Part 6

“But the baby was my special delight. He was a fat, roly-poly, sweet faced youngster as ever you saw. His skin was like a pink rose-leaf, and his mouth was as fresh--well, as fresh as new milk. Whenever the folks weren’t looking, I used to climb into the crib and little Harry and I would have a high old time, I tell you. He would maul me about for a little while and then hug and kiss me just awful nice. And then when we’d got all tired out he would snuggle up close to me and go to sleep--and I would lie there quite still and watch him while he slept.

“The folks would catch me in the crib sometimes, and whew! but then there was a row, and no mistake! They used to just paralyze me--said I’d suck the baby’s breath, you know. The stupids! Why should I do that? I like babies, but lunching on babyfied air wouldn’t do me in those days, though it might be substantial enough now. Human folks have some queer notions, eh, Fido?”

“Oh, well, you know, Tommy,” said Fido, “that out-of-date ‘sucking the breath’ business is an old woman’s notion, but humans don’t seem to have much judgment. They still believe in miracles and all that, and the breath-sucking theory shouldn’t surprise you.”

“Speaking of the peculiarities of humanity, Fido,” said Tommy, “isn’t it queer that humans don’t like music?”

“Yes, I have often noted the fact, on occasions when I have sung to the moon,” replied Fido.

“Well,” said Tommy, “the folks at the doctor’s house used to play on an old rattle-box of a piano till they fairly made me sick, but just let me sing ever so little and there was trouble at once. You will recall that in the old days I used to be quite proud of my voice. I supposed that I had some vocal talent left and I have done a little singing since I came to the city. I fear however, that my voice is not appreciated here. My city neighbors were the worst kind of kickers, and caused me no end of trouble. You see, there was a young lady cat who lived near us and--By the way, I didn’t tell you about how I first fell in love, did I? Well, it was just--the--richest--thing!”--

“No doubt, no doubt,” exclaimed Fido, hastily interrupting, “but just hear that bell. It’s nine o’clock and--”

“Oh, well, I was digressing anyway,” said Tommy.

“As I was saying, there was a young lady cat living near us with whom I will confess I was somewhat smitten. I used to call on her evenings. I was too busy to call day-times, and besides, a tin roof is just awful on a fellow’s feet when the sun’s out. I often used to serenade her, accompanying my singing with the violin. She was very fond of stringed instruments, and especially the violin. She used to say there was no musical instrument that was so cat-like and natural in its tone and feeling. The dear girl--what exquisite musical taste she had! Ah! how I loved her! Why, I felt, when in her presence, as though I were full of vibrating E strings--_au naturel_, but none the less vibrating. And I mind me well that she was not unresponsive. Shall I ever forget that mellow September night when she first confessed she loved me? ‘Ah! Thomaso,’ she cried--(Thomaso, by the way, was a feminine conceit of hers; she had been abroad, you know)--‘Ah! Thomaso, how bleak and drear were the most pretentious roof without thee! Where is there such another form, or voice so sweet as thine? The girl who did not love thee would be lost to all appreciation of the feline form divine. I love thee, Thomaso, oh, how I love thee!’

“Of course, I blushed, my dear Fido--I knew only too well how undeserving I was.

“But, to quote an old chestnut, the course of true love was by no means smooth with me. It chanced that the attic room of the house next to the one in which my charmer lived, was occupied by a young man named Jenkins. Now that fellow Jenkins had the fool notion that he was musical. That wouldn’t have been so bad, though his singing was vile, but he wanted to monopolize the singing business altogether. You never saw such an envious brute! Just as soon as I began my lovely serenades, that despicable counter-jumper would begin throwing old boots and chunks of coal at me. But I kept my temper and said nothing, though I was mad enough to claw the face off him.

“Not content with his vicious assaults, the murderous brute finally attempted to assassinate me, and very nearly succeeded. I had composed a madrigal for my sweetheart, and had just finished singing it to her one evening when that calico-vending dude fired at me with a pistol and narrowly missed cutting me off in the flower of my youth. The ball lodged in my shoulder, and gave me no end of trouble. Did you ever hear of such a cold-blooded attempt to--”

“Pardon me, Tommy,” said Fido, “but what was the song like?”

