A FELINE FATE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XVI, Issue IV, 25 January 1896, Page 86

A FELINE FATE.

BY

ANNA ROBESON BROWN.

Ir ECAUSE the night was bitterly cold, ■ and sleet was falling in thin, sharp lines. Dick Eaton pat on his heavy overcoat, in which everything was furlined, even to the pockets, before bpjS starting for Mrs Leighton’s dinner. He was not feeling particularly happy. * although he was in general a happy-hearted feHow enough. When one is twenty-eight, and has just received a severe snub from V one 3 lady-love, one does not contemplate a long. dreary dinner with much satisfaction. Dick certainly did not. He would much rather have stayed at home and nursed his wees over a bright fire, a volume cf Dumas, and a pipe. However as this was not to be. he did not grumble, but only gave a sigh or two at the fate which allotted that his heart should have down away before he was aware of it. and without any prospect of its acceptance. It cannot be denied that it was Dick’s own fault. He had chosen to tall in love with a very superior person—with a girl of wiz as well as beauty ; with a young lady who hail seen and travelled much, who barely tolerated the average young man. and who, as she counted among her friends many prominent people, could afford to pick and choose. It was not to be expected that Lilian Girton, an honoured guest in Upper Bohemia, privileged to act as a hostess to scores of well-known people, should have any time to waste on Dick Eaton. It was nothing to her that he persistently and furtively adored her ; that he had done so rrom the Erst week of their meeting two years ago : and less than nothing that he was possessed of a considerable income. The Girton monev made this latter fact of no consequence : and Dick himself—well. Dick was not clever. He did not write, or sing, or act ; he was not .esthetic, musical, or socialistic. He was only a big, strong, tender-hearted fellow, pure in soul, and sunny of temper, from whose armour of proof the temptationsoi modern lite rolled like water from a duck’s back. He had never done a mean action or told a slanderous story. He was generous of heart, lavish of hand, and had a weakness :or animals. His habits were temperate but not rigid. He drank a little, played poker—a little, and was not above making a bet. He was so straightforward and pore-minded and iunatelv chivalrous that some of his friends had called him * Sir Galahad ’—behind his back, of course. Dick would not have known what they meant. Indeed, it is tn be doubted if Dick had ever heard of Sir Galahad. Dick’s mental acquirements were rather slim, it must be confessed. He read Shakespere

And Macaulay. and Thackeray and Dumas, and he was fond of Wilkie Collins. He had no taste for Buddhism, and thought Theosophy was ‘tommy rot.* He did not know a thing about Ibsen, and had never heard of Mr George Meredith ; from which it maybe inferred that m Miss Girton s eyes he was a highly commonplace and objectionable young man. Nevertheless, in despite of snobs, sarcasm, and ill-concealed indifference. Dick adored Miss Girton ; loved her with a single-souled pass-on wbich coloured all bis life and dominated all his thoughts. which made him her knight, whether she would or no. It is not quite certain whether Miss Girton was aware of this fact; certainly all of Dick’s friends were, and they were for the most part very sympathetic, and sang his praises all day long, much to her astonishment. • I cannot understand,’ she said. ‘ what it is that makes that young Eaton fellow so popu’ar. He hasn’t an ounce of brains ; but to hear his friends talk, one would think he had the mental powers of a Bismarck ’ This state of affairs did not tend to make her any kindlier, to him. She was always out when he called, or else some celebrity came in. and Dick was left enshrouded in outer darkness during the brilliancy of their conversation. So it happened that on this particular evening he was feeling downcast, and for once discouraged. It was cold and wet and slippery. The sleet was tine, with a penetrating quality, and it clung to door-posts or froze on the window-panes until there seemed no warmth or dryness anywhere. The wind was gusty :it blew the sleet into Dick s face : and the streets were uncomfortably glassy on pavements and mushy at crossings. He stamped along, with the collar of his coat turned up about his ears, feeling that wind and weather had conspired together against his comfort, and growing less inclined for the chilly formality of a dinner at every step. Half the distance, perhaps, had been traversed, and the last bad crossing waded through successfully, when he felt something brush against his foot and stick fine points into his trousers. At the same time there came a pitecus mew. The night was dark as pitch, and the sleet dimmed the windy lamp at the corner ; so Dick stopped and felt down his trousers-leg until his gloved angers came in contact with a ball of shivering wet fur, which offered no resistance when he raised it. It was a kitten—a very weak, very wet. and verymiserable kitten—from the drenched hair on its little grey head to the tip of its shivering tail, the incarnation of helpless misery. It lay passively, sprawled over his hands, and looking at him with blinking green eyes, far too cold and uncomfortable to be frightened. ‘ Hello, old man ’.’ said Dick, staring at it, at the draggled helpless paws and the thin rough coat; " where do you belong ?’ The kitten, naturally, made no answer, but continued to blink at Dick and to shiver helplessly. It was so very small that it staggered and slid about when it tried to stand, so it finally gave up trying, and subsided into an indeterminate heap. ’ Well, I’m awfully sorry, but I can’t help it. you

