The Anti-Foster-Pet Association

by Carroll Watson Rankin

THE ANTI-FOSTER-PET
ASSOCIATION

BY CARROLL WATSON RANKIN

MRS. FOSTER was a large, calm, opulent person, with a smooth blonde exterior, a commanding manner, a quiet husband, a century-plant, and three valuable but unprepossessing household pets. All Mrs. Foster's belongings were valuable and unprepossessing.

From June to November of each year this lady dwelt in Bancroft. From November to June she traveled, leaving her other possessions behind, but taking her mildly unwilling husband to Egypt, to Portugal or to Mexico. All winter long, post-cards with queer foreign stamps floated back to Bancroft.

But these cards, interesting as they were, did not reconcile Bancroft to Mrs. Foster's repeated absences. It was not because the Bancrofters missed the large, commanding lady or her small, commanded husband; but rather because they were not permitted to miss the century-plant and the three unlovely household pets that seemed to occupy so large a place in Mrs. Foster's affections; for, whenever this good woman went abroad, it was her custom to dismiss her servants, close her big, roomy house, and distribute her most cherished possessions among her neighbors.

"I see by the paper," said Mrs. Colby, the evening of the Petercraft concert, "that the Fosters are starting for Brazil."

"Yes," sighed Mrs. Blake; "they go next week."

"And which do you get," queried Mrs. Colby, astutely, "the parrot or the dog?"

"The century-plant," groaned Mrs. Blake.

"And poor mother," interrupted lively Helen Blake, leaning forward eagerly, "still bears scars from her last winter's sojourn with that outrageous plant. Its leaves are built on the plan of a cross-cut saw, and each one ends in a long, murderously sharp thorn. Really, it seems as if the thing were bewitched, for although it's exactly four feet in diameter, you can't make a cautious, six-foot circuit around it without having it lunge out to jab you."

"Perhaps," suggested Mrs. Colby, "Mrs. Foster uses it to impale burglars."

"No," returned matter-of-fact Mrs. Blake, soberly, "she paid a huge sum for it at the close of some exposition, and has grown attached to it."

"Fancy becoming attached to a thing like that!" shuddered Helen. "But it's just like Mrs. Foster to place her affections on an object that no other woman could tolerate. Oh, sit here by us, Mrs. Adams. Yes, there's room for Mrs. Herrick, too. We were just discussing Mrs. Foster's belongings."

"Dear me!" mourned Mrs. Adams, her cheerful countenance suddenly sobering as she took the proffered seat, "I'm to have her dog."

"You have my heartfelt sympathy," said Mrs. Herrick, earnestly. "I had him last winter; and he's so peculiar! His name is Agamemnon, and he won't come unless you say every bit of it. Then he isn't built right—his legs are much too long for him. And-his appetite—well! If I had n't known that the Fosters paid four hundred dollars for him, I'd certainly have managed to lose him instead of staying up nights to hold his paw when he had toothache."

"But," asserted Mrs. Adams, hopefully, "he can't be as bad as Annabel Lee, their perfectly outrageous Angora cat. I had her last winter, and really that cat just about ruined Mr. Adams's disposition. She shed enough fur on his trousers to make a camel's-hair shawl."

"Mrs. Williams gets her this time," returned Mrs. Herrick. "I'm to have the parrot. I understand that it uses unprintable language at five every morning, and was the direct cause of Jane Rossiter's nervous prostration three winters ago; so I intend to keep it in the attic—or else live there myself, and give the bird the rest of the house."

All winter long, care-free Mrs. Foster traveled from one sunny clime to another. All winter long, the vicious century-plant scratched or stabbed the elbows of the unwary Blakes. Agamemnon, the ungainly dog, demanded savory stews and untimely sympathy from Mrs. Adams. Mr. Williams went about in a state of indignation because he was continually coated with the long, white hairs shed by Annabel Lee, and Mr. Herrick's daily language, at five a.m., was only a shade milder, so Mrs. Herrick asserted, than that of the profane parrot.

