Read Ebook: A Night Out by Peple Edward

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Ebook has 103 lines and 6914 words, and 3 pages

With a partly mollified sniff, the lady retired to her gate-post, and the two adventurers went on. They came to the evil-smelling tannery, and to the frog-pond just behind it, stretching cold and still in the moonlight, and covered with a noxious, slimy scum. It was horribly different from the Persian's usual baths, but, once in he forgot its chill in the lust of the hunt.

They waded and swam and scrambled along the shore, Ringtail pointing out that frogs were wont to crouch close down by the water's edge in the shadow of some bush or vine.

"Dere's one!" he whispered suddenly. "Now, sneak up, son, an' grab 'im!"

Quivering with suppressed excitement, Omar Ben sneaked, but mistook the especial frog to which his friend had reference. Instead, he pounced upon a big yellow-throated beast weighing a pound and a half, and known colloquially as a "sockdolliger" or a "joogger-room." There followed a scuffling rush, a grunt, a startled yowl, and a swirl of water; then Omar Ben came up coughing, minus his frog, but plus an overcoat of mud and disappointment.

"Great snakes!" yelled Pete. "Ain't yer got no gumption 't all? Ef I had knowed yer wanted ter eat a cow, I'd 'a' took you up to de slaughter-house! Go fer de little ones, bo. Yer don't gain nuttin' by bein' a hawg. Take it from me--it's straight!"

"Bo" went for the little ones. He had learned his lesson of experience, and profited thereby. He made his virgin kill and devoured it, squatting in the muddy pond, while around him rose the voices of the wild things of the night; and never had morsel tasted sweeter to his pampered tongue. And so the hunt went on, a never-to-be-forgotten hunt, when crawfish nipped their tails, when insects preyed upon their eyes, and they dripped with the sweat of joyful toil; then, presently, the friends stretched out upon the bank, weary and replete.

"Say, bo," said Ringtail, after a restful pause, "what do yer say to a nip?"

"A nip?" asked Omar Ben in astonishment. "What kind of a nip?"

"W'y, a catnip, yer bloomin' bladderskite! Wot did yer t'ink I meant--a cornder of de moon? I'm talkin' 'bout jes' straight catnip. Are you on?"

"Yes, certainly," returned the Persian gravely. "I am on!"

On the homeward way they turned into a lane and came to a clump of catnip. True, Omar Ben had tasted the herb before, but dry and in five-cent packages, which was different from the pure article direct from nature's still and exuding its sharp, intoxicating breath. Pete and Omar fell upon it greedily, rolled upon it, wallowed among the scattered leaves, and chewed and chewed till their senses swam in a spirit-dance of ecstasy. Then, after a nap, the two reeled homeward down the road, Pete smiling his twisted smile, and Omar Ben Sufi wrapped in the comforting belief that he was singing tunefully.

"Say, R.T.," the Persian chuckled happily, "what did you say was the name of your lady friend's other lady friend?"

"Lizzie," answered Ringtail, astounded at the tone of familiarity; "an' take it from me she's white!"

"In color, do you mean?"

"Naw--in disposition. Outside, she's kind of striped, but inside, de lady's white; an' don't yer fergit it, bo, she's de owner of four good sets of claws.

"Thank you," said Omar Ben airily. "I shall endeavor to remember. Come along, R.T.!"

Pete objected somewhat to this pointed abbreviation of his name, but forgave his friend on the grounds that he was drunk; so the two went on and sought their rendezvous. The ladies were waiting, seated expectantly on the gate-posts, but descended at Ringtail's call, and the "swell gent" was formally introduced. Miss Lizzie seemed to like him immensely, and the two progressed so well that Ringtail stretched his single eye to its utmost capacity, cursing softly at his friend's unprecedented cheek. For Omar Ben--thanks to his nip of catnip--so far forgot his strained reserve that Miss Lizzie herself said afterward to a friend, in confidence:

The flirtation, however, was short-lived, for suddenly, without an instant's warning, Miss Lizzie, Miss Mame, and Pete himself went clawing up a water-pipe to a convenient roof above, while down the street came floating a shrill, defiant yowl.

"Chase yerse'f, bo!" called Pete in a voice of fear. "It's Ash-Can Sam!"

Now, Ash-Can Sam had a reputation of his own, as every cat in the neighborhood could testify with sorrow and with tears. He weighed eleven pounds. He kept himself in training; and, where others lived for love or wealth or art, Ash-Can Sam existed for a finish fight alone. At the present speaking he came swaggering around a corner, and paused in astonishment at the sight of a stranger sitting in the middle of the street. The insolence of it! It was past belief!

"No, not upon your life!" called Omar Ben gravely. "I will not demean myself by retreating from any cat alive."

