CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OCTAVIA
S
THEY went in, and, uncovering the basket, allowed Weejums to stretch her cramped paws and tail on the most beautiful plush sofa that she had ever seen,—and gaze with interested green eyes on the pictures and statuary around her. There were several long mirrors in the room, and Weejums admired herself in each by turn, until she came to what seemed another, when, greatly to her astonishment, her own reflection slanted back its ears and spit at her.
“What cat is this?” asked a strange voice, and Weejums saw her reflection hastily picked up by a lady in a lace gown, while the reflection continued to spit and growl.
“We thought ’twas Octavia,” faltered Marian; “but that must be Octavia in your arms, and, oh, I’m afraid we’ve carried off somebody else’s cat!”
“She’s the living image of Octavia, if you have,” said Mrs. Slocum, kneeling down to examine Weejums. “Where did you find her, Marian?”
And the story of Weejums’ discovery was told, while Mrs. Slocum thanked and petted Marian for all the trouble that she had taken.
“It might be Octavia’s own kitten,” Mrs. Slocum said, “except that Octavia never had one so like herself.”
“Your house may be beautiful,” said Weejums to Octavia; “but your manners are certainly common,” and before any one could interfere, she had dabbed Octavia on the nose, with a most unlady-like spit.
“Fennels—Fennels!” called Mrs. Slocum. “Marian dear, would you mind putting the strange cat in her basket for a minute? That’s right, thank you, dear. Now, if you don’tknow whose she is, why not take her back to Montrose and put an advertisement in the paper? Somebody must be feeling terribly at losing her, and I should really like to know where she came from.”
“Marian was going to spend the night with me, and go to the Cat Show to-morrow,” said Mrs. Armstrong. “I suppose there is no great hurry about returning the cat. It isn’t as if ’twas a baby.”
“Oh, Auntie, I hope no one will answer the advertisement,” said Marian, squeezing the basket. “Only think of having an Octavia for my very own!”
“Well, we’ll see you to-morrow,” said Mrs. Slocum, as her guests took their leave, and parting spits were exchanged between the two ladies of tortoise-shell complexion.
So it happened that when Mrs. Wood and her children stopped, in utter joy and astonishment, before Octavia’s cage at the Cat Show, they received a cordial welcome from two strange ladies and a little girl.
“It’s Weejums!” exclaimed Mrs. Wood, and Franklin in the same breath.
“It’s Weejums!” said Kenneth. “Somebody stole her and fixed her up for the show!”
“Doesn’t she look whacking!” said Franklin. “They’re not going to keep her, though. Somebody will be arrested for this!”
“It’s not, either,” said Eunice, struggling to keep back the tears, for at first she too had thought it was. “Don’t you see—her expression is entirely different?”
It’s a wise child that knows its own cat, and Eunice, the little mother, could not be deceived in her Weejums.
“Have you lost a kitty?” asked Marian, taking Eunice by the hand. “A sweet kitty that looks just like this one? And do you live in Montrose? I think I saw your brother on the street.”
“Yes—yes, yes,” answered Eunice to each question. “Weejums fell through the floor on to an old lady’s head, and—” this was almost too much to recount—“the old ladychased her out of the house. She didn’t come home last night.”
“Well, I found her!” said Marian, triumphantly; “so don’t feel bad any more. I found her—do you hear? She’s at Auntie’s house now, and you can take her right home.”
“Would you mind telling me where you got the cat?” asked Mrs. Slocum, politely, of Mrs. Wood.
“In Alleston, where we lived,” was the answer. “She came to us in such a strange way—” and she started to tell the story of the Alley Cat, but Mrs. Slocum interrupted her quite excitedly.
“In Alleston, did you say? Why, we have relatives in Alleston, and Octavia has visited there with us, haven’t you, pusskins? And she had some kittens there too, but they all died, that is, all except a hideous brindled thing that ran away. We’ve always felt ashamed of that kitten.”
“Then if Octavia’s kitten was brindle, our cat that the little girl found is Octavia’sgrandchild,” said Mrs. Wood; “we’ve always felt that Weejums must have good blood, although she is sometimes a little brusque in her manners.”
“Can’t you all come home to luncheon with me?” asked Mrs. Armstrong, “and see your cat? After all, it may not be the same one. It would be too extraordinary if it was.”
