THE BLACK CAT’S LUCK.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXI, Issue 4396, 29 June 1901, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE BLACK CAT’S LUCK.

I will not deny that lam rude. It is a failing of mine, and neither triumph nor failure has cured it. Well-meaning people call it "brusqueness,” and my mother, whose only failing on earth was her refusal to seo any fault in me, called it “Jack's original manner." Otherwise I am an amiable sort of person, except that X have a great loathing for the ordinary cat of commerce —or rather had, for I have got over it quite recently. ' When Mrs Avory and her ward. Zoe, who happens to be my cousin, took the flat above mine at Beehive Mansions I via..not sure whether to bo gind who certainly hasn t an equal among the assorted girls on my list ot acquaintance, is rather particular, not to say e^ ct V] s - T had an idea she would not think any the bcUer of me for the little poker parties I give in my flat-though they are pretty mild—and Zoe is the sort of gir you prefer to think the better of you, if there any way of bringing it about without being too offensively good. She has eyes like the living sunlight, and when we were together a year before they lit up the innermost soul of me in such a way that I have never got rid of that light since. X would have given ten years of a life that hasn’t been of much account so far (at the ripe age of twenty-seven), for the pluck to ask Zoe to share the remainder. with a fair chance of getting the right answer. But though I had an idea she liked mo a little, we had a good many rows because I am rude, as I said, and I must have got on her nerves rather often.

However, I was delighted to drop tht poker parties at once, of course, but I wasn’t so pleased when I found the Avory’s had brought a cat —a huge black Tom. There were formerly no cats at Beehive Mansions, and that was one of the few advantages the place had. I called on the Avorys as soon as they arrived, and received a grim welcome from Mrs Avery. Siie is 'not one of my most cherished friends, being rather formidable, and she has a way of considering herself bound tc send reports of me and my ways to mv people. However, we got on tolerably well until Zoe came into the room, and said “Hullo, .Tack.” and then I forgot all about Mrs Avory. "Well,” said Zoe, "are you dutifully charmed at our coming to live a flight of stairs away from you?” "Yes, I think bo,” I said. “Oh. you think so!” replied Zoe. colouring rather angrily; "well, I ithink you will he distinctly a nuisance. I also think that you are not very much more polite than when I last saw you.”

I had done it again. I didn’t mean any harm, but my rudeness is pretty deer lv” rooted, and when I say just what I think the gruffness of it doesn’t strike me till afterwards. . Sometimes, even, I am so depraved as to enjoy being rude. Some fellows would have been able to soothe Zoe. by pretending the phrase that annoyed her had some soapy meaning to it, and twist the situation round. But that isn’t oi.e of my gifts, so I sat and suffered. Zoe relented a little. “tt’s rather hard on me.” she said, oath etically. “to have a bear for a cousin, "but I suppose you can’t help it. Come and look at my album.” I did my very best, and I managed to be absolutely civil for the space of nearly an hour. Mrs Avory became a little less grim, and Zoe seemed quite pleased with me. As for me. my pulses quickened and the blood sang in my ears as I looked at her. I wondered what life would be to me if I got my dismissal when the time came—the time when I should find pluck enourh to tell her she was just the balance between life and death to me, gruff as X might seem, and put that question that a man can only ask seriously once in his life—if he is a man. And I was getting ready to leave, maybe a little less in disgrace than usual, when my ill-luck found its way on top again. The cause of it was Zoe’s huge black cat. which sud. denly stalked in as if the place belonged to it. and sat down on the hearthrug. “Great Scot!” I said, “do you mean to say you are going to keep that brute of a thing here. Zoe ?” “I beg your pardon!” returned Zoe, icily. Her eyebrows began to rise and her hands to tighten, but I didn’t notice it then.

"That!" I said, bluntly, indicating the cat. "Can’t vou get on without a pestilent animal like that about you?" "I happen to be particularly fond of it," said Zoe, quietly, but with glistening eyes; “among other advantages, it is not rude to me every time I meet it. And until yon have learnt to behave at least as well as the cat you will please me best by stopping away!" I left .in despair. I honestly believed that nothing on earth would win me back to Zoe’s favour, or cure my infernal bluntmess. and I went, below and sat in an arm.chair in the half-dark of my sitting-room. ”d groaned at my fate. I couldn’t decently go back —I should only have been rude again—and the only thing to do seemed to J be to settle down to work and trv to forget about it.' So I did that for a few days. But doctoring is the sort o" profession you can’t work at much unless people happen to need you, and a flat in ■' great barrack of other flats is not the best place to start in. You don’t stand out enough from the rest. I had not flung myself into the profession with any great zeal, so far. as a little income of .£3OO a year which I possess privately is a good deal of a temptation to grub along without doing any work. lam afraid you will gather from this history that I am not much of a fellow, and yet I think there is a streak of good in me somewhere, if it could be got at. During the next week I toiled at a batch of pamphlets and treatises, writing dav and night—for I know my profession pret_ tv well, though I don’t push it much. For an hour at noon daily I went out. and somehow I always met Zoe—passed her rather, for she only acknowledged mv salute and walked on. But day by day I thought her bows became more gracious, and'on Sunday morning I could swear she smiled a little. So I made up my mind to have another try. though I was in desperation, and had no hope of success. 1 I merely wondered how the next disaster would come about, and the manner of it. On Monday afternoon I presented myself. and somehow. I thought the atmosnhere of the Avorya’ flat a little more cor. dial than it had been.

