an ugly lower jaw, came into the yard. Clytie saw him from the window,
and knew from the set of his legs that he meant business. This was no
ordinary cur, to be frightened away by a spit, and a stiff whisker; and
she was just rejoicing that her mother and kittens were safe in the
kitchen, when, oh, horrible! around the corner came Weejums, alone,
making straight for the dog, without having stopped to consider his
lower jaw.
The dog saw her, and, as a low whistle sounded from somewhere, rushed
at her in the deadly silence that is worse than a hundred growls.
Franklin also saw her, and rushed out of the house with a hot poker,
resolved that if Weejums’ time had come, Boston’s bull-pup should never
live to tell the tale. But he would have been too late if the dog
had not suddenly stopped in his wild charge, and stared in horror at
a strange, white object that came tearing around the house, like the
enraged ghost of all the cats he had slain,—a fearful ghost in panties
and petticoats, and with no head,—for the wind had tossed Clytie’s
Mother Hubbard skirt over her ears,—and an orange tail, like flame.
Bodily terror could not have alarmed Boston’s bull-pup; but this
was something unearthly, and beyond his experience. His lower jaw
weakened, and, with a yelp of dismay, he turned and bolted from the
yard. Franklin followed with the poker, but the bull-pup was already
miles away, and for months afterwards he could not be induced to chase
another cat. Boston finally sold him in disgust to some one who wanted
a tame, gentle dog, and spent the money that he received for him in
trying to keep out of Franklin’s way.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TORN-NOSE
The new house was not far from the Children’s Hospital, and a young
doctor who often passed that way, became much interested in the attire
of Eunice’s cats.
“Why does the long, blue one wear tennis trousers?” he asked one day.
This was because Ivanhoe’s pantalettes were not ruffled like Weejums’,
but made of stiff white piqué, with the trimming laid on plain.
“They’re more suitable,” Eunice replied. And she called his attention
to Ivanhoe’s blanket, which was made from a gentleman’s handkerchief,
with a green and red border of horseshoes and little whips.
“You get those down at the ‛Teapot’ for six cents, don’t you?” said
the doctor, nodding intelligently. “The night-watchman has one.”
“Yes, they asked me if I wanted a lady’s or gentleman’s handkerchief,
and of course I said a gentleman’s. It saves lots of trouble in the
hemming, ’cause you only have to cut out the neck.”
“I wish you’d bring some of these fellows up to the hospital, and show
the children. Those clothes would please them nearly to death.”
“I’ll ask,” Eunice said, taking the doctor’s hand. “You come and ask,
too.”
But Mrs. Wood came out on the porch just then, and when the doctor had
assured her that there were no “catching” illnesses at the hospital,
she said that Eunice might go.
“I’ll take Clytie,” Eunice said, “because she’s the handsomest. And she
can wear all the clothes.”
“All at once?” asked the doctor, astonished.
“Yes, it keeps her from kicking, and it’s the easiest way to carry
them.”
The little crippled children spent a wonderful hour in seeing Clytie
dressed in her various costumes, and there was a great deal of
conversation as to which became her most.
“I like her best in the satin ball-blanket, with the make-believe
roses,” said one.
“No, that ain’t no go. She looks a sight han’somer in the caliky pants.”
“Does her mittens take off too?” asked a very small voice from a
corner, where somebody who had been badly burned was trying not to cry.
“No, those came with her. I’ll let you feel ’em,” Eunice said, and the
soft plush of a white paw was laid in the little hand, while eager
fingers solved the puzzling question of a cat with mittens.
“If you ever want to give her away,” the matron said, smiling, as
Eunice bade her good-bye, “I hope you will let us have the first
chance.”
“Oh, we shall never give her away!” Eunice said. “You see she has
mittens, and we love her next to Weejums.”
But this shows just how little one can tell about what may happen, for
Clytie did go to the hospital that very spring.
Mrs. Wood decided to leave Alleston, and live East for the next few
years, so that Franklin could prepare for college at a certain school
that she knew of, and all the children would receive many advantages
from being near a great city.
“Don’t say New York,” Grandmother said, when the plan was being talked
over. “New York children have such thin legs!”
“I think we shall settle in one of the Oranges, just out of New York,”
Mrs. Wood said. “Alec and Maude will look up a cottage for us.”
“Your brother will spoil the boys,” said Grandmother, disapprovingly;
“only,” she added, brightening, “I never knew a Wood to be spoiled.”
“Will Cyclone go, too, and the rabbits?” asked Kenneth, at his mother’s
knee.
