CHAPTER IV
LADY VICTORIA DISAPPEARS
Lady Victoria disappointed us quite as much as she amazed and mystified us. Mindful of the cat’s value, as given in Mrs. Kepple’s letter, we had expected something classy; a high-toned cat, as it were. But here was a common yellow cat.
Scoop turned from the box with a disgusted look.
“If you were to give me my choice,” said he, “I’d take the five hundred dollars.”
“You and me both,” said Red.
Peg was squinting into the box.
“The only classy thing about this cat is her copper collar,” he put in.
My attention thus drawn to the cat’s collar, I noticed that it was copper, as Peg said, and apparently brand new.
“A two-cent cat,” laughed Red, “dressed up in a five-hundred-dollar collar.”
“The collar isn’t made of gold and diamonds,” I put in.
“Of course not,” said Scoop. “You can buy a collar like that in any harness store for seventy-five cents.”
So completely did Lady Victoria and the copper collar hold our attention that we failed to take note of the fact that three more crates of cats had arrived on the same train that brought Mrs. Kepple’s five-hundred-dollar cat. When the baggage man shoved the cats at us we felt sort of weak in the knees.
Scoop touched me on the arm.
“Jerry,” said he, “you better go to the brickyard and borrow your pa’s dump cart.”
“All right,” I agreed.
“While you and Red and Peg are carting the cats to the old mill,” he added, “I’ll skin down the street to the Western Union office and send a telegram to the Chicago Tribune ordering them to discontinue the ad about the feline rest farm. I’ll have to bust the ten-dollar bill to pay for the message, but if we don’t send the telegram we’re likely to find ourselves with five hundred more cats wished onto us. This is getting to be too much of a good thing to suit me,” he concluded dismally, scowling at the crated cats.
The rest of us agreed with Scoop that he couldn’t send the telegram to the Chicago Tribune any too soon. What we would do if more cats came in no one could imagine.
When we uncrated the cats that arrived that morning we counted twenty-three. Already we had one hundred and twenty-seven in the numbered boxes, so the new arrivals boosted the total to an even one hundred and fifty.
Though it was hard for us to believe that a plain-looking cat like Lady Victoria could be worth five hundred dollars, we nevertheless used special care in handling her. She was given one of the larger boxes and provided with a carpet roll for a bed. Acting the monkey, Red even put a hook on the side of her box and told us it was for her tooth brush. Peg said we should get her a powder puff. This fun helped to cheer us up.
The traps were baited that morning and set in likely places in the lower part of the old mill and in the brickyard barn. We were in hopes that we would catch a rat or a mouse in each trap. This would help a lot.
There was plenty for us to do. If you think it’s a snap to feed one hundred and fifty cats, just try it. Of course we got some help from the kids who hung around. Even the Stricker cousins came snooping that afternoon to see what we were doing. We chased them away. Then they fired rocks at the old mill from the top of the hill. Every time a rock hit the roof the cats yowled like they were being killed.
When evening came we sat around and talked in a dispirited way. There was a general lack of enthusiasm. As yet we were unwilling to give up the cat farm; but, as Peg pointed out, this might become necessary and we ought accordingly to shape our plans for getting rid of the cats. We knew he was talking sense. But no one came forward with a suggestion worthy of consideration, and that is what put a sober feeling into us.
Mrs. Maloney came over about eight-thirty to see how we were getting along. She brought us a cherry pie. It was very welcome. As she was leaving for home she reminded us to come over in the morning and get some more milk for the cats.
“An’ maybe I’ll have some cookies for ye,” she added. Mrs. Maloney’s all right.
The moon came up at nine o’clock, a big white disc in the eastern sky where the Tutter slaughter house lifts its roof on Knob Hill. It was a very beautiful sight. Thirty minutes later we turned in, Peg and I sleeping in separate cots while Red and Scoop shared the big cot we had fixed up for the professor. An hour passed. I found it hard to get to sleep, as the moonlight came through a window and fell on my face. Without the mill the world of living things seemed to expire into a tomb of silence. Canal frogs that croaked lustily in the gray dusk of early evening were now asleep in their muddy beds. The katydid chorus had disbanded. Through the open window I could see the trees that grew on the hillside, but the leaves had tired of the day’s adventures and rested with closed and unobserving eyes. It was a peachy night. Once I got up from my cot and went to the window. The shadows beneath the trees seemed possessed of goblin-like shapes. A creepy feeling came out of the night and touched me. Then I laughed at my vague fears and went back to bed. The others were asleep. Scoop was snoring. I counted a few hundred hurtling sheep and shortly joined my companions in the land of dreams.
I don’t know how long I slept. Maybe not more than half an hour. Suddenly I found myself sitting upright in bed. In a dazed way I realized something was wrong. The cats in the adjoining room were yowling and spitting. I could hear barking dogs and the low tones of tittering voices.
By this time the other fellows were awake.
“Somebody’s got their dogs in there lettin’ ’em chew up our cats,” Scoop cried, springing to his feet.
The noise increased to a din. We could not doubt that a wild battle was in progress between our cats and a number of unknown dogs. Then I heard a giggle and a rock whizzed through the open window, narrowly missing my head.
“It’s the Stricker gang,” I cried, and the fear that had gripped me went down under a flood of anger. “It’s just like them,” I added bitterly, “to come sneaking around here after dark with a lot of dogs to try and bust up our cat farm.”
“We’ll chase ’em out of here,” cried Peg. “Everybody grab a club. Take a board—anything. All fixed? Atta boy! Come on, gang.”
He opened the connecting door. Four big dogs were bounding about the outer room, tipping over the cat boxes and clawing at the slats. Several of the cats had escaped and were clinging to the posts that supported the roof beams.
Peg raised his club and dashed forward. The Stricker cousins and the other members of the Zulutown gang were just inside the door. When they saw us they gave a jeering shout and ran away. Out through the open door we chased the dogs. I gave one a good whack with my club. He let out a fearful yelp. I was glad I hit him. Only I wished it was Bid Stricker I was hitting instead of his dog. We didn’t try to follow the Strickers. We knew we couldn’t find them in the shadows that lay heavy and black beneath the surrounding trees. When they were gone from sight and the dogs had been chased away we returned to the mill to see how much damage had been done.
“Just wait,” Scoop declared, when we were putting the cat boxes to rights. “We’ll make the Stricker gang pay dear for this night’s work.”
“You bet your sweet life,” growled Peg, nodding his head.
“The only reason they got the upper hand of us to-night,” continued Scoop, “was because they caught us unprepared. To-morrow night we’ll lay for them.”
“I doubt if they’ve got nerve enough to come back,” said Peg.
“You never can tell,” returned Scoop. “Anyway, we’ll be on guard. If they do come back we’ll give them a trimming they won’t forget for a few weeks. Um—— Leave it to me, fellows. I’ll think up some kind of a scheme for trapping ’em.”
We corrected the disorder as best we could, repairing the broken boxes and putting them in their proper places. Then we caught the cats that were loose in the room. I was happy under the thought that our job was almost completed when suddenly Scoop let out a screech that sent my heart skidding into my throat. I wheeled to find him dumbly pointing to Lady Victoria’s box. It was empty! In the fracas the box had been tipped over and the five-hundred-dollar, rose-colored cat had escaped into the night or had been carried away by the Stricker gang.
When I thought of what the loss of the cat meant to us I wasn’t surprised that Scoop’s voice was filled with dismay.