know,’ Dick said, half apologetically. ’ Run home to your mamma. You’re far too little to be out alone.’ He set it down on the pavement again, but it only crouched there mewing, and. when he moved away, sprang feebly up his leg. and clung there till he could bear it no longer. He was fond of cats, and this one was so very tiny and abject and wretched he could not abandon it. He lifted it again, and rubbed the rough fur for dryness. and then tickled it gently under the chin and behind the ears, while the kitten sat on his arm and held its head first to one side and then to the other, as if it enjoyed the process. Thea it backed down into the palm of his hand, and there curled up, sticking its head into the fur cuff of his sleeve. There was evidently no use trving to get rid of it, and, after all, Dick could not abandon the little creature which had fled so confidently to him tor protection. * Well, you are cool,’ he said, stroking the soft little head ; ‘ but I say, old man, what am Ito do with you. you know ?’ The kitten offered no solution of this problem beyond an attempt to purr, a very weak, hoarse purr to be sure, but an achievement of which it was evidently not a little proud. The purr settled it. Dick was softhearted. and half conquered already. As he looked about him in despair, he caught sight of the red light swinging in front of Briggs’s grocery-store at the corner, and he remembered that Briggs kept a bulldog who liked kittens to play with, and who usually mangled one a week. Meanwhile it was growing late, and Dick was freezing, two circumstances which added weight to the situation. There was nothing to be done for it but to take the kitten along. Abandon it he would not: find it shelter he could not; the only course left was to take it with him. Once at the Leightons’ he could decide what to do with his troublesome charge ; meanwhile—- ’ Well,’ said Dick resignedly, striding on, ’ I suppose you have got to come ; only, old man, I must say I wish you had chosen to favour me on my way home. ’ And the kitten gave a jubilant burst of parr which sounded apologetic. Dick transferred it to his pocket, which, as it was a very small kitten indeed, was very roomy quarters. The kitten smelt all over it carefully first, and then tied itself into a tight bunch and proceeded to make its toilet; while Dick walked briskly on, chuckling to himself sometimes at the oddity of his position, and yet reflecting on his situation with some anxiety. As he drew near the house he grew more and more perplexed. He simply could not produce the beast upon entering Mrs Leighton s parlours; the effect would be too ridiculous, and Dick was foolish enough to be sensitive to ridicule. Miss Girton was to be there, and he dreaded her laughter : he felt sure that such a proceeding would ruin him forever in her eyes. An able-bodied young man picking up a forlorn alley cat and bringing it with him to a dinner party —it was quite impossible. And yet, what was to be done ? If the animal would stay quietly in his pocket.it might not be so hard to conceal it during the meal, and he would excuse himself as early as possible. The kitten seemed so abject and meek that he felt inclined to try the experiment, trusting to the novelty and warmth for due effect in keeping it still; yet, at the same time, he could not but acknowledge to himself that there were more risks than one. However, it really seemed the only course to take, and Dick resolved to trust to luck, which had rarely failed him in an emergency. ‘Now, old man,’ he said to the kitten as they stood on the door-step. ‘I have done you a good turn, you know, so I expect you to do me another by lying low and keeping Don’t give yourself away, old man. if voa love me. ’

‘ I’ll put my coat here,’ he said hastily, as the butler offered to disencumber him of that garment. He could hear the hum of voices in the drawing-room, and her bright laugh rippled out above the maze of conversations. If he had entertained any idea of producing his prize it vanished now. He hung his coat carefully in a dark corner, away from the stony-eyed butler and his assistants. and tried to arrange the folds so as to hide the small grey head which peeped inquisitively out over the edge of his pocket. Meanwhile, ne petted his prize furtively and conjured it not to betray him. The kitten appeared acquiescent. It was evidently sleepy, and Dick saw with joy that it had already prepared itself for a nap. He breathed a fervent praver. gave it a farewell pat, and strode nervously into the ,ira wing-room. Never was dinner so interminably long. Thev had a’loted him to a vivacious little girl in her first season, and be was far away from Miss Girton send of the table. That lady sat between the pianist and the newest writer of short stories, and Dick noticed with dull jealousv that she seemed on excellent terms with both. * As for him, the spectre of his concealed crime rose up before him at every mouthful. The girl who sat next him thought him very queer and absent-minded, for he talked by fits and starts, while every now and then she caught him looking anxiously toward the door. With the third course came a new torment—how to feed his incubus. That the kitten was starving Dick made no doubt, and the thought was sufficient to spoil his dinner for him He felt exceedingly guilty at the thought that he had not provided for it before. Also the thought that the smell of food might possibly attract the animal from his pocket and induce it to make its appearance in the dining-room, filled him with apprehension. He looked about him for something to slip into his pocket and convey to it secretly, but the outlook was not promising. To say nothing of the difficulty of transportation. such viands as sweetbreads a la Marengo, chicken with truffles, or Roman punch, were hare y the diet any self-respecting cat would select for her offspring, and Dick knew it. He passed three courses in endeavouring to manufacture some plausible excuse for leaving the table, bnt finally gave up in despair, resolving to wait until tLe ladies retired to the drawingroom. when the greater freedom that prevailed might ail his purpose. When cigars had been lighted and chairs pushed back.

