse than a baby," said Eunice, unwinding herself from the
comfortable, twisted-up position in the steamer chair, which she loved.
"Couldn't you let him cry a little while and give him a lesson?"
"I wouldn't mind giving _him_ a lesson, but I'm afraid he'd give me one
in patience," returned Cricket, laughing. "I'm sure I don't want to
listen to that music long. There, he's stopped again, now."
But five minutes later, George W. renewed his complaints.
"Now I'm going to let him cry!" said Cricket, returning in despair from
another search. So down she sat, shutting her ears to outside sounds in
her comfortable fashion.
Presently grandma appeared at the hall door.
"Cricket, my dear, George Washington seems to want something. Don't you
think you'd better try and find him?"
"Grandma, he's been crying and weeping for an hour at least, and I just
can't find him. But I'll look again."
But wherever George W. was, he was certainly securely hidden. He cried
now and then at intervals, but it was impossible to locate the sound,
since it came first from one side, then from another.
"He's between the floors somewhere," said Will, who had joined the
search. "The question is, where?"
"We'll have to decide that question at once," said auntie, "because we
can scarcely have all the floors in the house taken up. How could he
have gotten in?"
"Perhaps through some small hole in the garret floor. He's probably
forgotten the way back. Or, perhaps there's some hole down cellar where
he got inside, and ran up after the mice."
"Perhaps the mice have gotten the best of him, and are tearing him limb
from limb," suggested Archie, making such a horrible face that Helen
retreated behind Aunt Jean in terror.
All the afternoon they followed the sounds at intervals, listening at
the floor, and calling over and over. George W. seemed to be exploring
the entire interior of the house. Late in the afternoon, the cries came
more constantly from the floor of the trunkroom, a small apartment off
the garret, and directly over Eunice's room. There was a small knot-hole
in the floor, and the light from a window fell directly on it, probably
attracting George W. there. Saws and hatchets were brought, and the boys
soon had a piece of the floor up, making a hole large enough for several
cats the size of George to come up.
"George evidently likes this sort of thing," said Archie, hacking away.
"First the tin can, then the floor. Come out here, old fellow." But he
was evidently frightened away by the noise, and could not be induced to
come up.
"Bring a saucer of milk, Edna," said Mrs. Somers. "Stand it at one side,
and then we will all go away and he will soon come up." So the milk was
brought, and as it was supper-time, they all went down and left George
W. to his own devices. Cricket was much disposed to stay and make sure
that he came up, but she was finally persuaded to come down with the
rest.
"Isn't it funny how his voice came from all over?" she said, at the
supper-table. "Probably he was right there under the trunkroom floor all
the time. He was a regular philanthropist."
"A regular what?" asked grandma and Auntie Jean, together.
"A philanthropist. Don't you know? a man who--who talks where he isn't?"
"A _ventriloquist_!" said Will. "That's what you mean."
"Do I? Auntie, what is a philanthropist, then?"
"A philanthropist is one who loves man, dear, and who--"
"Then when a girl's engaged, is she a philanthropist?" broke in Cricket,
with her glass of milk half raised. The others all laughed.
"She is, very often," said grandma.
"I know the man she is engaged to is called her _financé_, but I never
knew she was called a philanthropist," went on Cricket, thoughtfully.
There was another shout.
"_Fiancé_, dear," said auntie, as soon as she could speak, "and the girl
isn't often _called_ a philanthropist, though she often is one."
"Dear me," sighed Cricket. "Words are very puzzling. They seem to be
made to say what you don't think."
"Oftentimes, my little Talleyrand," said grandma.
After supper, Cricket ran up to see if George W. had made his appearance
yet. A few moments later, the household, assembled on the front piazza,
was startled by a crash and a scream in Cricket's voice. With one
accord, everybody rushed up-stairs. The sounds seemed to come from
Eunice's room. As they opened the door, a cloud of dust poured out, from
a mass of plaster that lay on the floor, while from a hole in the
ceiling a length of black-stockinged leg kicked wildly. Above, a pair of
fists beat a tattoo on the floor, while Cricket called, loudly:
"For goodness' sake, somebody come and pull me up; I'm breaking my other
leg off."
Will sprang for the garret stairs, stumbling headlong, at the top, over
George W., who took the opportunity to spring over his head, alighting
right in the midst of the group of eager children, each of whom was
trying to get up-stairs first, and in a moment everybody lay on top of
everybody else, at the foot of the staircase.
Will, meantime, found his feet, and went to Cricket's rescue. It was
dark in the trunkroom, under the eaves, but there was light enough to
see Cricket, with one leg stretched out straight, and the other one so
firmly wedged into the hole in the floor that she could not move.
"My leg feels as George W.'s head must have when he was caught in the
tomato can," said Cricket, as Will drew up. "It's a pretty tight
squeeze. I don't believe there's any skin left on it. I just came up
quickly, and I couldn't see very well, and the first thing I knew my
foot slipped into a hole, and there was not any floor there, and I
slumped through."
"Are you hurt? Is Cricket hurt?" cried everybody, scrambling in, in hot
haste.
"Not much," said Cricket, ruefully, feeling her barked knee. "I came
down pretty hard on my elbow, and I nearly knocked it up to the top of
my head, and my back feels funny, but I'm _not_ hurt, not a bit!"
"What a mercy the child didn't fall all the way through, and go down on
the lower floor," said grandma, who had just arrived on the scene.
"Why, I couldn't," said Cricket, surprised. "My other leg stopped me."