This statement was fat with brave audacity, but lean in the matter of discretion; so Pete leaned down with one last friendly whisper of appeal:

The patrician declined to "beat it," and Ash-Can Sam edged a little closer, wearing a dissolute, wicked leer of joy. He circled slowly round the stranger cat, eying Omar Ben's glossy coat and humming a sort of vulgar chant:

Ain't it a sham-m-m-m-e! To chaw up mommer's sugar-pet, An' hurt his nose, not soon, but yet. Oh, ain't it a sham-m-m-m-e!

Omar Ben regarded the bully in calm scorn. "You disreputable beast," he said, "shut up!"

Sam, in no uncertain terms, stated his unwillingness to shut up, and the conversation became personal.

"Yer blink-eyed yard er silk, I'm a goin' to turn you cat-out-the-skin an' sell yer tail fer a fancy dustin'-brush!"

"Bosh! You'd run from a pet canary."

"You're a liar!"

"You're another!"

"So's yer pa an' so's yer mother!"

And the battle was on.

"Oh, dear!" mewed Lizzie tearfully. "An' Mr. Bo was sech a easy-mannered gent'man, too!"

Sub-consciously, she was already referring to the foolish Persian in the past tense; yet, in view of probable results, and in the stress of such violent circumstance, her anti-mortem sorrow might at least be pardoned.

Omar Ben had never had a fight, and yet the memory of inheritance had waked within him, revealing other traits besides his yearning for debauchery and "frawgs"; so now he squared himself and uncurled his velvet toes.

Ash-Can Sam crouched low and came in with a headlong rush. Omar Ben side-stepped and raked him with a stiffly extended paw. It was a good rake, and there was fur upon his claws--and blood.

"Hully gee!" breathed Pete into Mame's convenient ear. "Did yer pipe de way bo upper-cut 'im? Gee!"

Ash-Can Sam was wounded--not so much in body as in pugilistic pride. He turned to wipe away the stain, and, incidentally, to wipe the earth with the body of a foreign cat. This time he came in, swearing, and the two cats reared upon their haunches with the shock; then fell in a tangled, rending, yowling snarl. Omar Ben, by instinctive craft, sought for a point of vantage underneath his foe--a vantage because, when lying on his back, he could claw straight up with all four feet, and the greater the weight of the chap on top, the greater his woe--abdominally.

This point of vantage, however, is rather difficult to hold, with two most earnest gentlemen desirous of it; and so they changed positions--changed so rapidly, in fact, that their bodies resembled a sort of pyrotechnic pinwheel whose centrifugal sparks were composed of eyes and claws and tufts of fur and cat profanity. Also, it lasted longer than the ordinary pinwheel, and was a trifle more uproarious; but it died at last with a sizzling spit, and a lean black streak shot out toward the haven of an alley's mouth.

The streak was Ash-Can Sam. Omar Ben Sufi sat down in the middle of the street, and wondered. He had thrashed something, and he didn't understand it. So he just sat there, quivering, bleeding, battered--but a conqueror.

Ringtail Pete endeavored to express himself, but emotion choked him; therefore he spat fervidly and said:

"Hully gee!"

Then he and the ladies descended from the roof, to walk in silent circles around the champion, regarding him with a species of cataleptic awe. Presently, however, Pete came to earth, extended his paw, and delivered himself of an established truth:

"Well, dang my hide, but it takes er 'ristercrat fer to glitter in a scrap!"

They escorted him all the way to his eighty-thousand-dollar home. The ladies kissed him--both of them--and helped him to clamber weakly over his garden wall.

"Hully gee!" breathed Pete, and disappeared through the dusk of the outer world.

Now, in the eighty-thousand-dollar cottage black sorrow reigned throughout the night. There were tears and linguistic prayers. There were tinklings of little bells, while humans called shrilly to vulgar officials along the wires. From a mass of incoherence the officials learned that some evil-hearted ruffian had entered the thirty-thousand-dollar garden and had stolen a priceless cat.

Thus the outer world went hunting. So great was its zeal--so great was the offer of reward--that it captured every cat in town, with the one exception, of course, of Omar Ben Sufi. This particular hero was found next morning, asleep, in the geranium-bed; so they bore him in, while weepings burst forth afresh. And well they might.

Poor Omar Ben was a sight to awaken pity, even in the stoniest of hearts. The number of his hairs could be counted, almost, by plus and minus tufts; one eye was closed; his splendid tail was bent in several angles unrecognized by the rules of art, and he smelled of the outer world--horribly.

His mistress expressed her grief in a noiseless, refined whimper of despair; the French maid shrieked, and called on Heaven to witness the devastation of her every hope; but the master--who had lived, in spite of his Wall Street training--laughed.

"Nonsense!" said he. "You are squandering your sympathies upon a shameless prodigal. The beast has had the time of his life, by George!"

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