and when conversation was flowing gently and intermittently, like the wine into the glasses, Dick felt his hour had come. * Leighton,* he said, addressing his host with elaborate indifference, ‘ would yon — could I—ah. that is—would it be too much trouble to get me a glass of milk ?’ An amazed silence tell upon the party at this singular request, and even old Grubbs stopped short in the middle of his longest and most wearisome story. ‘ Milk !’ said the host, forgetting to relight his cigar, and staring at our hero in perplexity. * Punch.' suggested the short-story writer. * No.' said Dick, shaking his head. * just a plain glass of milk, please.' * Certainly, if you want it,’ said Leighton, ‘ but wont champagne do ?’ ‘ Well you see. the fact is.' said Dick, writhing on his chair, ‘ the doctor ordered me after every meal— *

'Oh ’. of course, if you like.’ said his host, and the butler brought a large tumbler of milk and placed it solemnly before Dick on the table during a rather chilly silence. Then they all began talking about something else, and only the short-story writer, who sat opposite, kept looking at Dick quizzically now and then. There was no help for it, he was forced to gulp down at least half the glass, which he did with a very bad grace indeed. Meanwhile, how to get away unobserved ? ■ Leighton.’ he said, reaching out to straighten a candle-shade, ‘ did I hear you say that Gladstone had been criticised in the Tim-ts for that last speech of his ?' •Yes.' said Leighton, quite unsuspicious. • and of all the unwarrantable ’ The Radical M. P. at the other end of the table had something to say on the subject, and the short-story writer wanted to ask questions. The result was that the men pushed the bottles into the centre of the table, squared their elbows, and generally made ready for warfare. and in ten minutes, as Dick had anticipated, were far too deep in politics to observe his movements. He felt quite proud of his but there was no time for self-rejoicing. With the half-finished glass of milk still in his hand, he rose and wandered over to the window, then to the buffet for a Ight; then, qnite unobserved, out of the door and down the hall to where his overcoat hung. The kitten was awake and seemed restless. Dick felt that he was just in time. He held it under one arm. and carefully tilted the glass for it until every drop was gone. ■ There, old man.' he said, as the little thing rubbed its head caressingly against his sleeve : ‘ you feel better, don't you ? Have a cigar after your drink ?’ It amused him to treat his treasure-trove like an acquaintance. The sound of chairs being pushed about in the diningroom struck him with sadden panic. He spilled the kitten hastily into his pocket again, sped back with the empty glass, and put it on the table with the air of a man who has done his whole duty. ' Humph 1’ said the short-story writer, wheeling suddenly around and surveying him suspiciously, ‘ you're a healthy specimen. Is all your medical regimen on that order, may I ask ?' ' No,’ said Dick, with superb simplicity, ‘ only a man must look after his health, you know, and I'm not in condition at all really.’ ' You look it.’ said the short-story writer sarcastically. • I saw you at the club vesterday boxing, and the amount of weakness you displayed there alarmed me ; it really did. Milk, indeed I Nervous prostration, complicated with heart disease, is about your case. I fancy.’ ’I hope it’s not as bad as ail that,' replied Dick with the calmness of innocence which would have done credit to Mr Toole himself. ' but there's no knowing what it may turn out if I'm not careful.’ The short story writer gave him a sharp look as they passed out of the dining-room together, and then went over and spoke to the French tenor, who had been rather neglected during the political discussion. Conversation in the drawing-room was not exciting.

