CHAPTER III.
I like living with bachelors. They have comfortable chairs, and keepgood fires. They don't put water into the tea-pot: they call theman-servant and send for more tea. They don't give you a table-spoonfulof cream, fidgeting and looking round to see if anybody else wants it:one of them turns the jug upside-down into your saucer, and beforeanother can lay hold of it and say, "Halloa! The milk's all gone,"--youhave generally had time to lap it up under the table.
I prefer men's outsides, too, to women's in some respects. Why all humanbeings--since they have no coats of their own, and are obliged to buythem--do not buy handsomely marked furs whilst they are about it, is apuzzle to a cat. As to the miserable stuff ladies cover themselves within an evening, there is about as much comfort and softness in it as ingoing to sleep on a duster. Men's coats are nothing to boast of, eitherto look at or to feel, but they _are_ thicker. If you happen to clutch alittle with gratification or excitement, your claws don't go through;and they don't squeak like a mouse in a trap and call you treacherousbecause their own coats are thin.
I was very comfortable in my new home. My master was exceedingly kind tome, and he has a fearless and friendly way of tickling one's toes whichis particularly agreeable, and not commonly to be met with.
Yes, my life was even more luxurious than before. It is so still. Toeat, drink, and sleep, to keep oneself warm, and in good condition, andto pay proper attention to one's personal appearance; that is all onehas to do in a life like mine in bachelors' quarters.
One has unpleasant dreams sometimes. I think my tea is occasionally toostrong, though I have learned to prefer it to milk, and my masteralways gives it to me in his own saucer. If he has friends to tea, theygive me some in their saucers. One can't refuse, but I fancy too muchtea is injurious to the nerves.
The night before last, I positively dreamed that I was deserted. Ifancied that I was chased along a housetop, and fell from the gutter.Down--down--but I woke up on the bear-skin before the fire, as ourman-servant was bringing in candles.
It made me wonder how Mrs. Tabby was getting on. I had never doneanything further in that matter; but really when one's life goes in acertain groove, and everything one can wish for is provided inabundance, one never seems to have time for these things. It iswonderful how energetic some philanthropic people are. I daresay they like the fuss. (I can't endure fuss!) And Mrs. Tabby'sappearance--excellent creature!--would probably make her feelill-at-ease in bachelor quarters, if we could change places. Her fur isreally almost mangy, and she has nothing to speak of in the way of atail. But she is a worthy soul. And some day, when the Captain and I aregoing to town without much luggage--or if she should happen to becollecting in the country,--I will certainly _look up a few of my worstbones for the Fund_.
I really hesitate to approach the subject of my one source ofdiscontent. It seems strange that there should be any crook in a lot sosmooth as ours. Plenty to eat and drink, handsome coats, noencumbrances, and a temperament naturally inclined--at least, in mycase--towards taking life easy. And yet, as I lay stretched full-lengthdown one of my master's knees the other night, before a delicious fire,and after such a saucerful of creamy tea which he could not drinkhimself--I kept waking up with uncomfortable starts, fancying I saw onthe edge of the fender--but I will tell the matter in proper order.
I turned round to get my back to it, but I thought of it all the same;and as every hair of my moustaches twitched, with the vexation of mythoughts, I observed that my master was pulling and biting at his, andglaring at the fire as if _he_ expected to see--however, I do nottrouble myself about the crumples in _his_ rose-leaves. He is big enoughto take care of himself. My own grievance I will state plainly and atonce. It may be a relief to my mind, which I sometimes fear will beunhinged by dwelling on the thought of--but to begin.
It will easily be understood that after my arrival at my new home, Iwaited anxiously for the appearance of the mouse; but it will hardly becredited by any one who knows me, or who knew my grandmother, that I sawit and _let it escape me_. It was seated on the sugar-basin, just as theCaptain had described it. The torn ear, the jerking tail, the brighteyes--all were there.
If this story falls into the paws of any young cat who wishes to avoidthe mortifications which have embittered my favoured existence, let mewarn him to remember that a creature who has lived on friendly termswith human beings cannot be judged by common rules. Many a mouse's eyeas bright as this one had I seen, but hitherto never one that did notparalyze before my own.
He looked at me--I looked at him. His tail jerked--mine responded. Ourwhiskers twitched--joy filled my brain to intoxication--I crept--Icrouched--I sprang--
He was not spell-bound--he did not even run away. With a cool twinkle ofthat hateful eye, and one twitch of the ragged ear, he just overbalancedthe silver sugar-pot and dropped to the ground, the basin and sugarfalling on the top of him with a crash which made me start against mywill. I think that start just baulked the lightning flash of my secondleap, and he was gone--absolutely gone. To add insult to injury, mymaster ran in from his bedroom and shouted--"Stealing, Toots? confoundyou, you've knocked down my sugar-pot," and threw both his hair-brushesat me.
_I_ steal?--and, worse still, _I_ knock down anything, who have walkedamong three dozen wine-glasses, on a shelf in the butler's pantry,without making them jingle! But I must be calm, for there is more totell.
The mouse never returned. It was something, but it was not enough. Mypride had been deeply hurt, and it demanded revenge. At last I felt italmost a grievance that I _did_ reign supreme in the Captain's quarters,that the mouse did not come back--and let me catch him.
Besides our in-door man, my master had an Irish groom, and the groom hada place (something between a saddle-room and a scullery) where _he_ saidhe "kept what the master required," but where, the master said, Terencekept what was not wanted, and lost what was.
There certainly were, to my knowledge, fifteen empty Day and Martin'sblacking-bottles in one corner, for I used occasionally to walk overthem to keep my feet in practice, and it was in this room that Terencelast had conscious possession of the hunting-breeches which were neverseen after the Captain's birthday, when Terence threw the clothes-brushafter me, because I would not drink the master's health in whisky, andhad to take the cleanest of the shoe brushes to his own coat, which wasdusty from lying in the corn-chest.
