The Calico Cat

by Charles Miner Thompson

  Cat lying on fence.]

  IV

  When Nancy Ware, Jim's pretty teacher, heard that Mr. Edwards hadlet Jim go to jail, she was hotly indignant. She liked Jim, andlaughed a little over him, for she knew he adored her. In her viewhe was a clumsy, nice boy; awkward and shy, to be sure, butrewarding her friendliness now and then with a really entrancinggrin. She liked his imagination, she liked his loyalty, and sheliked his dogged resolution.

  She heard the news at the noon hour on Monday, and after her dinnershe hurried at once to the store of Fred Farnsworth. To him sheroundly declared that Mr. Edwards was a brute, a view of the manwhich struck Fred as a bit highly colored.

  Fred was thirty-one or thirty-two years old, a sensible, humorousfellow, with considerable personal force. He was very proud of thehandsome shop over which hung the sign, "Frederick W. Farnsworth,Fine Crockery and Glassware," and still prouder of his engagement toMiss Ware. He was the second grand juryman from Ellmington.

  "Oh," said he, "Edwards isn't a bad sort of man. He isn't verysociable. I guess he wouldn't take much impudence, even from thatboy of his. They say Jim wouldn't own up, and the old man won't doanything for him till he does."

  "If Jimmie Edwards says he didn't fire that gun, he didn't," saidNancy, positively. "Jimmie isn't the lying kind. I know Mr.Edwards. I ought not to call him a brute, I suppose. But he's oneof these obstinate men who will do anything they've made up theirminds to do, even if you prove to them that they're wrong, even ifit hurts them more than it does any one else. He's just got it intohis head that Jimmie ought to confess, and he'd let him go to thegallows before he'd back down."

  Nancy spoke with animation, her color rose and her eyes grew bright,and Fred looked and listened admiringly. He was skeptical about Jim,but he was struck with the accuracy of the portrait of Edwards.

  "I guess that's about so," he said.

  "And when I think of that poor boy shut up in that awful jail,locked into a cell, when he ought to be out-of-doors playing balland having a good time, it makes my blood boil!" continued MissWare. "Now, Fred," she concluded, with pretty decision, "you muststop it."

  Fred laughed.

  "Isn't that a pretty large order?" he asked. "Squire Tucker put himthere. I guess it's legal."

  "You can do _something_," said his betrothed. "Go to see Jimmie. Seeif you can't find out what's the matter. Jimmie likes you, perhapshe'll tell."

  "I didn't know Jim had any particular partiality for me," said Fred,but he felt kindlier toward the boy in spite of himself.

  "If you can only find out what really happened, I know we can gethim out," averred Miss Ware.

  "Why don't you go yourself?" said Farnsworth.

  "I can't,--not till five o'clock. Of course I'm going then!"

  "That's about four hours off," said Farnsworth.

  "But I want something done _now_!" exclaimed Nancy.

  "Oh!" said Fred, humorously.

  "Will you go?"

  "Of course. I'll start at once." Fred dropped his banter. "I'll tellyou what, Nancy. I may not be able to do much right off, but I'llpromise you that he has a fair chance before the grand jury."

  Farnsworth started at once for the jail. It was a poor place for aboy, he reflected, as he rang the jailer's private bell. Calkinshimself was not there, and his wife came to the door. She knewFarnsworth; and when he asked if he might see Jim she laughed alittle, and told him to "step right in."

  "Hotel Calkins" was a brick building which looked pleasantly like aprivate dwelling, as, in fact, a good half of it was. In this fronthalf dwelt the jailer; in the rear half, separated from the livingquarters by a thick wall and heavy doors, was the jail proper. ThereFarnsworth expected to be led.

  But not at all! Mrs. Calkins ushered him into her own kitchen, wherea wash-tub showed what she was doing, where the afternoon sun andsweet September air poured in at the open windows, and where acanary in its cage was singing cheerily.

  Here Farnsworth was much surprised to see Jim, curled up in Mrs.Calkins's own rocking-chair, eating a large red-cheeked apple whichhe was dividing with a brand-new knife!

  "Squire Tucker told Mark," said Mrs. Calkins, enjoying the joke,"that he guessed James would like our society full as well as thatof the prisoners."

  As for Jim, he grinned affably, and took another slice of his apple.

  The awful picture which Miss Ware had drawn of Jim's dreadfulisolation and misery and her own indignant sympathy rushed uponFarnsworth's mind, and were so comically out of relation with thefacts that he sank weakly into the nearest chair and roared.

  "This--is--the way--you go to jail--is it?" he gasped.

  Mrs. Calkins smiled in sympathy, and Jim, half-suspecting that heought to be offended at this frank mirth, looked sheepishly at thefloor.

  Farnsworth recovered himself. "A mighty good friend of yours," hesaid, "sent me over here."

  "Miss Ware?" asked Jim, much pleased.

  "Yes. She's coming herself right after school, loaded down withthings to console your desolate prison life, I believe," andFarnsworth had to stop to laugh again. "But she wanted me to startright in and help you out of this, and that's what I'm here for."