Then, in addition to possessing unpleasant characteristics of their own, the cat, the dog, the parrot, and the century-plant weighed heavily on the minds of their guardians. Mrs. Blake, for instance, lived in a fever of apprehension lest the century-plant should die from the effects of coal-gas, too much or too little water, too high or too low a temperature. On such nights as Agamemnon was free from toothache, solicitous Mrs. Adams could not sleep for wondering what antidotes to use in case the dog should be accidentally poisoned. In spite of Mrs. Herrick's constant watchfulness, the wily and expensive parrot managed, several times during the winter, to escape and mislay himself in inaccessible places; and, by losing three of her lives in courageous encounters with strange dogs, Annabel Lee made nervous Mrs. Williams fairly sick abed on three separate occasions. Altogether, it was no light responsibility to keep Mrs. Foster's four treasures intact, alive, and undamaged for eight months at a stretch; and it told on the care-takers.

Indeed, long before spring, so thoroughly unhappy were the four households that a protesting body called the "Anti-Foster-Pet Association" was formed among the younger members of the four families. These younger members were Helen Blake, Grace Adams, Sabina Herrick, and Eleanor Williams.

"It's too much to ask of anybody," sputtered fastidious Grace, who was stewing turnips for Agamemnon, "and nobody but a supremely selfish person like Mrs. Foster would do it. Oh, she pays Agamemnon's butcher's bill, but our cook left yesterday because she had to cater for that outrageous dog,—he won't touch ordinary dog food,—and—oh, get down, Agamemnon! Those beastly turnips won't be done for an hour."

"Look at that scratch," said Helen Blake, baring a disfigured arm. "That's what that spiteful century-plant did to me last night when I was feeling round in the dark for matches. It just reached out and clawed me. And the postal that we got this morning from Mrs. Foster states that she's having a heavenly time."

"This," said Sabina, holding up a bandaged finger, "is merely my latest bite from that blood-curdling parrot. Somebody just misses losing a nose or an ear every time that unspeakable bird is fed."

"We have n't had any cream in our coffee since we became the property of the beautiful, hair-shedding Annabel Lee," asserted Eleanor. "She turns up her nose at plain milk, and of course one can't let a fifty-dollar cat go hungry. I move that we all strike. It is n't fair, just because we 're Mrs. Foster's nearest neighbors, that we should be compelled to lead such lives. Let's encourage our mothers to sign a declaration of independence from all cats, century-plants, parrots, and dogs."

"Let's!" cried Helen, eagerly. "Next fall, when Mrs. Foster descends upon us with plants and pets, let's pledge ourselves to have our respective mothers all primed to say 'NO.'"

It needed little persuasion at that time to induce the four women to promise to decline all proffered pets the following autumn. Indeed, they seemed more than willing to promise, for their grievances were still in a state of activity.

June brought Mrs. Foster, with her large, gracious presence, her unimportant husband, and a handsome gift for each of the guardians of her pets. The gifts, to be sure, were of a nature to appeal to Mrs. Foster rather than to her less eccentric neighbors: perhaps no one, but Mrs. Foster would have thought of giving inartistic Mrs. Adams a large statue of Mercury, or plain Mrs. Williams a magnificent coral necklace from Capri; yet the proper spirit lurked behind these inappropriate gifts, and the neighborhood was large-minded enough to realize it.

Throughout the summer, bland, blonde Mrs. Foster distributed the flowers and fruits of her garden among her less favored neighbors, invited the four families to luncheons and teas, and was neighborly in other large, open-handed, if sometimes rather imperious, ways. At close range it seemed impossible to accuse Mrs. Foster of selfishness, for she gave with a lavishness that no other person in Bancroft could have equaled. It was not a matter of money, but of temperament. Her generosity made her neighbors vaguely uncomfortable; for all summer long these women, from tall Mrs. Williams down to short Mrs. Herrick, were guiltily aware of the promises they had made to the Anti-Foster-Pet Association.

"I declare," said Mrs. Blake, rolling moth-balls in the hideous but expensive tapestry that Mrs. Foster had brought her from Spain, "I feel mean all the way through every time I see this thing; but I can't live another eight months with that century-plant on my mind. And dear me! I can just see how surprised and hurt Mrs. Foster will look when I refuse to take it. It never would occur to her that anybody could refuse."

The other neighbors voiced similar sentiments, but not to Mrs. Foster.

October came. The hard-hearted young members of the A. F. P. A. roused themselves to fresh activity, and succeeded in extracting fresh promises and pledges from the former harborers of unprepossessing pets.

"Remember, mother," admonished Helen Blake, "you must be firm."

"Whatever happens," warned Grace Adams, "just remember that it's 'No, thank you' to Agamemnon."

Eleanor and Sabina, too, forewarned and forearmed Mrs. Williams and Mrs. Herrick. It seemed reasonably certain that the four would make a firm stand against afflicting pets.

Then Mrs. Foster paid her usual round of farewell visits. With unruffled confidence in tone and manner, she asked Mrs. Williams to take her turn at housing the century-plant, Mrs. Blake to soothe and comfort Agamemnon, Mrs. Herrick to harbor Annabel Lee, and Mrs. Adams to board and lodge the early-rising parrot. Her confidence was not misplaced. In spite of pledges and promises, each woman went meekly down before the expectation in those calm, commanding blue eyes. Each woman helplessly accepted an unwelcome dog, cat, bird, or plant. It is altogether probable that each woman knew in advance that the crucial moment would find her weak.

Shortly before midnight of that same day, a shingle mill north of Bancroft caught fire. A stiff November gale was blowing, and by two o'clock the flames had swept a broad pathway through the town. Among others, the Blake, Herrick, Adams, and Williams families lost everything except their lives and a few hastily-gathered treasures. The Foster house, protected by its ampler grounds, surrounding trees, and a stout slate roof, was saved.

Early that morning, while the fire still burned, Mrs. Foster made another farewell visit to her favorite neighbors, whom she found sitting forlornly on the remnants of their belongings.

"You 're to move into my house this minute," said she, in her usual large, commanding manner. "Yes, all four of you, families and all. I'm going away tomorrow just the same, but you 're welcome to stay there all winter, if you want to, for the house is big enough for every one of you. All I ask of you is to look after Agamemnon—"

"I 'll make him a turnip stew every day," promised Grace, heartily.

"I 've just got to tell somebody," whispered Mrs. Herrick, edging closer to Mrs. Adams, as the little procession followed Mrs. Foster down the flame-lighted street, "that I'm perfectly ashamed of the mean, little, narrow-minded thoughts I 've had concerning that parrot."

"I know exactly how you feel," sobbed Mrs. Adams, hysterical from the mingled emotions of the night. "Big as that blessed woman is, there is n't room in Mrs. Foster for anything so despicable as the grudging feeling I 've had over doing the only thing she ever asked of me."

"And when we thought her selfish," quavered Mrs. Williams, joining in, "she has merely been too noble and large-minded to be able to put herself in the places of such miserable, grudging, unworthy neighbors as we 've been."

"Yes," agreed Mrs. Blake; "nobody but a big-souled woman like Mrs. Foster would have expected us to love those atrocious pets; and nobody but Mrs. Foster would have taken us in in this generous, whole-hearted way. I guess the rest of us 'll have to do some growing before we fit her house."

"By the way," said Mrs. Foster, turning suddenly, "you won't need to buy coal; the bins are full."

"Coals of fire," sobbed Mrs. Adams. The others laughed softly.

"Here's Agamemnon!" cried Mrs. Foster. "He knows his friends."

"It's to be hoped," whispered Mrs. Blake, "that he does n't know them as they know themselves."