The Green Mouse
aloud: "If you could only let him see you; he sits there blinking at me."
"Do you think he'd come if he saw me?"
"Who wouldn't?" thought Brown, and answered, calmly: "I think so.... Of
course, you couldn't get up here."
"I could.... But I'd better not.... Besides, I live only a few houses
away--Number 161--and I _could_ go through into the back yard."
"But you'd better not attempt to climb the fence. Have one of the
servants do it; we'll get the cat between us then and corner him."
"There are no servants in the house. It's closed for the summer--all
boarded up!"
"Then how can you get in?"
"I have a key to the basement.... Shall I?"
"And climb up on the fence?"
"Yes--if I must--if it's necessary to save Clarence.... Shall I?"
"Why can't I shoo him into your yard."
"He doesn't know our yard. He's a country cat; he's never stayed in town.
I was taking him with me to Oyster Bay.... I came down from a week-end at
Stockbridge, where some relatives kept Clarence for us while we were
abroad during the winter.... I meant to stop and get some things in the
house on my way back to Oyster Bay.... Isn't it a perfectly wretched
situation?... We--the entire family--adore Clarence--and--I-I'm so
anxious----"
Her fascinating underlip trembled, but she controlled it.
"I'll get that cat if it takes a month!" said Brown. Then he flushed; he
had not meant to speak so warmly.
The girl flushed too. I am so grateful.... But how----"
"Wait," said Brown; and, addressing Clarence in a softly alluring voice,
he began cautiously to crawl along the fences toward that unresponsive
animal. Presently he desisted, partly on account of a conspiracy engaged
in between his trousers and a rusty nail. The girl was now beyond range
of his vision around the corner.
"Miss--ah--Miss--er--er--Betty!" he called.
"Yes!"
"Clarence has retreated over another back yard."
"How horrid!"
"How far down do you live?"
She named the number of doors, anxiously adding: "Is Clarence farther
down the block? Oh, please, be careful. Please, don't drive him past our
yard. If you will wait I--I'll let myself into the house and--I'll manage
to get up on the fence."
"You'll ruin your gown."
"I don't care about my gown."
"These fences are the limit! Full of spikes and nails.... Will you be
careful?"
"Yes, very."
"The nails are rusty. I--I am h-horribly afraid of lockjaw."
"Then don't remain there an instant."
"I mean--I'm afraid of it for you."
There was a silence; they couldn't see each other. Brown's heart was
beating fast.
"It is very generous of you to--think of me," came her voice, lower but
very friendly.
"I ca-can't avoid it," he stammered, and wanted to kick himself for what
he had blurted out.
Another pause--longer this time. And then:
"I am going to enter my house and climb up on the fence.... Would you
mind waiting a moment?"
"I will wait here," said Beekman Brown, "until I see you." He added to
himself: "I'm going mad rapidly and I know it and don't care.... _What_--
a--girl!"
While he waited, legs swinging, astride the back fence, he examined his
injuries--thoughtfully touched the triangular tear in his trousers,
inspected minor sartorial and corporeal lacerations, set his hat firmly
upon his head, and gazed across the monotony of the back-yard fences at
Clarence. The cat eyed him disrespectfully, paws tucked under, tail
curled up against his well-fed flank--disillusioned, disgusted,
unapproachable.
Presently, through the palings of a back yard on Sixty-fifth Street,
Brown saw a small boy, evidently the progeny of some caretaker, regarding
him intently.
"Say, mister," he began as soon as noticed, "you have tore your pants on
a nail."
"Thanks," said Brown, coldly; "will you be good enough to mind your
business?"
"I thought I'd tell you," said the small boy, delightedly aware that the
information displeased Brown. "They're tore awful, too. That's what you
get for playin' onto back fences. Y'orter be ashamed."
Brown feigned unconsciousness and folded his arms with dignity; but the
next moment he straightened up, quivering.
"You young devil!" he said; "if you pull that slingshot again I'll come
over there and destroy you!"
At the same moment above the fence line down the block a white straw hat
appeared; then a youthful face becomingly flushed; then two dainty,
gloved hands grasping the top of the fence.
"I am here," she called across to him.
The small boy, who had climbed to the top of his fence, immediately
joined the conversation:
"Your girl's a winner, mister," he observed, critically.
"Are you going to keep quiet?" demanded Brown, starting across the fence.
"Sure," said the small boy, carelessly.
And, settling down on his lofty perch of observation, he began singing:
_"Lum' me an' the woild is mi-on._"
The girl's cheeks became pinker; she looked at the small boy appealingly.
"Little boy," she said, "if you'll run away somewhere I'll give you ten
cents."
"No," said the terror, "I want to see him an' you catch that cat."
"I'll tell you what I'll do," suggested Brown, inspired. "I'll give you a
dollar if you'll help us catch the cat."
"You're on!" said the boy, briskly. "What'll I do? Touch her up with this
bean-shooter?"
"No; put that thing into your pocket!" exclaimed Brown, sharply. "Now
climb across to Sixty-fourth Street and stand by that iron railing so
that the cat can't bolt out into the street, and," he added, wrapping a
dollar bill around a rusty nail and tossing it across the fence, "here's
what's coming to you."
The small boy scrambled over nimbly, ran squirrel-like across the
transverse fence, dipped, swarmed over the iron railing and stood on
guard.
