IX
A CROSS-TOWN CAR
Concerning the Sudden Madness of One Brown
As the two young fellows, carrying their suitcases, emerged from the subway at Times Square into the midsummer glare and racket of Broadway and Forty-second Street, Brown suddenly halted, pressed his hand to his forehead, gazed earnestly up at the sky as though trying to recollect how to fly, then abruptly gripped Smith's left arm just above the elbow and squeezed it, causing the latter gentleman exquisite discomfort.
"Here! Stop it!" protested Smith, wriggling with annoyance.
Brown only gazed at him and then at the sky.
"Stop it!" repeated Smith, astonished. "Why do you pinch me and then look at the sky? Is–is a monoplane attempting to alight on me? What is the matter with you, anyway?"
"That peculiar consciousness," said Brown, dreamily, "is creeping over me. Don't move–don't speak–don't interrupt me, Smith."
"Let go of me!" retorted Smith.
"Hush! Wait! It's certainly creeping over me."
"What's creeping over you?"
"You know what I mean. I am experiencing that strange feeling that all– er–all this--has happened before."
"All what?–confound it!"
"All this! My standing, on a hot summer day, in the infernal din of some great city; and–and I seem to recall it vividly–after a fashion– the blazing sun, the stifling odor of the pavements; I seem to remember that very hackman over there sponging the nose of his horse–even that pushcart piled up with peaches! Smith! What is this maddeningly elusive memory that haunts me–haunts me with the peculiar idea that it has all occurred before?… Do you know what I mean?"
"I've just admitted to you that everybody has that sort of fidget occasionally, and there's no reason to stand on your hindlegs about it. Come on or we'll miss our train."
But Beekman Brown remained stock still, his youthful and attractive features puckered in a futile effort to seize the evanescent memories that came swarming–gnatlike memories that teased and distracted.
"It's as if the entire circumstances were strangely familiar," he said; "as though everything that you and I do and say had once before been done and said by us under precisely similar conditions–somewhere–sometime."
"We'll miss that boat at the foot of Forty-second Street," cut in Smith impatiently. "And if we miss the boat we lose our train."
Brown gazed skyward.
"I never felt this feeling so strongly in all my life," he muttered; "it's–it's astonishing. Why, Smith, I knew you were going to say that."
"Say what?" demanded Smith.
"That we would miss the boat and the train. Isn't it funny?"
"Oh, very. I'll say it again sometime if it amuses you; but, meanwhile, as we're going to that week-end at the Carringtons we'd better get into a taxi and hustle for the foot of West Forty-second Street. Is there anything very funny in that?"
"I knew that, too. I knew you'd say we must take a taxi!" insisted Brown, astonished at his own "clairvoyance."
"Now, look here," retorted Smith, thoroughly vexed; "up to five minutes ago you were reasonable. What the devil's the matter with you, Beekman Brown?"
"James Vanderdynk Smith, I don't know. Good Heavens! I knew you were going to say that to me, and that I was going to answer that way!"
"Are you coming or are you going to talk foolish on this broiling curbstone the rest of the afternoon?" inquired Smith, fiercely.
"Jim, I tell you that everything we've done and said in the last five minutes we have done and said before–somewhere–perhaps on some other planet; perhaps centuries ago when you and I were Romans and wore togas–"
"Confound it! What do I care," shouted Smith, "whether we were Romans and wore togas? We are due this century at a house party on this planet. They expect us on this train. Are you coming? If not–kindly relax that crablike clutch on my elbow before partial paralysis ensues."
"Smith, wait! I tell you this is somehow becoming strangely portentous. I've got the funniest sensation that something is going to happen to me."
"It will," said Smith, dangerously, "if you don't let go my elbow."
But Beekman Brown, a prey to increasing excitement, clung to his friend.
"Wait just one moment, Jim; something remarkable is likely to occur! I–I never before felt this way–so strongly–in all my life. Something extraordinary is certainly about to happen to me."
"It has happened," said his friend, coldly; "you've gone dippy. Also, we've lost that train. Do you understand?"
"I knew we would. Isn't that curious? I–I believe I can almost tell you what else is going to happen to us."