and Dick grew nervous. Of course the tenor sang ,an d the pianist played, and the short-story writer told some of the curious things which had fallen to his own or other people's experience ; but Dick wanted to talk to Miss Girton, and found this rather harassing. That lady, however, was in her element: and as when she was not discussing Ibsen with the critic, she was analysing Wagner uujtift with the pianist, or exchanging French compliments with the tenor, he found very little chance to put in his oar. He tried to do his duty, but he eyed her from afar with a heavy heart. Why was it she would never say a word to him, when she was talking so brightly to those other men ? Whi was it he couldn't play or sing, or understand Theosophy ? He drifted aimlessly about, longing to get away, and yet bound in her presence by the irresistible pleasure it gave him merely to look at her. The drawing-room was heated by a large wood fire, and it soon became unpleasantly warm ; so the people wandered out by twos and threes, some into the musicroom. a few into the cool, softly lighted hall. Miss Girton was one of these, and Dick as a matter of coarse joined the group of men gathered around her, and hazarded a remark now and then when they gave him a chance. How lovely she looked, he thought, as she stood there, tall and graceful in her fawn-coloured satin draperies, with her bright eyes and quick, animated movements of head and hands 1 The ribbon of her bouquet had become untied, and she rolled it in her angers, and trailed it to and fro over the shining wood floor as she talked. ‘ It isn't so much the humanity of Ibsen.’ she was saying. • it's his perception of our higher being. I think, which gives him so much power over things nurely ideal.’ Dick wondered, with a sickening sensation of ignorance. what was ■ a perception of our higher being.’ Suddenly a thrill of apprehension seized him. There »asa stir among the overcoats in a dark corner of the hall, and, as he gazed anxiously in that direction, two bright spots met his eyes—two sparks of topaz tire, fixed intently on the floor. Oh. that fascinating blue ribbon How it curved and trailed about 1 What kitten, even the most staid, could have resisted the temptation ? Dick saw the danger at once. He made a sudden plunge and picked it off the door. ’Your ribbon is untied,’ he said, offering it to Miss Girton with nervous politeness. ’ Thank you.’ she said, in some surprise. She let it dangle from her hand for a minute, then shook it out in a long curved line on the dark wood It was too much. No mortal kitten could withstand tAat There was a bound and a rush and the scamper of four soft little paws, and Dick's unfortunate waif lay on its back under Miss Girton's verv feet, kicking and clawing at the ribbon in an ecstasy of playful excitement. ‘ Good gracious ’.’ exclaimed Miss Girton, stepping back. ‘ Where did it come from ?’

’lt’s a cat, by Jove!’ said somebody. Then Dick, feeling cold and weak all over, made a step forward. •It’s mine; I picked it up,’ he said distinctly. ’lt was so cold and wet. you know ' ’Did you And it?’ "Was it here all the time?’ • Where did it come from ?’ cried everybody, crowding around ; while the kitten made short charges at the ribbon, batted at it with its paws, and kicked at it frantically with its hind legs. Dick told the whole story with a sinking heart. What would she think of him ? What would she say ? She did not say anything, but nearly everybody else did. The pianist told a long story about his cat in Leipsic, and the short - story writer clapped Dick cn the shoulders. "Come, Eaton, now confess.’ he cried, laughing : ‘I spotted something from the first. That milk ’’ ’Yes,’ said Dick, scarlet but sturdy. • it was for the kitten. ’ There was a roar of laughter from the men. and then the joke had to be explained to the ladies, and Dick had to tell again how he had managed it. • And why did you not produce the beast right away.' said Leighton. ‘ I cannot understand exactly. By the way.’ he added. ’ there a smart fox-terrier of mine upstairs. Let's introduce them and have some fun.’ Dick made a dash for his prole ze. who by this time ha I got the ribbon mixed up with his own tail, and was trying to swallow both, and caught it up. ' No. you don’t!’ he said, holding the furry little head against his chin caressingly. • This little beast's had quite enough of that sort of thing. I fancy. • I'm going to take it home and make it comfortable. You don't mind living with me. old man ?’—this to the kitten. 'We’ll be pretty good chums so long as you don't smoke bad tobacco.’ He got on his overcoat and said good-bye to his hostess amid a fire of good-natured chaff. Then he looked round for Miss Girton. She was standing alone by the fireplace, twisting the fatal ribbon absently in her fingers, and her face wore a curious expression. Dick, with his prize still cuddled in his arms, came over to her. ‘ All that for a kitten ?’ she said somewhat irrelevantly. ‘ Why was it ?’ ‘ Oh. well, it liked me,' said Dick simply, • and it was so beastly wet. you know.’ She gave him her hand with a sudden, dazzling smile. • Won't you come and see me to-morrow ?’ she said. • I shall be quite alone all the afternoon, and I do so want to hear about—about the kitten.'—CAr-'sZma* A'ltiaher