"Say, mister," he said, "if the cat starts this way you and your girl
start a hollerin' like----"
"All right," interrupted Brown, and turned toward the vision of
loveliness and distress which was now standing on the top of her own back
fence holding fast to a wistaria trellis and flattering Clarence with low
and honeyed appeals.
The cat, however, was either too stupid or too confused to respond; he
gazed blankly at his mistress, and when Brown began furtively edging his
way toward him Clarence arose, stood a second in alert indecision, then
began to back away.
"We've got him between us!" called out Brown. "If you'll stand ready to
seize him when I drive him----"
There was a wild scurry, a rush, a leap, frantic clawing for foothold.
"Now, Miss Betty! Quick!" cried Brown. "Don't let him pass you."
She spread her skirts, but the shameless Clarence rushed headlong between
the most delicately ornamental pair of ankles in Manhattan.
"Oh-h!" cried the girl in soft despair, and made a futile clutch; but she
could not arrest the flight of Clarence, she merely upset him, turning
him for an instant into a furry pinwheel, whirling through mid-air,
landing in her yard, rebounding like a rubber ball, and disappearing,
with one flying leap, into a narrow opening in the basement masonry.
"Where is he?" asked Brown, precariously balanced on the next fence.
"Do you know," she said, "this is becoming positively ghastly. He's
bolted into our cellar."
"Why, that's all right, isn't it?" asked Brown. "All you have to do is to
go inside, descend to the cellar, and light the gas."
"There's no gas."
"You have electric light?"
"Yes, but it's turned off at the main office. The house is closed for the
summer, you know."
Brown, balancing cautiously, walked the intervening fence like an amateur
on a tightrope.
Her pretty hat was a trifle on one side; her cheeks brilliant with
excitement and anxiety. Utterly oblivious of herself and of appearances
in her increasing solicitude for the adored Clarence, she sat the fence,
cross saddle, balancing with one hand and pointing with the other to the
barred ventilator into which Clarence had darted.
A wisp of sunny hair blew across her crimson cheek; slender, active,
excitedly unconscious of self, she seemed like some eager, adorable
little gamin perched there, intent on mischief.
"If you'll drop into our yard," she said, "and place that soap box
against the ventilator, Clarence can't get out that way!"
It was done before she finished the request. She disengaged herself from
the fencetop, swung over, hung an instant, and dropped into a soft flower
bed.
Breathing fast, disheveled, they confronted one another on the grass. His
blue suit of serge was smeared with whitewash; her gown was a sight. She
felt for her hat instinctively, repinned it at hazard, looked at her
gloves, and began to realize what she had done.
"I--I couldn't help it," she faltered; "I couldn't leave Clarence in a
city of five m-million strangers--all alone--terrified out of his senses--
could I? I had rather--rather be thought--anything than be c-cruel to a
helpless animal."
Brown dared not trust himself to answer. She was too beautiful and his
emotion was too deep. So he bent over and attempted to dust his garments
with the flat of his hand.
"I am so sorry," she said in a low voice. "Are your clothes quite
ruined?"
"Oh, I don't mind," he protested happily, "I really don't mind a bit. If
you'll only let me help you corner that infern--that unfortunate cat I
shall be perfectly happy."
She said, with heightened color: "It is exceedingly nice of you to say
so.... I--I don't quite know--what do you think we had better do?"
"Suppose," he said, "you go into the basement, unlock the cellar door and
call. He can't bolt this way."
She nodded and entered the house. A few moments later he heard her
calling, so persuasively that it was all he could do not to run to her,
and why on earth that cat didn't he never could understand.
XI
BETTY
_In Which the Remorseless and Inexorable Results of Psychical Research
Are Revealed to the Very Young_
At intervals for the next ten minutes her fresh, sweet, fascinating voice
came to him where he stood in the yard; then he heard it growing fainter,
more distant, receding; then silence.
Listening, he suddenly heard a far, rushing sound from subterranean
depths--like a load of coal being put in--then a frightened cry.
He sprang into the basement, ran through laundry and kitchen. The cellar
door swung wide open above the stairs which ran down into darkness; and
as he halted to listen Clarence dashed up out of the depths, scuttled
around the stairs and fled upward into the silent regions above.
"Betty!" he cried, forgetting in his alarm the lesser conventions, "where
are you?"
"Oh, dear--oh, dear!" she wailed. "I am in such a dreadful plight. Could
you help me, please?"
"Are you hurt?" he asked. Fright made his voice almost inaudible. He
struck a match with shaking fingers and ran down the cellar stairs.
"Betty! Where are you?"
"Oh, I am here--in the coal."
"What?"
"I--I can't seem to get out; I stepped into the coal pit in the dark and
it all--all slid with me and over me and I'm in it up to the shoulders."
Another match flamed; he saw a stump of a candle, seized it, lighted it,
and, holding it aloft, gazed down upon the most heart rending spectacle
he had ever witnessed.
The next instant he grasped a shovel and leaped to the rescue. She was
quite calm about it; the situation was too awful, the future too hopeless
for mere tears. What had happened contained all the dignified elements of
a catastrophe. They both realized it, and when, madly shoveling, he at
last succeeded in releasing her she leaned her full weight on his own,
breathing rapidly, and suffered him to support and guide her through the
flame-shot darkness to the culinary regions above.
Here she sank down on a chair for one moment in utter collapse. Then she