But he was a good-natured creature, and now and then, for a change, Ifollowed him into the saddle-room. I am thankful to say I have nevercaught mice except for amusement, and a cat of daintier tastes does notexist. But one has inherited instincts--and the musty, fusty, mouseysmell of the room did excite me a little. Besides, I practised my stepsamong the blacking-bottles.
I was on the top of the most tottering part of the pile one afternoon,when I saw a pair of bead-like eyes, and--yes, I could swear to it--atorn ear. But before I could spring to the ground they had vanishedbehind the corn-chest.
This was how it came about that when the Captain's room was cosiest, andhe and his friends were kindest, I used to steal away from luxurieswhich are dear to every fibre of my constitution, and pat hastily downto the dirty hole, where Terence accumulated old rubbish and misused andmislaid valuables--in the wild hope that I might hear, smell, or see theragged-eared enemy of my peace.
What hours I have wasted, now blinking with sleep, now on the alert atsounds like the revelries of mocking mice.
When I say that I have even risked wet feet, on a damp afternoon, to getthere--every cat will understand how wild must have been theinfatuation!
I tried to reason myself out of it. "Toots," I would say, "you banishedhim from your master's room, and you have probably banished him fromTerence's. Why pursue the matter farther? So pitiful an object isunworthy of your revenge."
"Very true," I would reply to myself, "but I want a turn in the air.I'll just step down as far as the saddle-room once more, and make myselffinally comfortable by looking behind the old barrel. I don't think Iwent
quite round it."
There is no delusion so strong when it besets you, or so complete afailure in its results--as the hope of getting relief from aninfatuation by indulging it once more. It grows worse every time.
One day I was stealing away as usual, when I caught my master's eye witha peculiar expression in it. He was gnawing his moustaches too. I amvery fond of him, and I ran back to the chair and looked up and mewed,for I wanted to know what was the matter.
"You're a curious cat, Toots," said he; "but I suppose you're only likethe rest of the world. I did think you did care a little bit for me.It's only the cream, is it, old fellow? As a companion, you preferTerence? Eh? Well, off with you!"
But I need hardly say that I would not leave him. It was no want of lovefor him that led me to the saddle-room. I was not base enough to forgetthat he had been my friend in need, even if he had been less amiable tome since. All that evening I lay on his breast and slept. _But I dreamtof the mouse!_
The next morning he went out riding.
"He will not miss me now," thought I. "I will devote the morning tohunting through that wretched room inch by inch, for the last time. Itwill satisfy me that the mouse is not there, and it really is a duty totry and convince myself of this, that I may be cured of an infatuationwhich causes annoyance to so excellent a master."
I hurried off as rapidly as befitted the vigour of the resolution, andwhen I got into the saddle-room I saw the mouse. And when the mouse sawme he fled like the wind.
I confess that I should have lost him then, but that a hole on which hehad reckoned was stopped up, and he had to turn.
What a chase it was! Never did I meet his equal for audacity andfleetness. But I knew the holes as well as he did, and cut him off atevery one. Round and round we went--behind the barrel, over thecorn-chest, and then he made for the middle of the room.
Now, amongst all the rubbish which Terence had collected about him,there were many old articles of clothing belonging to the Captain,including a pair of long riding-boots, which had been gathering mildew,and stiffening out of shape in their present position ever since I came.One of these was lying on the floor; and just as I was all but upon themouse, he darted into the boot.
A quiver of delight ran through me. With all his unwonted sagacity,Master Mouse had run straight into a trap. The boot was wide, and headand shoulders I plunged in after my prey.
I scented him all the way down the leg, but the painful fact is that Icould not quite get to the bottom. He must have crouched in the toe orheel, and I could get no farther than the calf. Oh, if my master's legshad but been two inches shorter! I should have clawed into the remotestcorner of the foot. As it was, I pushed, I struggled, I shook, I worriedthe wretched boot--but all in vain.
Only when I was all but choked did I withdraw my head for a gasp offresh air. And there was the Captain himself, yelling with laughter, andsprawling all over the place in convulsions of unseemly merriment, withthose long legs which--but they are not his fault, poor man!
* * * * *
That is my story--an unfinished tale, of which I do not myself know theend. This is the one crook in my luxurious lot--that I cannot see thelast of that mouse.
Happily, I don't think that my master any longer misunderstands myattachment to the saddle-room. The other day, he sat scribbling for along time with a pencil and paper, and when he had done it, he threw thesketch to me and said, "There, Toots, look at that, and you will seewhat became of your friend!"
It was civilly meant, and I append the sketch for the sake of those whomit may inform. I do not understand pictures myself.
Those boots have a strange fascination for me now. I sit for hours bythe mouth of the one where he went in and never came back. Not thefaintest squeak from its recesses has ever stirred the sensitive hairsof my watchful ear. He must be starving, but not a nibble of the leatherhave I heard. I doze, but I am ever on the alert. Nightmaresoccasionally disturb me. I fancy I see him, made desperate by hunger,creep anxiously to the mouth of the boot, pricking his tagged ear. OnceI had a terrible vision of his escaping, and of his tail as it vanishedround the corner.
But these are dreams. He has never returned, I suspect that the truthis, that he had a fit from fright, in the toe of the boot, and is dead.Some day Terence will shake out his skeleton.
It grows very cold. This place is full of draughts, and the floor isdamp.
He _must_ be dead. He never could have lasted so long without a move ora nibble.
And it is tea-time. I think I shall join the Captain.
THE HENS OF HENCASTLE.
(_Translated from the German of_ VICTOR BLUeTHGEN.)
Brothers of Pity and Other Tales of Beasts and Men Page 13