“Let me see;” said Tommy, “perhaps I can remember it. Oh yes, it ran like this:

“‘_When the silvery moon doth brightly beam, after the toil of day is done, how fair my darling dost thou seem, as thou climb’st the fence, or on the ridge-pole swiftly run. Thy form is sylph-like in its grace; thy voice seraphic sweet and low; how soft the whiskers on thy face, that in the moonbeams brightly glow._

“‘_Miow, miow, miow, miow, ’iow, ’iow, ’iow!_’”

“Um-ah,--” said Fido. “Your song has one very admirable feature--it has but one verse. I am not sure, however, but that I shall have to acquit the young man who shot you. Self defense, you know, my dear Tommy is--”

“Oh, stow your sarcasm, Fido!” cried Tommy. “It isn’t at all becoming to you, my boy. If you don’t want to hear the rest of my story, just say so.”

“Oh, well, Tommy, you mustn’t be so sensitive to the raillery of an old friend. Go on with your yarn. It is highly interesting.”

“Well, as I was saying, the ball lodged in my shoulder and nearly killed me. I was sick a long time, and the doctor finally took me to a veterinary for consultation. Of course I couldn’t say anything about the bullet--on the lady’s account you know--so the doctor was stumped for once. The veterinary pounded me black and blue from head to foot, and after gouging my belly full of finger holes, said--‘He’s got appendicitis, and we will have to operate.’ That settled _me_--I just jumped through the window, sash and all, and weak as I was, succeeded in escaping. A man who doesn’t know lead poisoning from appendicitis, can’t monkey with Tommy Baker’s domestic economy, you can just bet your life on that!

“Through the kindly offices of one of my friends I succeeded in getting accommodations in a stable near by, where I lived on mice and wind for three weeks, at the end of which time my wound was entirely well. I had more wind than mice on my stomach most of the time, but the dieting evidently did me good. I finally went home, and you never saw such rejoicing as there was among the children. They hugged me ’most to death.

“The doctor was always kind to me, but at times his attentions were quite marked. He often kept me in a little room by myself for days and days at a time. He fed me with his own hand, and was very careful of my health. He took my temperature and pulse, and looked at my tongue twice a day. Sometimes he put a little needle in my back and seemed to be squirting something under the skin. It didn’t hurt much, but I felt mighty funny a little while afterward. Queer, wasn’t it?”

Fido, who had had diphtheria once and was up on toxins, smiled rather pityingly and said, dryly, “Rather.”

“I never doubted the doctor’s honesty of purpose but once. There was a little room just off the library that he called the laboratory. He used to shut himself up in that little closet--that’s about all it was--for hours at a time. Now it wasn’t any of my business, but I couldn’t help being curious to know what he was doing in that little den. Then, too, I was certain that I smelled nice fresh meat just as he came out one day. Of course that completely demoralized me and I determined to look into the matter. Ah me! why did I not remember that old story about Bluebeard?

“Well, I watched my chance, and one night when the doctor had his back turned I sneaked into the laboratory, the door of which was slightly ajar. Noticing that he had left the door open, the doctor came back and closed and locked it, leaving me a prisoner. I was not frightened, however, for I was sure the doctor would soon be at work in the laboratory again and give me an opportunity to escape. I chuckled to myself, wretch that I was, to think that my curiosity was at last to be gratified.

“Jumping upon the table that the doctor used as a work bench, I saw a sight that froze the very whiskers on my cheeks! There, spread out upon the table lay the ghastly, mangled, lifeless body of a cat whom I recognized as one of my best friends! I fell in a dead faint.”

“Sort of a cataleptic fit--eh, Tommy?” said Fido, with a sly, humorous twinkle in his eye. Tommy disdained to answer, and continued:

“How long I lay in my swoon I do not know. When I awoke, the doctor was standing over me and saying--

“‘I wonder how the devil that blamed cat got in here! He seems to be sick.’

“Sick? Ye Gods! I should think I was sick!

“I never became quite reconciled to the doctor after that, and when, some time afterward, he forbade the children to kiss and hug me any more just because I ate some pickled stuff that stood on a shelf in his office, I actually grew to dislike him.

