Page:Harper's New Monthly Magazine - v109.djvu/532

I jumped upon his broad back

show it. I climbed farther out on the limb. Speckle followed me. "Don't be mad," he whined, teasingly.

I faced him and surveyed him with cool scorn. "You look like a shattered ideal, Speckle," I said, trying to make him sensible of his uncouth appearance, for nothing could have been filthier or more shocking than his entire person.

He turned and sharpened his claws on the limb, saying, defiantly: "Oh, get gay, then—wot do I care? You look like an animal cracker, you do. Gee! You look like a leopard that's lost his spots."

I saw then that the honest fellow was hurt, and in a milder tone I asked him his reason for disturbing me. Speckle chewed a twig or two in silence, then he replied, "Fight."

I was interested at once. I hesitated. I had some idea of going to practise the fourth jump, and I disliked the society of Rat Alley. Speckle watched me disdainfully, narrowing his yellow eyes. Finally I said:

"No, Speckle, I think I shall stay here. You must understand that is a principle of mine—not to witness a fight."

Speckle, having reached the ground, turned up his face and eyed me scornfully. "Principle?" he sneered. "Principle! Won't witness a fight, hey? Sits on a limb and witnesses dicky-birds, but he's too good to witness a fight. Oh Lord!" and he swore violently. Then saying with intense scorn, "Yes, you're full of principle, you are!" he ran along the fence toward Rat Alley.

Thursday.—. . . . Had an interesting debate this morning with an old family friend who used to know my mother. Our talk drifted to serious things, and I asked her if she believed in the theory of nine lives. She replied that she did, that she knew for certain that she had lived through seven lives, and warned me against such rash ventures as the fourth jump without making sure of at least one life to spare.

Saturday.—. . . I spent yesterday afternoon and evening at the home of a young child, whom I followed because she bore a paper of codfish which attracted me. The house where the child lives was exceedingly warm and pleasant, and I reclined in front of the glowing fire and made myself agreeable and attractive, considering meanwhile the advantages of such a home. It has often occurred to me that sometime in my life I must have been owned. I can recall the feeling of caresses and the scent of soft garments worn by some gentle person who felt solicitude and affection for me. I think I can remember, though but dimly, the look of delicate white hands that cuddled me, and the warmth and sweetness of a breast to which I was pressed. How I ever became dissevered from all those comfortable conditions I do not know, but it was long ago, and has no part in my present life, for now I become restless in any close environment, and invariably after a short stay by some hearth of friendliness I feel the spell of the streets,—a spell that draws me away from mere ease and plenty to the thrill and mystery of a roving life. And so it was yesterday. Half slumbering on the little girl's lap after a delicious refreshment of custard and cold liver, I heard suddenly, or thought I heard, a voice that called me; and an old desire for vast lonely spaces, for the Desert of the Roofs, for silent cobbled streets, seized me. I thought of the vague gutters stretching away into solitude and night, and the old hungry haunting, the strong longing to go out and look for something, possessed me. I got down from the little girl's lap and went out of the door that led to the street.

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Practical

A MOTHER happening one day to overhear a group of little girls excitedly concocting a scheme of revenge against another little girl, who had apparently done something very "mean," was grieved to find her own child among the chief conspirators.

"Why, my dear!" she said, taking her aside, "it seems to me you're going to do to Lottie just what you don't want her to do to you. I don't think this is the golden rule—is it?"

"Well, mamma," said the child, frankly, "the golden rule is very nice for Sunday, but for every day I'd a great deal rather have an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth—it's lots more fun!"

A. R.