“No, dear, only Weejums can go with us, for it’s a long trip, you
remember, and there are plenty of rabbits around New York.”
“But not Dulcie,” said Kenneth, with a quivering lip, “or—Stamper!”
Perhaps the time when one first discovers that pets are only pets, and
not real people, as one had supposed, is the saddest moment of one’s
little life,—especially when it often turns out that the best-loved
animal is not at all valuable, and must be left behind.
Many tears were shed by the younger children, and a few in private
by Franklin, as the rabbits were made over to “Beansy,” and Cyclone
was carried off triumphantly by a boy who had long desired him. But
Franklin knew that all this meant a turning point in his life, and laid
aside the money that he received for his pets to help buy school books,
and, as he said, “instruments,” for Franklin was going to be a doctor.
Eunice and Kenneth recovered their spirits at the thought of living
within a short distance of New York, where there would be matinees,
concerts, and immense toy-shops where one could go in and hear the fur
animals squeal, without being expected to buy one. All the wonderful
wind-up toys came from New York; it was their home, and the home of
Huyler’s chocolates, with their many different kinds of linings.
But it was hard to leave Clytie at the hospital, even if everybody
was delighted to see her, and the young doctor did show Franklin the
operating-room, and ever so many things in bottles.
Clytie’s last night at home was quite pathetic, because she thought,
up to the last moment, that the family was packing to take her to the
lake, and had begun to wash Paul Jones and Proserpine for the journey.
They were quite big cats now, but, lacking younger sisters, had to be
washed as hard as if they were new.
“I must say I don’t care for travel,” said Clytie to Torn-nose out on
the fence; “Mother does. But I’ve always been the old-fashioned feline
kind of cat that likes a home.”
“One sees a great deal of life,” said Torn-nose, thoughtfully.
“Yes, but only the worst side. You have told me yourself that those
whom you trusted often hurled banana skins at you.”
“I’m sorry you’re going to the lake,” said Torn-nose. “Being round with
you and Weejums has given me more home comfort than I have known since
mother died.”
“You ought to give up being a travelling man, and settle down
somewhere,” said Clytie. “Any one would be proud to own you, and it’s
the cat that makes the home.”
“I never had a home,” said Torn-nose, sadly. “I’m what is known as a
self-made cat.”
“Wow,—yow _e-ow, pur-r-ow-ow-ow_,” called Eunice and Kenneth together
from their window, and Clytie heard Mrs. Wood say:
“Children, children, go to bed immediately! Isn’t it bad enough to have
a cat fight under the window, without your joining in?”
“Imitation is the sincerest flattery,” called Torn-nose from the fence,
as Clytie vanished in the darkness; “but how strange that they should
have thought we were quarrelling!”
[Illustration: TORN-NOSE]
Splash! came a mug of water from Biddy’s window straight into
Torn-nose’s face, and Clytie heard him plunge, with a great crash, into
a cold-frame in the next yard.
“Faith, I aimed at his yow,” said Biddy the next morning, “and have
rayson to think I hit it.”
Biddy was to take Ivanhoe with her, because she feared that no one
else would have him, and she had a married sister in the country who
had promised to be a mother to him. And Elijah was sent to the farm to
comfort Mustard, who had not been able to get along at all with Senator
Hicks. But Paul Jones and Proserpine were to remain in the house, as
the new tenants had expressed a desire to keep them, and as these
tenants were of the kind who know how to arrange a most attractive
string and paper for one’s tail, the kittens never missed Clytie at all.
Clytie missed them for a time, and then the charm of being an only cat
began to grow on her. The doctors petted her; the nurses made her a
fine gingham collar of the stuff like their uniforms, to show that she
belonged to the hospital staff.
Torn-nose came often to see her, and gave her some valuable hints
about keeping mice out of the basements; it seems that there is a
certain way of catching them that saves time and strength, when one has
to do it by the quantity.
“Why do you wear that kind of collar?” he asked one night.
“To show that I’m a hospital cat,” Clytie said. “I help care for the
sick, like the doctors and nurses, only I do different things.”
A few nights after this Clytie was sitting up alone in the hall with
the night-watchman, when she heard a mournful cry from outside. It
sounded like the voice of Torn-nose, but there was something so sad
about it, that she jumped off the watchman’s lap, and ran as fast as
possible to see what was the matter.
“_Pur-r-e-ow_, Torn-nose, where are you?” she called; but there was no
answer, and, after a long search, she found the poor old warrior lying
quite helpless on the grass, with a dreadful wound in his side.