  "Thank you," said Jim, embarrassed, but polite. But it struckFarnsworth, as he said afterward, that the boy "shied" a little.

  "Miss Ware says," he went on, "that she doesn't believe you firedthat shot, and she wants you to tell me exactly what did happen. Nowif we can show that you didn't shoot, I can get you out of herequick."

  "What they going to do to me?" said Jim.

  "That depends. It makes a difference how much Lamoury's hurt. Thepenalty might be severe if he's got a bad wound. But even then, ifwe could show that you didn't know he was there, or that the gunwent off by accident, or that you were firing at something else, itwould make a big difference. And if you can show that you weren'tthere at all--why, out you go, scot-free. But, Jim, you can seeyourself that if you don't tell what you know, everybody'll thinkthat you shot and meant to hurt Lamoury, and then it might go prettyhard with you. Now come, tell me what happened."

  "You'd better tell, Jimmie," said Mrs. Calkins, straightening upfrom her wash-tub. "You won't find any better friends than Mr.Farnsworth and Miss Ware."

  The young man, as he talked, watched the boy curiously. Jim flushedand squirmed, and looked now at the floor and now out at the window,with a marked uneasiness and embarrassment that greatly puzzled hisfriend. And when he stopped, and the boy had to answer, his distressbecame really pitiable.

  "Can't you tell me, Jim?" Mr. Farnsworth hazarded, after a little,putting a kindly hand on the boy's arm, while Mrs. Calkins stoodquiet by her tub in friendly expectation.

  But Jim remained dumb.

  After waiting a little, Farnsworth, seeing the boy so miserable,took pity on him.

  "Well, never mind, Jim," he said. "You needn't tell if you don'twant to."

  He would have to let Nancy coax it out of him. But he was puzzled,impressed with a sense of mystery and with a growing conviction thatthe boy was shielding some one else. He began to talk cheerfully ofother things, hoping that Jim might perhaps drop a useful hint, or,at least, that the boy would gain confidence in him as a friend. Bychance he asked:--

  "Where did you get the knife, Jim?"

  "Mr. Peaslee gave it to me."

  "Peaslee!" exclaimed Farnsworth. He well knew the "closeness" of hisfellow juror.

  "It isn't much of a knife," said Jim, apologetic but pleased. Jim'sviews of the world were changing: his father, although a banditchief, had let him go to jail, while this stingy old man, with nohalo of adventure about him, gave him a knife; and here were MissWare and Mr. Farnsworth and Mrs. Calkins and the jailer, none ofthem smugglers, who were very kind.

  Farnsworth rose to go. Then Jim, summoning all his courage, asked aquestion which had long been trembling on his lips.

  "What do they do to smugglers, Mr. Farnsworth?"

  "Fine 'em, or put 'em in jail, or both. Why?"

  "No
thing much," said Jim, but obviously he was cast down.

  Farnsworth walked thoughtfully toward his store. "By George!" hethought suddenly. "I wonder--"

  The gossip about the senior Edwards had occurred to him, and at thesame time he remembered the quarrel with Lamoury.

  "But what nonsense!" he thought. "If Edwards wanted to shoot any onehe wouldn't do it in his own back yard, and he wouldn't treat hisown boy that way, either." Still, the idea clung to him.

  And then he thought of Nancy, and chuckled. "If she comes to thestore before she goes to the jail I won't tell her what she'll findthere," he promised himself.

  Meanwhile, Mr. Peaslee felt a growing discomfort. He ate his dinnerand answered the brisk questions of his wife with increasingpreoccupation. Like Miss Ware, he was picturing Jim solitary andsuffering in his lonely cell. With the utmost sincerity andingenuousness he condemned Mr. Edwards.

  "Hain't he got any feelin' for his own flesh and blood?" he askedhimself. "'T ain't right; somebody'd ought to deal with him."

  As he pottered about his yard after dinner, he finally workedhimself up to the point of speaking to Edwards himself.

  Even his righteous indignation would not have led him to thisundertaking had he known Mr. Edwards better, or realized thefather's present mood. Hurt exceedingly by Jim's lying and contemptof his wishes, hurt even more through his disappointed desire tohelp his boy, Mr. Edwards was sore and sensitive, discontented bothwith Jim and with himself. He did not want Jim in jail, he toldhimself; and the neighbors who were so uniformly assuming that hedid might better give their thoughts to matters that concerned themmore. He would get the boy out of jail quick enough if the boy wouldonly let him.

  As he stepped out of the house to do an errand at the barn, Mr.Peaslee hailed him over the dividing fence. Somewhat put out, Mr.Edwards nevertheless turned and walked toward his neighbor. Mr.Peaslee, leaning over the fence, began.

  "Ed'ards," he said, reaching out an anxious, deprecatory hand,"don't ye think you're jest a leetle mite hard on that boy o'yourn--"

  He got no further. Edwards gave him a look that made him shiver, andcut the conversation short by turning on his heel and marchingtoward the barn.