"I'll tell you," hissed Smith; "it's an ambulance for yours and ding-dong to the funny-house! What are you trying to do now?" With real misgiving, for Brown, balanced on the edge of the gutter, began waving his arms in a birdlike way as though about to launch himself into aerial flight across Forty-second Street.
"The car!" he exclaimed excitedly, "the cherry-colored cross-town car! Where is it? Do you see it anywhere, Smith?"
"What? What do you mean? There's no cross-town car in sight. Brown, don't act like that! Don't be foolish! What on earth–"
"It's coming! There's a car coming!" cried Brown.
"Do you think you're a racing runabout and I'm a curve?"
Brown waved him away impatiently.
"I tell you that something most astonishing is going to occur–in a cherry-colored tram car.... And somehow there'll be some reason for me to get into it."
"Into what?"
"Into that cherry-colored car, because–because–there'll be a wicker basket in it–somebody holding a wicker basket–and there'll be–there'll be–a–a–white summer gown–and a big white hat–"
Smith stared at his friend in grief and amazement. Brown stood balancing himself on the gutter's edge, pale, rapt, uttering incoherent prophecy concerning the advent of a car not yet visible anywhere in the immediate metropolitan vista.
"Old man," began Smith with emotion, "I think you had better come very quietly somewhere with me. I–I want to show you something pretty and nice."
"Hark!" exclaimed Brown.
"Sure, I'll hark for you," said Smith, soothingly, "or I'll bark for you if you like, or anything if you'll just come quietly."
"The cherry-colored car!" cried Brown, laboring under tremendous emotion. "Look, Smithy! That is the car!"
"Sure, it is! I see it, old man. They run 'em every five minutes. What the devil is there to astonish anybody about a cross-town cruiser with a red water line?"
"Look!" insisted Brown, now almost beside himself. "The wicker basket! The summer gown! Exactly as I foretold it! The big straw hat!–the–the girl!"
And shoving Smith violently away he galloped after the cherry-colored car, caught it, swung himself aboard, and sank triumphant and breathless into the transverse seat behind that occupied by a wicker basket, a filmy summer frock, a big, white straw hat, and–a girl–the most amazingly pretty girl he had ever laid eyes on. After him, headlong, like a distracted chicken, rushed Smith and alighted beside him, panting, menacing.
"Wha'–dyeh–board–this–car–for!" he gasped, sliding fiercely up beside Brown. "Get off or I'll drag you off!"
But Brown only shook his head with an infatuated smile.
"Is it that girl?" said Smith, incensed. "Are you a–a Broadway Don Juan, or are you a respectable lawyer with a glimmering sense of common decency and an intention to keep a social engagement at the Carringtons' to-day?"
And Smith drew out his timepiece and flourished it furiously under Brown's handsome and sun-tanned nose.
But Brown only slid along the seat away from him, saying:
"Don't bother me, Jim; this is too momentous a crisis in my life to have a well-intentioned but intellectually dwarfed friend butting into me and running about under foot."
"Intellectually d-d–do you mean me?" asked Smith, unable to believe his ears. "Do you?"
"Yes, I do! Because a miracle suddenly happens to me on Forty-second Street, and you, with your mind of a stockbroker, unable to appreciate it, come clattering and clamoring after me about a house party–a common-place, every-day, social appointment, when I have a full-blown miracle on my hands!"
"What miracle?" faltered Smith, stupefied.
"What miracle? Haven't I been telling you that I've been having that queer sense that all this has happened before? Didn't I suddenly begin– as though compelled by some unseen power–to foretell things? Didn't I prophesy the coming of this cross-town car? Didn't I even name its color before it came into sight? Didn't I warn you that I'd probably get into it? Didn't I reveal to you that a big straw hat and a pretty summer gown–"
"Confound it!" almost shouted Smith, "There are about five thousand cherry-colored cross-town cars in this town. There are about five million white hats and dresses in this borough. There are five billion girls wearing 'em–!" "Yes; but the wicker basket" breathed Brown. "How do you account for that?… And, anyway, you annoy me, Smith. Why don't you get out of the car and go somewhere?"
"I want to know where you are going before I knock your head off."
"I don't know," replied Brown, serenely.
"Are you actually attempting to follow that girl?" whispered Smith, horrified.
"Yes.... It sounds low, doesn't it? But it really isn't. It is something I can't explain–you couldn't understand even if I tried to enlighten you. The sentiment I harbor is too lofty for some to comprehend, too vague, too pure, too ethereal for–"
"I'm as lofty and ethereal as you are!" retorted Smith, hotly. "And I know a–an ethereal Lothario when I see him, too!"
"I'm not–though it looks like it–and I forgive you, Smithy, for losing your temper and using such language."
"Oh, you do?" said Smith, grinning with rage.
"Yes," nodded Brown, kindly. "I forgive you, but don't call me that again. You mean well, but I'm going to find out at last what all this maddening, tantalizing, unexplained and mysterious feeling that it all has occurred before really is. I'm going to trace it to its source; I'm going to compare notes with this highly intelligent girl."
"You're going to speak to her?"
"I am. I must. How else can I compare data."
"I hope she'll call the police. If she doesn't I will."
"Don't worry. She's part of this strange situation. She'll comprehend as soon as I begin to explain. She is intelligent; you only have to look at her to understand that."
Smith choking with impotent fury, nevertheless ventured a swift glance. Her undeniable beauty only exasperated him. "To think–to think," he burst out, "that a modest, decent, law-loving business man like me should suddenly awake to find his boyhood friend had turned into a godless votary of Venus!"
"I'm not a votary of Venus!" retorted Brown, turning pink. "I'll punch you if you say it again. I'm as decent and respectable a business man as you are! And my grammar is better. And, thank Heaven! I've intellect enough to recognize a miracle when it happens to me.... Do you think I am capable of harboring any sentiments that might bring the blush of coquetry to the cheek of modesty? Do you?"
"Well–well, I don't know what you're up to!" Smith raised his voice in bewilderment and despair. "I don't know what possesses you to act this way. People don't experience miracles in New York cross-town cars. The wildest stretch of imagination could only make a coincidence out of this. There are trillions of girls in cross-town cars dressed just like this one."
"But the basket!"
"Another coincidence. There are quadrillions of wicker baskets."
"Not," said Brown, "with the contents of this one."
"Why not?"
Smith instinctively turned to look at the basket balanced daintily on the girl's knees.
He strove to penetrate its wicker exterior with concentrated gaze. He could see nothing but wicker.
"Well," he began angrily, "what is in that basket? And how do you know it–you lunatic?"
"Will you believe me if I tell you?"
"If you can offer any corroborative evidence–"
"Well, then–there's a cat in that basket."
"A–what?"
"A cat."
"How do you know?"
"I don't know how I know, but there's a big, gray cat in that basket."
"Why a gray one?"
"I can't tell, but it is gray, and it has six toes on every foot."
Smith truly felt that he was now being trifled with.
"Brown," he said, trying to speak civilly, "if anybody in the five boroughs had come to me with affidavits and told me yesterday how you were going to behave this morning–"
His voice, rising unconsciously as the realization of his outrageous wrongs dawned upon him, rang out above the rattle and grinding of the car, and the girl turned abruptly and looked straight at him and then at Brown.
The pure, fearless beauty of the gaze, the violet eyes widening a little in surprise, silenced both young men.
She inspected Brown for an instant, then turned serenely to her calm contemplation of the crowded street once more. Yet her dainty, close-set ears looked as though they were listening.
The young men gazed at one another.
"That girl is well bred," said Smith in a low, agitated voice. "You–you wouldn't think of venturing to speak to her!"
"I'm obliged to, I tell you! This all happened before. I recognize everything as it occurs.... Even to your making a general nuisance of yourself."
Smith straightened up.
"I'm going to push you forcibly from this car. Do you remember that incident?"
"No," said Brown with conviction, "that incident did not happen. You only threatened to do it. I remember now."
In spite of himself Smith felt a slight chill creep up over his neck and inconvenience his spine.
He said, deeply agitated: "What a terrible position for me to be in–with a friend suddenly gone mad in the streets of New York and running after a basket containing what he believes to be a cat. A Cat! Good–"
Brown gripped his arm. "Watch it!" he breathed.
The lid of the basket tilted a little, between lid and rim a soft, furry, six-toed gray paw was thrust out. Then a plaintive voice said, "Meow-w!"
X
THE LID OFF
An Alliance, Offensive, Defensive, and Back-Fensive
Smith, petrified, looked blankly at the paw.
For a while he remained stupidly incapable of speech or movement, then, as though arousing from a bad dream:
"What are you going to do, anyway?" he asked with an effort. "This car is bound to stop sometime, I suppose, and–and then what?"
"I don't know what I'm going to do. Whatever I do will be the thing that ought to happen to me, to that cat and to that girl–that is the thing which is destined to happen. That's all I know about it."
His friend passed an unsteady hand across his brow.
"This whole proceeding is becoming a nightmare," he said unsteadily. "Am I awake? Is this Forty-second Street? Hold up some fingers, Brown, and let me guess how many you hold up, and if I guess wrong I'm home in bed asleep and the whole thing is off."
Beekman Brown patted his friend on the shoulder.
"You take a cab, Smithy, and go somewhere. And if I don't come go on alone to the Carringtons'.... You don't mind going on and fixing things up with the Carringtons, do you?"
"Brown, do you believe that The Green Mouse Society has got hold of you? Do you?"
"I don't know and don't care.... Smith, I ask you plainly, did you ever before see such a perfectly beautiful girl as that one is?"
"Beekman, do you believe anything queer is going to result? You don't suppose she has anything to do with this extraordinary freak of yours?"
"Anything to do with it? How?"
"I mean," he sank his voice to hoarser depths, "how do you know but that this girl, who pretends to pay no attention to us, might be a–a–one of those clever, professional mesmerists who force you to follow 'em, and get you into their power, and exhibit you, and make you eat raw potatoes and tallow candles and tacks before an audience."
He peeped furtively at Brown, who did not appear uneasy.
"All I'm afraid of," added Smith, sullenly, "is that you'll get yourself into vaudeville or the patrol wagon."
He waited, but Brown made no reply.
"Oh, very well," he said, coldly. "I'll take a cab back to the boat."
No observation from Brown.
"So, good-by, old fellow"–with some emotion.
"Good-by," said Beekman Brown, absently.
In fact, he did not even notice when his thoroughly offended partner left the car, so intent was he in following the subtly thrilling train of thought which tantalized him, mocked him, led him nowhere, yet always lured him to fresh endeavor of memory. Where had all this occurred before? When? What was going to happen next–happen inexorably, as it had once happened, or as it once should have happened, in some dim, bygone age when he and that basket and that cat and this same hauntingly lovely girl existed together on earth–or perhaps upon some planet, swimming far out beyond the ken of men with telescopes?
He looked at the girl, strove to consider her impersonally, for her youthful beauty began to disturb him. Then cold doubt crept in; something of the monstrosity of the proceeding chilled his enthusiasm for occult research. Should he speak to her?
Certainly, it was a dreadful thing to do–an offense the enormity of which was utterly inexcusable except under the stress of a purely impersonal and scientific necessity for investigating a mental phase of humanity which had always thrilled him with a curiosity most profound.
He folded his arms and began to review in cold blood the circumstances which had led to his present situation in a cross-town car. Number one, and he held up one finger:
As it comes, at times, to every normal human, the odd idea had come to him that what he was saying and doing as he emerged from the subway at Times Square was what he had, sometime, somewhere, said and done before under similar circumstances. That was the beginning.
Number two, and he gravely held up a second finger:
Always before when this idea had come to bother him it had faded after a moment or two, leaving him merely uneasy and dissatisfied.
This time it persisted–intruding, annoying, exasperating him in his efforts to remember things which he could not recollect.
Number three, and he held up a third finger:
He had begun to remember! As soon as he or Smith said or did anything he recollected having said or done it sometime, somewhere, or recollected that he ought to have.
Number four–four fingers in air, stiff, determined digits:
He had not only, by a violent concentration of his memory, succeeded in recognizing the things said and done as having been said and done before, but suddenly he became aware that he was going to be able to foretell, vaguely, certain incidents that were yet to occur–like the prophesied advent of the cherry-colored car and the hat, gown, and wicker basket.
He now had four fingers in the air; he examined them seriously, and then stuck up the fifth.