“Oh, what has happened!” Clytie cried. “What cruel person has done
this?”
Torn-nose tried to speak, but the words died away in his throat, and
only a faint purr reached Clytie’s ears. But Clytie knew what happened
in the hospital, when people lay very still, and did not answer
questions—the doctor was sent for; and as she listened, she could hear
the step of Dr. Haskell, the young man who had been Eunice’s friend, on
his night round.
Back she tore to the hospital, and up the steps, just as the doctor
came down into the hall.
“Emergency case?” he asked playfully, as Clytie rolled at his feet.
“What’s the matter with the cat, Michael?”
“Looks as if she wanted you to follow her,” said Michael, watching her
curiously. “If it was a dog now, I’d say that’s what was wanted.”
“Well, let’s try,” said the doctor; and as he started for the door,
Clytie bounded on ahead of him, with the most imploring mews.
“Give us the lantern, Michael,” said the young man, and he followed
Clytie across the lawn, to the place where Torn-nose lay.
“Gunshot wound, eh?” he said, bending over his patient. “Lend a hand
here, Michael!” And Torn-nose was carried tenderly into the hall, where
his wound was dressed as carefully as if he had been a person, and he
was put to bed in the night-watchman’s room.
The day after this, Clytie had a little red cross sewed on one side
of her collar, and was known ever afterwards as the “First Aid Cat.”
Torn-nose recovered, and when Dr. Haskell left the hospital, went with
him to be his office cat.
“How did you happen to get shot?” Clytie asked him, the day that he was
first able to sit up and take nourishment.
“No reason, whatever. I was merely removing a broiled chicken from a
kitchen-table, and as I had left another one for the family, they had
no cause to complain.”
“You will never need to steal chickens any more after this,” Clytie
said. “Dr. Haskell is a kind man, and will always be your friend.”
[Illustration: “A RED CROSS CAT”]
This turned out to be true, for the doctor grew fond, as well as
proud, of his warlike cat; and as Torn-nose gradually improved in
conversation and manners, he did his owner great service in the office
by entertaining patients while they waited.
But of course all this happened long after the Woods had left town, and
Weejums had entered upon the most astonishing of her experiences.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A VISITING LADY
The first day on the train Weejums sat up in Eunice’s lap like any
other traveller, enjoying the view, and spitting at the engines that
passed. And when the sleeping-car conductor came along, she was
smuggled under the seat in the hopes that he might not guess what that
innocent-looking lunch-basket contained. But he did, because while he
was examining the tickets, Weejums got out of the basket, and sharpened
her claws on his leg. He jumped a little, and said, “I am sorry, madam,
but that cat will have to go into the baggage-car to-night. We never
allow animals on a sleeper.”
“Then I’ll go, too,” said Eunice, promptly.
“We don’t allow little girls in a baggage-car,” he said with a smile.
“But she’ll be so afraid,” said Eunice, in distress; “she hates
men—dearly.”
“I think she can defend herself,” said the conductor, rubbing his leg.
And in spite of all that Eunice could say, he carried Weejums off to
the baggage-car, where she was much disappointed at seeing so many
locked trunks, when they might so easily have been nice open ones, with
pink silk shirt-waists in the top tray for her to lie on.
In the morning Eunice had scarcely finished dressing when the train
conductor came along, and before Mrs. Wood could stop her, she had
seized him by the coat-tails, asking, “Oh, have you seen my kitty?”
Now the train conductor is a very important person, and as he has the
charge of all the cars, and all the passengers that are in them, it was
not at all likely that he would know anything about a little girl’s
kitty. But to Mrs. Wood’s surprise, he laughed and said, “Yes, we just
stole some milk for her out of some cans that were put on at the last
station. Pretty cat, isn’t she?”
“I think that you must have a little girl,” said Mrs. Wood, gratefully.
“Two, madam,” he answered. “Tickets, please.”
After breakfast Weejums was brought back, and spent a happy day with
Eunice and another little girl, who was allowed, as a great favor, to
help put on the crimson flannel tailor-blanket, stitched with pink,
while the other passengers offered compliments and sweet crackers. That
night they had to change cars, and this time there was no friendly
conductor to steal milk for Weejums, but a savage-eyed expressman, who
charged seventy-five cents, and did not seem to love cats. In New York,
Mrs. Wood was met by her sister-in-law, who had to follow her into a
crowded baggage-room, filled with tumbling trunks and dozens of men, to
ask for “A cat, please.”