"Zoe.” I said, 'Tve come on trial.” "That’s a good boy.” said Zoe. “There’s nothin? like trying, you know. Now C0 Ti e a n “ help me hang these pictures.” If there is one business on earth more exasperating than another it is hanging pictures, but this time T thoroughly enloyed it. Now. nobody knows better how to arrange things to the best advantage than Zoe hut she hnade me hang every one of those pictures exactly where it {ooVed worst, I did it cheerfully, a good half-hour of h a rd work, and when it was th°e e eff°ect m 6 St - ep d °"' n and ad ‘

"Don’t they loot charming. Jack?” she “aid. solemnly, but I knew she war laughing at me—internally. I looted at her and thought. "Ripniug,” I said; "couldn’t be better.” "Hn!” said Zoe. triumphantly, "well, do you know. I don’t think so myself. Jnsf take them down, will you? and we’ll see if we can’t improve on that.”

We did. We bad them all down, and up again—at least I did the hanging and Zoe gave the orders. When they were up they looked a great dee] better than he ? nre. hut Zoe wasn’t satisfied. With one eve on the pictures, aud the other on me she had about a third of them changed round again, and then avam. There was a nicture-moulding. so I didn’t have tr drive in nails except for one small etching auite at the last. Still, taking it altogether. the job afforded finer scope for my usual rudeness than anv I ever tackled Rut I came out on top. without so much as a grunt, and Zoe looked really pleased The last picture. I Said, needed a nail, and though I hit my thumb a terrific thump with the haihmer 1 didn’t say anything. “Well done. Jack!” said Zoe, when I had finished. “I believe there’s hope for you after all.”

She sat down on the sofa to admire the effect, and as Mrs Avory was not in the room it occurred to me to go and sit there too. Zoe looked at the pictures and I

looked at Zoe, the deep grey eyes of her'and the light on her hair. She looked—but there is no use trying to describe how she looked. Lord, what it cost me not to uiok her up and kiss her! lily heart flam eel as I watched her. and then sank as I thought of my uncouth, sombre self, and the small account I was in the world. “Weil,” remarked Zoe. “did you enjojit?”

“Awfully,” I said. “But suppose I want them all changed again ?”

“Why. I’ll do it for you on the spot,” I said. “Honest Injun, do you want them shifted ?” “Well, you certainly are improving,” said Zoe, placidly. "I think we’ll let them stav as they are.” Then she looked me in the eyes wonderingly, and I caught up the little hand that lay open on the sofa. ‘Zoe!" I said, hoarsely, “Zoe!”—the breath died in my throat and I could not speak, but my heart leaned as I saw her droop her eyes, for something told me she was mine. But my head throbbed, and I couldn't get the words Through my dry Ups ; and then a thing happened that maj seem like farce, hut to me it was gum tragedy I felt something brush against mv foot, and a shiver ran through me even before I looked down and saw that loathsome black cat rubbing its soft side against my ankle. I lost my head utterly—my whole frame jarred with the shock of it for even the sight of a cat makes me shiver. Without knowing what I was doing I kicked out convulsively, and sent the black brute sprawling across the room, where it struck heavily against a table-leg. And then I awoke from the fit of disgust the beast had given me, and saw Zoe standing bolt .upright, white as paper, her eyes burning like coals.