"Here I am," he thought, "awake, perfectly sane, absolutely respectable. Why should a foolish terror of convention prevent me from asking that girl whether she knows anything which might throw some light on this most interesting mental phenomenon?… I'll do it."
The girl turned her head slightly; speech and the politely perfunctory smile froze on his lips.
She held up one finger; Brown's heart leaped. Was that some cabalistic sign which he ought to recognize? But she was merely signaling the conductor, who promptly pulled the bell and lifted her basket for her when she got off.
She thanked him; Brown heard her, and the crystalline voice began to ring in little bell-like echoes all through his ears, stirring endless little mysteries of memory.
Brown also got off; his legs struck up a walk of their own volition, carrying him across the street, hoisting him into a north-bound Lexington Avenue car, and landing him in a seat behind the one where she had installed herself and her wicker basket.
She seemed to be having some difficulty with the wicker basket; beseeching six-toed paws were thrust out persistently; soft meows pleaded for the right of liberty and pursuit of feline happiness. Several passengers smiled.
Trouble increased as the car whizzed northward; the meows became wilder; mad scrambles agitated the basket; the lid bobbed and creaked; the girl turned a vivid pink and, bending close over the basket, attempted to soothe its enervated inmate.
In the forties she managed to control the situation; in the fifties a frantic rush from within burst a string that fastened the basket lid, but the girl held it down with energy.
In the sixties a tempest broke loose in the basket; harrowing yowls pierced the atmosphere; the girl, crimson with embarrassment and distress, signaled the conductor at Sixty-fourth Street and descended, clinging valiantly to a basket which apparently contained a pack of firecrackers in process of explosion.
A classical heroine in dire distress invariably exclaims aloud: "Will no one aid me?" Brown, whose automatic legs had compelled him to follow, instinctively awaited some similar appeal.
It came unexpectedly; the kicking basket escaped from her arms, the lid burst open, and an extraordinarily large, healthy and indignant cat flew out, tail as big as a duster, and fled east on Sixty-fourth Street.
The girl in the summer gown and white straw hat ran after the cat. Brown's legs ran, too.
There was, and is, between the house on the northeast corner of Sixty-fourth Street and Lexington Avenue and the next house on Sixty-fourth, an open space guarded by an iron railing; through this the cat darted, fur on end, and, with a flying leap, took to the back fences.
"Oh!" gasped the girl.
Then Brown's legs did an extraordinary thing–they began to scramble and kick and shin up the iron railing, hoisting Brown over; and Brown's voice, pleasant, calm, reassuring, was busy, too: "If you will look out for my suitcase I think I can recover your cat.... It will give me great pleasure to recover your cat. I shall be very glad to have, the opportunity of recovering–puff–puff–your–puff–puff–c-cat!" And he dropped inside the iron railing and paused to recover his breath.
The girl came up to the railing and gazed anxiously through at the corner of the only back fence she could perceive.
"What a perfectly dreadful thing to happen!" she said in a voice not very steady. "It is exceedingly nice of you to help me catch Clarence. He is quite beside himself, poor lamb! You see, he has never before been in the city. I–I shall be distressed beyond m-measure if he is lost."
"He went over those fences," said Brown, breathing faster. "I think I'd better go after him."
"Oh–would you mind? I'd be so very grateful. It seems so much to ask of you."
"I'll do it," said Brown, firmly. "Every boy in New York has climbed back fences, and I'm only thirty."
"It is most kind of you; but–but I don't know whether you could possibly get him to come to you. Clarence is timid with strangers."
Brown had already clambered on to the wooden fence. He balanced himself there, astride. Whitewash liberally decorated coat and trousers.
"I see him," he said.
"W-what is he doing?"
"Squatting on a trellis three back yards away." And Brown lifted a blandishing voice: "Here, Clarence–Clarence–Clarence! Here, kitty– kitty–kitty! Good pussy! Nice Clarence!"
"Does he come?" inquired the girl, peering wistfully through the railing.
"He does not," said Brown. "Perhaps you had better call."
"Here, puss–puss–puss–puss!" she began gently in that fascinating, crystalline voice which seemed to set tiny silvery chimes ringing in Brown's ears: "Here, Clarence, darling–Betty's own little kitty-cat!"
"If he doesn't come to that," thought Brown, "he is a brute." And 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.