  "Dretful ha'sh man, dretful ha'sh!" Mr. Peaslee muttered to himself."Nice, likely boy as ever was. If I had a boy like that, I swan Iwouldn't treat him so con-sarned mean!"

  He turned away much shocked, and saw the Calico Cat watching himironically from the chicken-house. "Drat that cat!" said he. "Iain't goin' to stay round here--not with that beast grinning at me."

  He got his hat and started up-town, not knowing in the least what heintended to do there. He stopped, however, at every shop window andstudied baseballs, bats, tivoli-boards, accordions. He was beginningto wonder if a twenty-five-cent knife was enough to console Jim forhis unmerited incarceration.

  He was gazing forlornly in at the window of Upham's drugstore, wheresome half-dozen harmonicas were displayed, and wondering if Jimwould be allowed to play one in his dungeon cell, when Hibbardspoke to him.

  He drew the lawyer aside, and, peering closely into his face withanxious eyes exaggerated by his spectacles, said insinuatingly:--

  "Jest 'twixt you and me kinder confidential, Pete ain't hurt bad,is he? You don't mind sayin', do ye?"

  Jake drew himself up, surprised and suspicious. Did the old foolthink him as innocent as all that?

  "He's hurt bad, Mr. Peaslee, bad," he said, with dignity. "Ofcourse it isn't fatal--unless it should mortify." He waved hishand deprecatingly. "I can't imagine what that Edwards boy usedin his gun."

  Mr. Peaslee knew: the marble! He trembled. Still, he knew Jake'sreputation. A shrewd thought visited his troubled mind.

  "What doctor's seein' him?" he asked.

  "Doctor!" exclaimed Hibbard, irritated. "Doctor! You know theseFrench Canadians. They're worse scared of a doctor than of theevil one himself. Pete's usin' some old woman's stuff on hiswounds,--bear's grease, rattlesnake oil, catnip tea,--what do Iknow? I can't make him see a doctor."

  "Some doctor'll have to testify to court, won't they?" persistedMr. Peaslee.

  "Oh, I'll look out for that, don't you fear!" the lawyer saideasily; but nevertheless he made a pretext for leaving the old man.

  Perhaps had Mr. Peaslee's fears not been so keen, he would havetaken some comfort from this conversation; but as it was he feltthat the lawyer was dangerous; he feared that Pete really was badlyhurt. It would go hard, then, with Jim. It would, by the sametoken, go hard with himself should he confess.

  Suddenly he turned and rushed into Upham's store.

  "Upham," said he, "I want _that_!"

  And he pointed straight at a big harmonica with a strange andwonderful "harp attachment"--bright-colored and of amazingpossibilities.

  Upham, a neat little gentleman with nicely trimmed side-whiskers,who was always fluttered by the unexpected, hesitated, half openedhis mouth, and then forgot either to shut it or to speak.

  "Why, Mr. Peaslee," he stammered at last, "it's real expensive!You--it's two dollars and seventy-five cents."

  "Don't care nothin' what it costs," said Mr. Peaslee, who was in ahurry for fear lest he should think twice.

  When he came out of the store with the harmonica in his hands, healmost stumbled into Miss Ware. She was on her way to Jim, and, ofcourse, her mind was full of his affairs. Here was Mr. Edwards'snext neighbor. She impulsively stopped to ask if the misguidedfather still held to his resolution about Jim.

  Mr. Peaslee had reason to know that he did, and said so. "I tellye, Miss Ware," said he, with much emotion, "he belongs to astony-hearted generation, and that's a fact. He ain't got anycompassion in him, seems though."

  "It's a shame, a perfect shame!" exclaimed Nancy.

  "'T ain't right," said Mr. Peaslee, with a warmth which surprisedthe young woman, and made her warm to this old man, whom she hadalways thought so selfish. "'T ain't right--your own flesh and bloodso."

  "Well," said Miss Ware, "I'm going to the jail now. I want to seeJimmie. It must be awful there."

  "Well, now, that's real kind of ye," responded Mr. Peaslee. "Iwonder now if you'd mind taking this along to him," and he offeredher the paper parcel. "It's a harmonica, I guess they call it. It'sreal handsome. It cost consid'able--a pretty consid'able sum. I feelkinder sorry for the leetle feller, and I don't grudge it a mite."And he kept repeating, in a tone which suggested whistling to keepyour courage up, "Not a mite, not a mite."

  Miss Ware smothered a laugh on hearing what the present was. Shemust not hurt the feelings of this kind old man!

  "Oh," said the little hypocrite, "that's nice! Jimmie'll be sopleased."

  But perhaps the harmonica pleased Jim as much as the schoolbookswhich the school-teacher, with a solicitous eye on her pupil'sstanding in his studies, was taking to him. Saying good-by to Mr.Peaslee, Miss Ware, books and harmonica in hand, went on her way tovisit the afflicted boy in his dungeon. Meanwhile Jim, turning thewringer for Mrs. Calkins, and listening to her stories of "Mark's"prowess with all sorts of malefactors, was having an excellent time.He had decided to be a sheriff when he grew up.