Wild Kitty

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  SUNSHINE AGAIN.

  When Carrie left her, Kitty Malone was buoyed up with a certain degreeof hope. Carrie had spoken with confidence; she had assured her that herclothes were worth money. Never before, much as she prized prettythings, had they seemed so valuable in poor Kitty's eyes. If Carriewould really keep her word it would be possible for Kitty to send Lauriethe money which he wanted that evening. Could she do this her worstanxieties would be laid to rest, and she felt that it would be evenpossible for her to try to be good once more. As things were at present,she cared nothing at all about being either good or bad. Every thoughtof her mind was fixed upon Laurie; if he were saved she would be good;if not--if he indeed, the darling of her heart, went to thedogs--nothing mattered.

  Kitty was too restless and miserable to go down to the rest of thefamily. She walked up and down, up and down her bedroom, watching andlonging for Carrie. Now and then she would rush to the window, puttingout her head and shoulders and half her body, to watch if by any chanceCarrie might be coming up the street. That red-faced, fat,uninteresting-looking young woman now represented all Kitty's hopes.

  When darkness set in, however, when the hours first struck nine andthen ten, poor Kitty gradually saw the last star in her firmamentexpire. "Without doubt Carrie had failed to pawn the things.

  "And I thought them so good," whispered Kitty to herself. "Aunt Bridgetwould be sure to choose nice and expensive things. Perhaps they were toogood for the people who come to the pawnbroker for their clothes. Thatmust be the reason; but I wonder Carrie did not come back to tell me."

  Presently Alice bustled into the room, and, opening the door of thelarge wardrobe which the girls shared between them, began to make activesearch for a neat little jacket which she wanted to put on. She wasgoing out for the evening, and wished to wear it when she was returninghome. Search as she would, however, she could not find it, and presentlyturned to ask Kitty if she had seen it.

  "Dear me, no," answered Kitty, starting and blushing. "Is it not in thewardrobe?"

  "No," replied Alice. "And I remember I hung it on this peg. Where can itpossibly have disappeared to? Don't you know anything about it, Kitty?By the way, how wonderfully empty the wardrobe looks! Have you beenputting your clothes back into your boxes?"

  Kitty, who had been standing in the middle of the room looking the verypicture of despair, now burst into a hearty peal of laughter.

  "What are you laughing about?" asked Alice.

  "I am awfully afraid it has happened," she cried.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Why, that your jacket has gone to the pawn."

  "Kitty!" cried Alice, looking at the Irish girl in some alarm, "have yougone mad?"

  "No, Alice; but I am dreadfully afraid all the same that it hashappened; indeed, there can be no doubt of it."

  Kitty laughed again. She often cried when she laughed and now the tearsran down her cheeks.

  "Well, this is too funny!" she gasped between her paroxysms of mirth.

  "I don't think it funny at all. I think you must have taken leave ofyour senses. Kitty, please, explain yourself."

  "I will try to, Alice. Oh, don't frown at me so horribly, or I shall gooff into fits of laughter again. This is the simple truth. I wantedmoney very, very badly. I could not get it, and Carrie Lewis--"

  "Carrie Lewis? Who is she?" asked Alice.

  "Oh, don't be so ridiculous, Alice. Of course you know who Carrie Lewisis. She is Elma's sister. She came here to-day."

  "How very interesting! What a nice set of people you seem to be gettingto know! I wasn't aware that you were acquainted with any of the Lewisesexcept Elma."

  "Well, I am acquainted with Carrie now, and I rather like her. She isgreat fun, much more fun than you are. She is vulgar, of course; butreally that does not matter. She called to see me, and as I happened towant money she suggested pawning some of my things for me. I concludeshe took your jacket by mistake with the rest."

  Alice was so stunned absolutely by this news that no words would cometo her. She stared at Kitty, her face growing whiter and morewooden-looking each moment. Then, without vouchsafing a syllable ofreply, she left the room, banging the door behind her.

  "There, I have given her a good settler," thought Kitty; and for amoment the feeling that Alice was as uncomfortable as she was herselfgave her a certain sense of satisfaction.

  The last post brought a letter from Laurie. It was brief, and waswritten in frantic hurry and despair.

  "My dear Kitty," wrote the boy, "what has come to you? I am looking fora letter by every post, but none arrives. I shall not be able to giveWheel-about the money I promised him on Saturday, and I know he will notkeep my secret any longer. When father hears it, all is up. If I don'treceive that money by Saturday morning I shall run away tosea.--LAURIE."