“What will you do next, Amy?” said Aunt Maude, with a comical look. “I
believe that Eunice will be utterly spoiled.”
[Illustration: “A VISITING LADY”]
Aunt Maude had no children of her own, but loved the little Woods very
dearly, and explained to their mother quite often how they ought to be
brought up.
They were to stay a day or two with Mrs. Wood’s brother, and then go
to a boarding-house in Montrose, to wait until their own cottage was
ready, for Mrs. Wood did not believe in making long visits, with a
family of children.
Weejums was more than glad when they left New York, for of course
she had not gone to any of the theatre and Eden Musée parties with
Uncle Rob, or been invited to have an ice-cream soda. And it was
not interesting, either, to walk in a tiny brick yard crowded with
clothes-lines, or feel one’s way along a fence so narrow that if
another cat came along, you either had to back away, or stay and fight
it out.
But the boarding-house in Montrose attracted her because it had so
large a yard, and she thought it would be pleasant to lie always on red
velvet chairs, and walk through swinging bead portieres that tickled
one’s tail. But this was before she had met Mrs. Winslow.
“I don’t care for tortoise-shell cats,—do you?” asked one of the old
ladies who did fancy-work on the piazza.
“No, Mrs. Winslow is white,” said another.
“And a cat that won’t purr for strangers, either,” added the first old
lady, with a reproachful glance at Weejums, who sat “back-to” on the
steps.
[Illustration: “MRS. WINSLOW”]
“Mrs. Winslow will purr for any one,” said the other.
In addition to this, it turned out that one of Mrs. Winslow’s eyes
was green and the other blue, while both of Weejums’ were hopelessly
alike. It also appeared that Mrs. Winslow had nerves, and could not eat
her chop-bone in the dining-room with Weejums’ commonplace eyes upon
her; so Weejums had to be banished to the kitchen. But she afterwards
fought Mrs. Winslow in the pansy bed, and when Mrs. Winslow returned to
the house, her blue eye was closed so tight that no one could possibly
have guessed it was not green.
“They _say_ that’s a bright cat,” said Kenneth, scornfully, “but the
other day after she’d eaten a mouse, she went around calling it to come
back, just as if ’t was a kitten.”
“They all sit in a row and admire her, while she scratches her ribbon,”
said Franklin. “They like to watch the bow go round under her chin, and
up behind the other ear.”
“Then they say, ‛Oh, isn’t it cunning!’” said Eunice.
“Children, don’t laugh at the people in the house. We’ll see lots of
beautiful pussies at the Cat Show to-morrow, so you can afford to stop
insulting Mrs. Winslow.”
But that very afternoon came another mortification for Weejums, and a
triumph for the enemy.
[Illustration]
It happened that Mrs. Wood’s room was supposed to be heated in winter
from the room below, and one day when the register was taken out to be
mended, she had folded a shawl across the hole; because, as the hole
looked straight down into the room of the queerest of the old ladies,
it would naturally be very hard for Eunice and Kenneth to keep from
trying to see what the old lady was doing.
But she had reckoned without Weejums, who thought of course that the
nice warm shawl was placed there for her to lie on, and, as Fate would
have it, chose a time when the old lady was sitting directly under the
hole.
Shrieks of terror from below sent everybody rushing to the old lady’s
room, and as her door opened, Weejums shot out with a swelling tail,
and her enraged victim in pursuit.
“Catch her—catch her!” screamed the old lady, as Weejums bounded
through the hall into the dining-room, and between the feet of a
frightened servant, into the kitchen.
“Scat, now—scat!” said the cook, cuffing her off a basket of clean
linen into which she had jumped,—without even giving her time to
explain that she had stopped there merely to get her breath.
It was against rules for the boarders to come into the kitchen, so
Weejums heard the voice of the old lady grow fainter and die away; but
she was still angry with the cook for cuffing her, and, spying Mrs.
Winslow behind the stove, slapped her soundly on the closed eye. This
was too much for Hannah, who loved Mrs. Winslow, and a little dipper of
water from the dishpan descended on Weejums’ nose. She stopped to hurl
an insult at boarding-houses in general, and bolted for the pantry door.
“Come out of there!” called Hannah, angrily, and in her haste to reach
the window, Weejums skipped wildly through a pan of cranberry sauce,
terrifying the old rooster in the yard by appearing suddenly before
him with red legs. As Weejums had never cared for cranberry sauce, and
always refused it on her turkey, it was very trying to have to lap so
much of it off her paws, and she had scarcely polished one toe, when
for no reason whatever, a boarder upstairs put her head out of the
window and called “Scat!” This was entirely uncalled for, as Weejums
had done and said nothing; but the lack of sympathy in it disgusted her
so much that she slanted back her eyes and ears in the most Chinese of
“dignities,” and jerking her tail stiffly, walked out of the place.
She did not know, of course, that the boys across the street were
getting up a circus, or she would not have ventured into their yard.
But they had always seemed like kind boys, so she was not particularly
alarmed when one of them pounced on her and, holding her up, called to
the others, “Hi, come and see the red-legged cat!”
“Red-legged cat! Red-legged cat!” they exclaimed in delight, and
the biggest one said, “We’ll have her for the side-show. Ten pins
admission. Make the sign, Bob.”
So Weejums was carried into a kind of tent made of sheets, where
several freshly washed guinea-pigs were whining in their box, and a
goat, with a cocked hat on, bore the label of “Only Genuine Bearded
Wanderoo—Fresh from Africa.”
“Chain up the Duck-bill Platypus, quick there!” called Bob, as a
wretched little street dog jumped and bit vainly at Weejums’ tail.
“Now then, big letters—” he ordered, as the boys began to make the
sign, “Like this, I’ll show you: COME AND SEE THE RED-LEGGED—”
But at this point Weejums escaped from under his arm, and having
stopped an instant to claw the “Duck-bill Platypus,” departed in great
haste from the scene. The boys dropped their sign and followed, but she
soon left them behind, and no one who came to the circus ever found out
who it was that had red legs.
Weejums visited no more yards after that, but skirted along the edges
of lawns, and when any one looked at her, shot up a tree. But as most
of the people who appeared to be looking at her were really looking at
something else, it is quite likely that she went up more trees than
were necessary.
Soon after she had washed off the cranberry sauce, a little girl drove
along in a dog-cart with a lady beside her and a groom behind. And this
time Weejums did not run up a tree, because the little girl’s curls
reminded her of Eunice.
“Why, Auntie, it’s Octavia!” she said, pulling up her horse; “it’s Mrs.
Slocum’s Octavia! Some one must have stolen her and brought her way out
here.”
“My dear, are you sure?” asked the lady, as the child scrambled out of
the cart.
“Sure? Why every marking is the same! The white nose, orange cape, and
bronze lights on the paws. Come, Octavia, come, dear kitty—I’ll take
you home!”
“I’m not Octavia,” mewed Weejums; “but I’m tired of boarding-house
life, and will be glad to visit with you until my family gets settled.”
“See, I believe she knows me!” said the child whom the lady called
“Marian.” “We’ll take her right in on the train with us,—won’t we,
Auntie? And won’t Mrs. Slocum be pleased?”
“Yes, she was terribly distressed last night,” said Marian’s aunt. “You
know she said that Octavia had never run away before, and was afraid
she had been stolen. I suppose she must have escaped from the people
who carried her off. Dear me, it’s fortunate we found her! And the Cat
Show beginning to-morrow!”
“Mrs. Slocum will think it’s pretty dreadful that they carried her out
of town,” said Marian.
“It’s natural that they should. She’s too valuable to exhibit near
home,” said the Aunt.
Now Weejums had not listened to any of this, because she was watching
the view from the dog-cart, and wishing that Torn-nose might see her;
but when they stopped at a grocer’s, and she was bundled into a covered
basket, she began to think that something might be wrong. A little
later she smelled engine-smoke, and knew by the rattle and noise that
they were on the train, going she knew not where.
After this came the jingle of street-cars, and then a long, smooth ride
in a queer kind of carriage driven by some one up in the air.
“Number —, Fifth Avenue, Ma’am,” called the man over their heads, and
Weejums felt herself being carried up steps to a door which opened
almost before the bell was rung.
“Oh, Fennels!” said Marian. “Is Mrs. Slocum in? We’ve found Octavia!
Only think!”
“Very good, Miss. But the cat come home last night, Miss. They’ve been
bathing her to-day for the show.”
“Octavia is back—is here? But she can’t be, Fennels, because I’ve got
her in my basket.”
“Beg pardon, Miss Marian, but I don’t see how that could be, as I just
saw the cat in the hall. But if you and Mrs. Armstrong would come in,
Miss, while I speak to Mrs. Slocum.”
“Then if Octavia is here,” said Marian, in despair, “Auntie, _what_ cat
is it that we have in the basket?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OCTAVIA