The Green Mouse Chapter 13: Part 13

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. "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