  The letter fluttered from poor Kitty's fingers to the floor. She feltstunned; there was a cold weight now at her heart, which made it almostimpossible for her to move or even think. If Laurie did not get themoney by Saturday morning he would run away to sea. This was Thursdayevening. There was still time, just time, to save him. Oh, if onlyCarrie would come! How dreadful, how terrible of her to fail Kitty atsuch a moment as this! Laurie was just the sort of boy to do what hesaid. The longing to go to sea had been one of the innermost cravings ofhis heart for many years. If he did so, the squire would never forgivehim. His career would be ruined. Bad and awful as an English school inKitty's opinion would be, the fate which he now had mapped out forhimself would be much worse. The cruel, cruel sea might even drown him.Kitty might never behold her Laurie again. He was the joy of her heartand the light of her eyes. She uttered a piercing cry, and fell downhalf-fainting by her bedside. She lay so for the greater part of anhour, then struggling to her feet got into bed without undressing, andpulled the bedclothes well over her head.

  When Alice came in very late that evening she thought that Kitty wasasleep, and did not disturb her; but all during the long hours of thatmiserable night poor Kitty lay awake, her heart beating loud, terriblevisions passing before her eyes. Toward morning she fell into a troubledsleep, to awake again quite early. Her head ached badly, her pulses beattoo quickly; she could not stand her hot bed any longer. Springing up,she went into the bathroom, turned on the cold water, and refreshedherself with a bath. She felt really desperate and quite impervious toall ideas of discipline. She made up her mind to go to the Lewises,knock up Carrie, and demand an account of the property which she hadconfided to her on the previous day. Even still there was just--justtime to save Laurie, for if she could catch the early post he wouldreceive his money on Saturday morning.

  Kitty found herself at Constantino Road between seven and eight o'clock.The blinds of Carrie's bedroom window were still down, for the Lewiseswere not early risers. Maggie however, was up, and when Kitty rang thebell she opened the door for her.

  "Miss Malone!" she cried.

  "I want to see Miss Carrie at once," cried Kitty. "Is she up, Maggie?"

  "Not she, miss. She's sound asleep and in bed. But I'll run up and tellher that you are here. Please come into the dining-room, Miss Malone."

  Maggie threw open the door of this by-no-means luxurious apartment, andthen ran upstairs to inform Carrie of Kitty's unexpected arrival.

  "Now, what can be up?" thought Carrie. "Surely she is satisfied. I didvery well for her."

  She dressed herself hastily, and in five minutes was standing by Kitty'sside.

  "What is it?" she asked. "Are you not pleased? Elma took you the money,did she not? She must have stayed with one of the Middleton School girlsfor the night, for she never returned home; but she took you the money.I thought I did very well by you. Were you not satisfied?"

  "She took me the money?" cried Kitty, turning pale. "No; that she didnot. I never had any money. What do you mean, Carrie?"

  "What I say," answered Carrie. "Oh, do sit down, Kitty; you look quiteghastly. I gave Elma ten pounds seven shillings and twopence to
give youI got eleven guineas for your things, including the watch and chain.After I deducted my ten per cent., the balance for you was ten poundsseven and twopence. I thought you would be delighted. Did she not takeyou the money early yesterday evening?"

  "No. I have never seen her."

  "But she left here quite early on purpose. She said she was goingstraight to your house. I sent you plenty of money, did I not?"

  "How much did you say?" asked Kitty, putting her hand up to her foreheadin a distracted way.

  "Ten pounds seven and twopence. You only really wanted eight pounds, didyou not?"

  "I had a little money of my own, and eight pounds would have done," saidKitty in a low voice; "but----"

  Here she sprang forward and gripped Carrie by the arm. "What does itmean, Carrie--what does it mean? Elma never came near me; I never, neversaw her last night."

  "You never saw her? Elma never went to you?"

  "No, never. Do you think I would tell an untruth? I never saw her, notsince early school yesterday. Oh, Carrie, tell me what it means?"

  "I cannot. I must say it looks very queer," said Carrie. She frowned,turned her back partly upon Kitty, and supporting her fat chin on one ofher dimpled hands, began to think deeply. The more she thought the lessshe liked the aspect of affairs.

  "Carrie, what does it mean?" cried Kitty, reiterating her words in akind of frenzy of agitation.

  "Oh, stop talking to me for a minute, Kitty! I must think this out."

  Carrie walked to the window, pulled up the blinds, threw the sash up,and allowed the fresh morning air to blow upon her hot face. After atime she turned round and faced Kitty.

  "You may well look pale," she said. "I confess I am as bewildered as youare yourself. Of course Elma may have been taken ill--she had adreadful shock yesterday."

  "How?"

  "You are silly to talk like that. Don't you know?"

  "You mean because I told about her?"

  "Well, it turned out very badly, as badly as possible. You did tell, andwhen you did so you ruined her. If you had only kept that precious storyto yourself, even for twenty-four hours, little Elma would have beenmade--made for life; but you ruined her."

  "Oh do please tell me what you mean! My head is going round in a whirl;I can scarcely follow you."

  "You can pull yourself together if you like. This is what happened. Itold you, did I not, yesterday, that Aunt Charlotte pays Elma's fees atMiddleton School?"