“But everybody else loved the doctor, and I have sometimes thought that perhaps I didn’t quite understand him. He was certainly good and kind to everybody about him.

“Taken all in all, my life was a very happy one, and I not only had a pleasant home, but after a time I got a real jolly old chum, by the name of Towser. When Johnny first brought Towser home he ‘sicked’ him on me, ‘just for fun,’ he said, and the old dog and I had a terrible scrap. But I swiped him a good one under the eye, I tell you, and he treated me fine after that.”

“Scrap? Swiped him? Why, what on earth do you mean, Tommy?” asked Fido.

“Oh! I forgot that you were an aristocrat, my dear Fido. I meant that I had a fight with Towser and struck him under the eye. See?”

“Ah! now I comprehend,” replied Fido.

“Well, as I was saying,” continued Tommy, “I enjoyed life immensely. Towser was a fine old fellow, and he and I used to romp and play with the children most of the time.”

“Your life must indeed have been very happy, and I wonder that you could ever have left so pleasant a home, friend Tommy,” said Fido.

“Ah! my dear old friend, there was never dream of bliss so fair that no cloud e’er came to mar the beauty of its skies. Trouble came to that happy household, and within a few weeks all was sadly changed, and I was again a waif of the streets.

“The baby had been ailing for some time, and we could see that the doctor was very uneasy about him. The poor little fellow finally developed some brain trouble or other--I can’t remember the Latin name of it, but I believe it was what old Dr. Cochran over at ‘The Corners,’ used to call ‘Water on the brain,’ or Meningeetus,’ or something like that.

“Well, the poor little fellow didn’t stand his sickness very long. It was just awful to see him wasting away, getting weaker and weaker every day. He used to notice me quite a little at first, but after a while he didn’t seem to know me any more. I had suspected this for a day or two, but it seemed too horrible for belief. It was soon plain, however, that dear little Harry no longer recognized those who loved him, and for the first time it dawned upon me that my darling playmate was soon to be called away forever. Baby dropped off to sleep one night, and the doctor said that he thought the little one was better. He deceived everybody but me--I had seen babies go to sleep that way before, lots o’ times.

“As I feared, Harry never awoke again in this world. I heard Ethel say the angels had taken him away to Heaven--a grand, beautiful place that human folks say is up yonder some where beyond the clouds. If that was true, the angels were mighty mean--for we were all broken-hearted.

“If Ethel was right about Harry going to Heaven, I hope there’s room for dogs and cats up there. Poor old Towser fell sick and died soon after the baby went, and I would feel better about the little one’s death if I knew that Towser was with him. The faithful old dog used to take such good care of the dear little pet. Then, too, I might see them again some day, and we could live the old happy days over again. Don’t mind my emotion, Fido, I loved Harry very dearly. Bless my whiskers, old chap, if you are not crying too!

“After they had put our sweet little blossom into a cruel white, frosted looking box and taken him away, the house seemed as gloomy as an old cellar. Nobody ever seemed to be happy again. Ethel and Johnny mourned after little Harry all the time, and many a time I caught the doctor crying softly to himself when he thought no one was looking. He didn’t think I understood, poor fellow.

“The doctor appeared to be more like his old self again, after a time, but he seemed to work harder than ever before. He sat up very late o’ nights reading and writing--that is, when he had no patients to attend to. My! how he used to slave over those people! And half of ’em never paid their bills, either. The doctor didn’t mind the poor ones, but he used to say that ‘God’s patients’ never gave him half so much trouble as ‘the devil’s patients.’ Sometimes I half suspected that the doctor was working hard just to get little Harry off his mind, but perhaps I was not a good judge of such things.

“Well, a man is not a horse; he can’t carry a big load very long without breaking down, and the doctor soon showed signs of exhaustion. It grieved me to see him going to pieces, but I was helpless. I felt that it would be a very delicate matter to even attempt to advise him. And so I was obliged to watch my unfortunate master dying by inches before my very eyes.

“The end was not long delayed. The doctor finally contracted an attack of that new-fangled disease--let me see, what do they call it? Oh yes, ‘La Grippe.’ Instead of going to bed, as he should have done, he slopped about in all sorts of weather until he got pneumonia. It was all up with my poor master then--he died within a week.