“We’ll come and see you with pleasure,” said Mrs. Wood, thanking her; “but the children were to meet their uncle for luncheon at Dorlon’s. He has promised them a lobster, and I’m hoping that this excitement over Weejums will make them forget it.”
So after they had admired a few more of the cats, particularly the Angoras, which looked, Kenneth said, “as if their fur needed weeding,” the whole party took the Elevated to West 81st Street, and walked over to Mrs. Armstrong’s house, opposite the Park, where, in an upper window, lined with Nile-green pillows, a familiar form was balanced upon a pot of white azalea, catching flies.
“Itis!” cried Eunice, giving Marian a hug. “Yes, it is!”
“Are you sure?” asked Marian, a little disappointed. “I was almost hoping it wouldn’t be, so that I could keep her. She’s so sweet, you know!”
“I know better than any one,” said Eunice, seriously. “You see, she’smycat. Of course you wouldn’t exactly understand my feelings about her—if you never had a cat.”
Weejums was delighted to see Eunice, but howled wrathfully when, after luncheon, she was thrust into her basket and carried back to the hated boarding-house.
“It won’t be for long,” Eunice whispered in her ear, as she was banished to the laundry, instead of being allowed to spend the evening in the parlor.
The children pleaded for her, and explained to the old lady that it must have been much more painful for Weejums to fall heavily on a hard bald head, than it was for the head to catch a nice furry Weejums. But when theold lady took off her cap it really did seem, judging from the appearance of the head, as if Weejums had danced a hornpipe on it before reaching the floor.
“The cat mustn’t come into the front of the house again,” the landlady decided, and was not at all moved when Eunice said pitifully, “It’s an accident that might happen to any one who tried to lie down on a hole.”
Both cats slept in the laundry; but, as Weejums was in disgrace, Mrs. Winslow would not speak to her, and, ignoring the other half of their bed, went off and lay down gingerly on some bars of soap.
It was in the middle of the night that Mrs. Winslow waked herself with a great sneeze, and saw Weejums sniffing nervously around a crack in the floor.
“Mice?” asked Mrs. Winslow, quite forgetting that they were not on speaking terms.
“No, smoke,” answered Weejums, with contempt. “It is evident that the two sides ofyour nose don’t match any better than your eyes.”
“There shouldn’t be smoke at this time of night,” said Mrs. Winslow, uneasily, “should there?”
“No,” said Weejums, “there never has been before.”
“There’s a broken pane of glass in the outside window,” said Mrs. Winslow, jumping up. “The smoke is getting so thick we’d better go out in the garden.”
“I think we ought to tell somebody about it,” said Weejums.
“Why should we?” asked Mrs. Winslow, lazily. “No one else sleeps in the laundry. Besides you couldn’t get upstairs.”
“Yes, I could, through the hole where they pass the dishes in the butler’s pantry. Hannah left it open last night.”
“If I’d known that,” said Mrs. Winslow, crossly, “we could have slept in the parlor to-night. Why didn’t you—”
But at that moment a larger puff of smokecame up through the crack, and Mrs. Winslow made a leap for the window, found the broken pane of glass, and was gone. Weejums ran into the butler’s pantry, took a still higher leap to the little window, and in another minute was scratching and mewing at Mrs. Wood’s door.
“Be still, Weejums!” she called softly, so as not to wake the children. “Go downstairs, bad cat!”
“Oh, please come!” called Weejums again and again, “please, please come!”
And at last Mrs. Wood went; but before Weejums could guide her to the laundry, she had smelled the smoke, and in a few minutes the household was roused. People bundled out of their beds, and into the street just in time, before the flames came up through the laundry floor, and the engines were in the yard. The fire was soon out, owing, as the firemen said, to its having been discovered so early, and all the boarders gathered around Weejums with embraces and grateful tears.
“It’s bad to have your head clawed,” said the queerest of the old ladies, who had left her room attired in a flannel petticoat and a seal-skin jacket, “but it’s much worse to be burned alive.”
And before Weejums went away, all the old ladies clubbed together, and bought her an uncomfortable silver collar with her name on it, and a jingling padlock that scared the mice.
But something had happened that more than made up to Weejums for having to wear this collar and seem grateful for it.
When the fire was over, Mrs. Winslow was found in the back yard, up a tree!