  "I think so, but I don't quite remember."

  "That is so like you. I always said you were selfish."

  "Think what you like, Carrie; but please tell me everything."

  "Oh, I'm quite willing. This is the story. Aunt Charlotte came hereyesterday. She had heard of a splendid school in Germany, where Elma wasto be sent as pupil-teacher. She wanted Elma to leave Middleton Schoolat once, as she had found an escort to take her to Germany; but beforeElma could be admitted into this new school it was necessary for her tohave a certificate from Miss Sherrard. Now you see daylight, don't you?My aunt, Mrs. Steward, went to see Miss Sherrard, taking Elma with her.Elma did not know that you had put a match to the mine, and of courseAunt Charlotte knew nothing about it. When Miss Sherrard was asked togive Elma a certificate for conduct, she refused point-blank. Of coursethe mine exploded. Elma was called in, and all your nice, miserablestory told to Aunt Charlotte. Elma is to be publicly exposed atMiddleton School to-day; and Aunt Charlotte has washed her hands of herforever. There! that's what you have done. We have much to thank youfor, have we not?"

  Kitty's face had grown whiter and whiter.

  "You blame me very much for what I am not to be blamed for," she saidafter a pause.

  "That's what you think. You're an Irish girl, and you think nothing of apromise. You promised Elma you would not tell. You lent her the money,and you promised you would not tell about it. You broke your promise,and you have ruined her for life. There! that's what has happened. Iwish you joy of the nice state your conscience must be in."

  "You are very bitter to me, Carrie; but you cannot quite see my side ofthe question. I would not have told about Elma if Elma had been in theleast true to me, but she was not, not a bit. All the same, I amterribly, terribly sorry for her. I would not have got her into thisscrape if I had known."

  "Ay, you had no thought, you see. You just blurted out everything."

  "I am very miserable," said poor Kitty. She clasped her trembling handstogether, and tears slowly welled into her beautiful dark-blue eyes.Carrie watched her with anxiety.

  "There, now I like you," she said, after a pause "You look awfullypretty with those tears in your eyes, and----"

  "Pretty, do I?" said Kitty. For a moment a pleased smile flitted acrossher face, but then it faded; the present anxiety was too intense for herto give much thought to her personal appearance.

  "Where can Elma be?" she said.

  "Ah, that's the dreadful part. I don't know. She went out of the housewith your money. She evidently never took it to you. I am sure I cannotthink what has happened to her."

  "And my money is gone?" said Kitty.

  "So it seems--that is, unless we can find Elma. It is all very dreadful,very horrible. I suppose the plain English of the matter is this"--hereCarrie gulped something down in her throat--"that she--she stole yourmoney and has run away with it."

  "Carrie, you cannot think so!"

  "It is what I have to think," answered Carrie. "It is a mightyunpalatable truth, I can tell you. I suppose, now, your next step willbe to prosecute her to send the police after her, and have her lockedup. Then you will ruin me too, for Sam Raynes--not that he isoverparticular, nor that he cares twopence about refinement, or anythingof that sort--would not care to marry a girl whose--whose sister was putin prison. That's your next step isn't it, Kitty Malone?"

  "I won't stop to listen to you," said Kitty; "you are too terrible."

  She ran to the door, opened it, and the next moment found herself inthe street. She walked fast, ugly words repeating themselves in herears. Carrie had been very blunt, and had given the petted, half-spoiledgirl some home truths to think about. Had she really been unkind intelling about Elma? Oh, what was right and what was wrong? What was thematter? Could she ever, ever, in the whole course of her existence, havea light heart again? She walked up the street, little caring what shewas doing or where she was going. At the next corner she came plump uponElma herself, who was coming slowly, very slowly in the direction ofConstantine Road. When she saw her, poor Kitty gave a sudden shout.

  "Oh, Elma!" she said, "how glad I am--how glad I am!"

  "What do you mean?" said Elma. Her voice was faint.

  "I thought I might never see you again. I thought--I don't know what Ithought--but you have come back."

  "I ran away, and I have come back again," said Elma. "You can punish meif you like, Kitty; things can never be much worse than they are." Hereshe staggered, and would have fallen had not Kitty held her up.

  "How dreadfully bad you look! But oh, the relief of seeing you again!"said Kitty. "Where have you been? What have you done?"

  "I scarcely know what I have done, or where I have been. I have a noisein my head, a queer noise. My head aches so badly it seems as if itwould never leave off again. I am going to school, and they are goingto expose me. It was all because you told, Kitty. And here is nearlyall your money." Elm a put her hand into her pocket. "I must tell youeverything, Kitty; for nothing really matters now. I meant to take thatmoney. I meant to steal it all, but when it came to the point I found Icould not. Here is most of it back. I spent three shillings on my fareto Saltbury and back, and sixpence on tea last night. That leaves tenpounds three and eightpence. Here, count it, won't you, