A FELINE FATE.

Anna Robeson Brown.

BECAUSE the night was bitterly cold, Dick Eaton put on his heavy overcoat, in which everything was furlined, even to the pockets, before starting for Mrs. Leighton’s dinner.

He was, in general, a happy-hearted fellow, but when one has just received a severe snub from one’s lady love, one does not contemplate a dinner with much satisfaction.

Dick was in love with a girl of wit as well as of beauty; a young lady who could afford to pick and choose.

Dick’s friends sang his praises all day long, much to Miss Girton’s astonishment.

“I can not understand,” she said, “what it is that makes that young Eaton fellow so popular. He hasn’t an ounce of brains.”

So it happened that on this particular evening he was discouraged.

The wind blew the sleet in his face. He stumped along, growing less inclined for the chilly formality of a dinner at every step. Half the distance had been traversed when he felt something brush against his foot.

It was a kitten—a very weak, very wet, and very miserable kitten.

“Hello, old man,” said Dick. “Whom do you belong to?”

The kitten continued to blink at Dick and to shiver helplessly.

It was so very small that it staggered and slid about when it tried to stand.

“Well, I’m awfully sorry, but I can’t help it, you know. Run home to your mamma. You’re far too little to be out alone.”

He started to move away, but the kitten sprang feebly up his leg, and clung there. Dick was fond of cats. He lifted it, and rubbed the rough fur for dryness; the kitten sat on his arm and held its head first to one side and then to the other. “Well, you are cool; but I say, old man, what am I to do with you, you know?”

The kitten purred. The purr settled it.

“Well, I suppose you have got to come; only, old man, I must say I wish you had chosen to favor me on my way home.”

And the kitten gave a jubilant burst of purr which sounded apologetic.

Dick transferred it to his pocket, which, as it was a very small kitten, was roomy quarters. Dick walked briskly on, chuckling to himself, yet reflecting on his situation with some anxiety.

He simply could not produce the beast upon entering Mrs. Leighton’s parlors. If the animal would stay quietly in his pocket it might not be so hard to conceal it during the meal, and he would excuse himself as early as possible.

“Now, old man,” he said to the kitten, as they stood on the door-step, “I have done you a good turn, you know, so I expect you to do me another by lying low and keeping dark. Don’t give yourself away, if you love me.”

Never was a dinner so long. They had allotted him to a little girl in her first season, and he was far away from Miss Girton’s end of the table.

With the third course came a new torment. That kitten was starving, Dick had no doubt of it. He looked about him for something to slip into his pocket. Chicken with truffles, or Roman punch was hardly the diet any self-respecting cat would select for her offspring. Dick passed three courses endeavoring to manufacture some excuse for leaving the table, but finally gave up in despair, resolving to wait until the ladies retired to the drawing-room.

When the cigars had been lighted and chairs pushed back, he felt his hour had come.

“Leighton,” he said, addressing his host, “would you—could I—ah, that is—would it be too much trouble to get me a glass of milk?”

An amazed silence fell upon the party.

“Milk!” said the host.

“Well, you see, the doctor ordered me after every meal——”

“Oh, of course, if you like,” and the butler brought a large tumbler of milk and placed it solemnly before Dick, during a rather chilly silence. He was forced to gulp down at least half the glass. Meanwhile, how to get away?

“Leighton,” he said, “did I hear you say that Gladstone had been criticized in the ‘Times’ for that last speech of his?”

“Yes,” said Leighton, “and of all the unwarrantable——”

The men pushed the bottles into the center of the table, squared their elbows, and in ten minutes, as Dick had anticipated, were far too deep in politics to observe his movements. With the half-finished glass of milk in his hand, he rose and wandered out of the door and down the hall to where his overcoat hung.

The kitten was awake and restless. Dick felt that he was just in time. He held it under one arm, and carefully tilted the glass for it until every drop was gone.

“There, old man, you feel better, don’t you? Have a cigar after you drink?” The sound of chairs being pushed about in the dining-room struck him with sudden panic. He spilled the kitten hastily into his pocket again and sped back with the empty glass.

In the drawing-room Miss Girton was in her element, and Dick eyed her from afar with a heavy heart.

Soon the people wandered out by twos and three, a few into the softly lighted hall. Miss Girton was one of these, and Dick as a matter of course joined the group of men gathered around her. The ribbon of her bouquet had become untied, and she rolled it in her fingers, and trailed it to and fro over the shining wood floor as she talked.

Suddenly there was a stir among the overcoats and two bright spots met Dick’s eyes—two sparks of topaz fire. Oh, that fascinating blue ribbon! How it curved and trailed about! What kitten could have resisted the temptation?

Dick made a sudden plunge.

“Your ribbon is untied,” he said, offering it to Miss Girton, with nervous politeness.

“Thank you,” she said. She let it dangle from her hand for a minute, and then shook it out in a long curved line. No mortal kitten could withstand that.

There was a bound and a rush and the scamper of four soft little paws, and Dick’s unfortunate waif lay on its back under Miss Girton’s very feet, kicking and clawing at the ribbon in an ecstacy of playful excitement.

“Good gracious!” exclaimed Miss Girton. “Where did that come from?”

“It’s a cat, by Jove!” said somebody.

Then Dick, feeling cold and weak all over, made a step forward.

“It’s mine; I picked it up. It was so cold and wet, you know——”

“Did you find it?”—“Was it here all the time?”—“Where did it come from?” Everybody crowded around, while the kitten made short charges at the ribbon, batted at it with its paws, and kicked at it frantically with its hind legs.

Dick told the story with a sinking heart. What would she think of him? What would she say? She did not say anything, but nearly everybody else did.

“Come, Eaton,” cried the host, laughing. “That milk——”

“Yes,” said Dick, scarlet, but sturdy, “it was for the kitten.”

There was a roar of laughter from the men, and then the joke had to be explained to the ladies.

“And why did you not produce the beast right away,” said Leighton. “By the way, there’s a smart fox-terrier of mine upstairs. Let’s introduce them and have some fun.”

Dick made a dash for his protege.

“No, you don’t. This little beast’s had quite enough of that sort of thing, I fancy. I’m going to take it home and make it comfortable. You don’t mind living with me, old man? We’ll be pretty good chums so long as you don’t smoke bad tobacco.”

He got on his overcoat and said good-bye to his hostess amid a fire of good-natured chaff. Then he looked around for Miss Girton. She was standing alone, and her face wore a curious expression. Dick, with his prize cuddled up in his arms, came over to her.

“All that for a kitten?” she said. “Why was it?”

“Oh, well, it liked me, and it was so beastly wet, you know.”

She gave him her hand with a sudden dazzling smile.

“Won’t you come and see me to-morrow? I shall be quite alone all the afternoon, and I do so want to hear about—about the kitten.”