“I had always supposed that doctors were all rich men, until I lived with one. My master left a lot of bad accounts and a little life insurance; that was all. Why, his wife even had to sell his books and instruments to defray his funeral expenses.

“After the doctor died, everything was changed. The end of my happy home-life was not far distant. The children were sent away to boarding school after a while, and their mamma soon went to live at a fashionable hotel. The home was completely broken up. I can’t tell you how bad I felt when I saw all the furniture and things that the doctor used to prize so highly hauled away to be sold.

“Heigho! ‘How soon we are forgot,’ as old Rip Van Winkle so truly said. Well, I soon found myself homeless and a vagabond once more. I have since had all sorts of luck--mostly bad, however. I have tried my hand at almost everything, but have never been able to secure another comfortable position. I was a lawyer’s cat for a while, but my family pride came to my rescue after a time, and I quit the job. There is blue blood in my veins, Fido, and though I may be down on my luck, I have not quite lost my self-respect.”

“Ah! you are boasting of blue blood nowadays, are you, Tommy? How does that happen?” asked Fido.

“Why, don’t you know about the cats that were found in the pyramids along with Rameses and his folks?” asked Tommy. “You ought to read up, my dear Fido.”

“Have you ever heard from the doctor’s folks since their home was broken up?” asked Fido.

“Oh, yes; I have kept track of them right along. The doctor’s wife finally married again and the children came home to live with her soon afterward. I called at their house one night, and was unceremoniously kicked out. Johnny and Ethel were grown-up folks and had no use for cats any more, besides, they didn’t know me from Adam. I was just a tramp cat, that was all, and was treated like any other vagrant.

“But I have got used to hard lines, and so long as I can capture an occasional rat, I suppose I will be able to live. Once in a while a nice pet canary or toothsome young chicken comes my way; then there is great joy in the department of the interior.

“My health is none of the best, at times, and I don’t believe I shall live many years, but the sooner to sleep the sooner to rest, and I know that brave old Towser and dear little Harry are waiting for me up yonder. Towser is still a loyal old dog, and Harry is not grown-up folks, like Johnny and Ethel, but a sweet, winsome little baby boy as of old.

“Well, Fido, old comrade, I have told you my story, and it is now nearly midnight, so we must say good night. There is nobody to complain when _I_ keep late hours, but it’s different with you. Good jobs are scarce, and I don’t want you to risk losing yours. I will see you next Tuesday evening if you like.

“Hello! it’s raining. There’s a cold wind blowing too. Awful weather for the rheumatism and mange, isn’t it? You’ll get that pretty blanket wet, Fido, my boy.”

“Oh, drat the blanket!” said Fido, “I’ll hurry along though. Good night, Tommy.”

“Good night, Fido, good night.”

JOHNNY

A STORY OF THE PHILIPPINES

Johnny was a typic gamin from the Chicago slums. He never denied it, and it would have been useless if he had; the ear marks were too plain. What had impelled him to enter the volunteer service was a mystery. Some of the men in the --th Illinois had been heard to say at the company mess, that a difference of opinion upon matters ethical between Johnny and the police was the main-spring that had worked the little tough army-ward. Pertinent inquiries directed at the boy himself had ceased abruptly when big Tom O’Brien, the battalion sergeant major, got through swearing, and rubbing the bump on his head with which Johnny, through the medium of an accurately aimed canteen, had decorated him. Tom wound up with, “Byes, the little divil is too small to lick, an’ too big to monkey wid, so I’ll sarve yez notice that Mr. T. O’Brien, Esq. will attind to his own business hereafter. An’ be Jasus,” he added significantly, “the rist av ye’ll do the same, for be the same token, I notice yez all be bigger than Johnny.” It was obvious that the boy did not need a protector, but nevertheless, the warm-hearted Irishman’s attitude toward him was a peace promoter in no mean degree.

No one had ever accused Johnny of patriotism. He knew all about the blowing up of the Maine and thought it was a shabby piece of business, the perpetrators of which should be punished. “But,” he added sagely, “they ain’t hangin’ none o’ them strikin’ railroad guys, fer wreckin’ trains and sluggin’ scabs, an’ I guess there ain’t much difference. There’s a lot o’ dead an’ smashed up folks, any way you fix it.”