“Mr John Crawford,” she said, every word clear and cold os the ring of a slcaleblade on ice, “you have affronted mo often enough, but this shall be the last time. Go. and do not come back!” 1

T walked to the door, stunned and broken with a great rage at my own umvorthiness welling in my heart. As I passed through, even as I closed the door, i saw Zoe throw herself on the sofa and bury her head in her arms. I went out—some, how, somewhere, I don’t know how it happened, and presently I sat in my own sitting room, staring into the cold cinders of the grate, wondering, wondering, wondering. Why was I, a living organism, walking this strange planet, and proving day by day that I had no worth of any kind? I never stirred again that night, but sat and mused hopelesslv till the grey dawn struggled through the blinds. . The next few days passed like a dream, in which i was only dimly conscious of having, by my own folly, thrown away all that was worth having on earth. I would not have faced Zoe again for anything the world could offer, and it was my portion to feel more utterly abased than a man ought to be allowed to feel. A glimpse of Zoe, going down the staircase with her guardian, hurt me like a hot iron to my brain, and I only went out at night, to wander the streets desolately. It must have been nearly a week afterwards that I saw a. cab draw up at the front door, and the janitor come down, stairs with some portmanteaux from the Avorys’ flat. They were going'away then, I thought, gloomily, yet certainly not for good, for the two servants remained in the flat. I watched hungrily at the window for a glimpse of Zoe, but somehow I seemed to miss her entrance into the cah> and as it drove away I only saw the dour visage of Mrs Avory through the window.

Now that Zoe was gone, I had not even the comfort of the pain her presence gave me, and I think I went a little off my head during the next three days. In the flat above there was absolute silence, and my only occupation Was to wonder when the Avorys would come back, and whether it wouldn’t he better for me to clear out altogether before they returned. The silence above haunted me. for my experience of flats left in charge of domestics is that the bulk of the servants of the neichonrhood foregather within them 'and make merry whenever they can manage it. and that such times are anything hut quiet.

The gloom of those three days was darkened still more by a 1 vague, sickening sense that some calamity had befallen Zoe —my Zoe, who would never be mine. I knew things were not well with her, but even where she was I had no idea; probably three hundred miles away. It was on the evening of the fourth day, while I was looking out of the window the raw twilight, that I heard an odd, uneasy scraping at the door. It gave me a ’chilly feeilng down my back, and while' I listened it continued and grew in strength. I walked across the room and threw the door open, and there, standing on the mat, was Zoe’s great black cat! Its yellow eyes flamed in its head—unpleasant, haunting eyes—and I noted that it was thinner about the ribs than when I last saw it.

"So they’ve left you behind, and you’re hungry.”' I said, looking down at the gaunt beast, and fighting down the repulsion I felt. "I hate you and all your tribe, but I suppose you must b© fed,!” I turned away to find food for the creature. but it trotted a few feet towards the staircase and looked over its shoulder at me with a plaintive "Yow! I besought it to come and eat. but it retreated a little father, and its movements and querulous mowing said plainly as speech that it wished me to follow. It occurred to me that something might be wrong upstairs. I had known dogs to seek human assistance at such times, but never cats —I did not give them credit for as much sense. Moreover, cats are egotists. But I followed that black imp'up the stairs, and it trotted in front of me to the door of the Avorys’ flat, which was ajar. I followed it in, a great sinking at my heart, and it led me to the half-open drawing-room door. I entered—and the terror that flew to my heart is a thing I hate to remember even now.

On the couch, stretched at full length, lav Zoe. Her eyes were closed, her face whiter than death. One look at the tense, drawn features told me the trouble—starvation, but how, why? I ran to her with a little cry. and “took her hands in mine. She was unconscious through sheer exhaustion. I ran downstairs, started a spirit lamp, and fetched some brandy. In half an hour, with all the care I knew. I brought the blood back to her cheeks, and she opened her eyes slowly.

'' T ® y° u - Jack?” she said, faintly, Oh. Boy, how I’ve longed for you T ” "My darlingl said; "but what i® It Zoe —what has been the matter?”

"Nothing is the matter now, Boy,” said Zoe, and oh. the look in her eyes! "All I wanted was yon. But—l don’t quite know how it all happened. »Mrs Avory went on Monday, and said she would come back next day but she didn’t. And that some evening both the servants went away. I believe they have stolen things. But Mrs Avory forgot to give me my quarter’s allowance before she left, so I had no money. _ Jack dear, and I’ve had nothing to eat since Tuesday. you see.”

"Good heavens, darling!” I said; "ynu starved, in the middle of London, people on every side of you, and I was only a floor away!® Why?”

"Whet could I do. Jack; I don’t know an'ehodv in town. T wired to Mw \vorr with, mv last, sixpence, bnt she didn’t an. swer. I couldn’t go to strangers, nn.d ho.-.-id | come to vou when T fold yon sr crnellv. not to sn o ak to me again. T’-dpR"-ved it. Boy, but T bore un cnite well til! this morning, 'and then T fel<- terribly weak onit e enddenlv eed T think I faint ed. How did ynn Kw*”

"It was the cat. Zoe ” I said, and my heart warmed to the black imp that had led to my happiness; "be came and feteb“d me.” "Did he?” said Zoe, with a flash of her old fun; "aren’t you sorry you kicked him. Jack?” But as there was only one answer to make to that I didn’t mate it. I kissed Zoe instead.