It was evidently a hopeless task to try and elucidate for Johnny patriotic reasons for the war with Spain. His philosophy was too strong to cope with.

When Johnny first joined the regiment he was not a creditable specimen from a physical standpoint. A subtle sympathy with the under dog in the breast of the regimental surgeon, Major Brice, was mainly responsible for the mustering in of the unpromising recruit. Slouchy in gait, under-sized, weazened, lanky and round shouldered, with the air of one pursued, the boy was as unsoldier-like as could possibly be imagined. He said he was nineteen, but it did not require a professional eye to detect the fraud--a fraud of several years--without much doubt.

The captain of K Company was very particular about the physique of his men, and the surgeon and he had a confidential arrangement which had kept out of the service many a man who might have passed a fair examination before the army board. When Captain Harkins saw Johnny in the ranks of the “rookies,” he gave a gasp of horror and ran post haste to the surgeon’s quarters. He entered the tent rather unceremoniously, somewhat ruffling the self-composure of its occupant, who was rather austere and dignified at times.

“Ah, Captain,” said the surgeon, “what’s the trouble, somebody hurt?”

“Hurt!” exclaimed the captain, “Hurt! Great Scott! I’m paralyzed. How in Heaven’s name did you ever pass that little degenerate shrimp of a gutter snipe that came in with that last batch of rookies? Is this a practical joke?”

“I never make practical jokes,” replied the surgeon, serenely. “I had a little whim of my own to gratify. Didn’t know I was whimsical, did you? Well, I am, and that boy is my latest whim. I fancied the service would be better for him than the jail. I had him assigned to your company--well, because you and I understand each other pretty well, and because I want him myself. Just reassign him to me for special duty, and I’ll do the rest.”

The captain roared. “Well,” he said, when he had caught his breath, “you have perpetrated a practical joke all the same, and landed good and proper. You had me well nigh scared into a fit.”

Johnny, inscribed in regulation form as John Blank, on the muster roll of K. Company, was formally assigned to duty in the hospital department, and the following morning found him standing at the door of the surgeon’s tent, a full-fledged orderly, with a rudely extemporized cross of red flannel upon the arm of his “big brother” blouse. There was a little quiet snickering at the surgeon’s expense, but this soon died out, for the man of saws and pills was sensitive, somewhat muscular and, above all, wore the maple leaf on his shoulder straps.

The colonel was very indulgent with the surgeon; he knew his failings, and when his eyes fell upon the new orderly, he smilingly remarked to the adjutant, “I hope the major will be able to raise that slummy looking chap to be a soldier, but I’m afraid he has a big contract on his hands.”

But the surgeon was a practical humanitarian who believed in a physical basis of things moral. He had a hobby, as the new recruit soon discovered. Johnny was daily put through a course of physical “stunts” that made his life something more than a glad, sweet song. He was a little rebellious at first, and his instructor had hard work to keep him from deserting. Through the connivance of the colonel, however, who had the boy brought before him after some very flagrant act of insubordination and depicted to him in vivid colors a vision of an early morning firing squad, Johnny was brought back into line again and went on with his stunts. He was just a little suspicious of the “Old Man’s” seriousness, but after the major had informed him that the colonel was a man of great earnestness of purpose and absolutely devoid of regard for human life--blood-thirsty, in fact--he became in a measure reconciled to what at first seemed to him a hard lot.

But as Johnny’s training proceeded, he was conscious of a new and unwonted interest in life. He began to have a sense of physical strength, and felt an increase of energy that made his course of physical training pleasurable. His shoulders were beginning to set up and back. It was no longer necessary to either drive or coax him to his task of self-development. The surgeon was meanwhile devoting such time as he could steal from his daily routine of antidoting the endeavors of the government to prepare our soldiers for Cuba by killing them in Tampa, to stimulation of the mental side of the neglected boy of the streets. Johnny had innate capacity enough but, as the major said, he had never in his whole life had any healthy blood to feed his brain, hence the development of the latter was not possible until now.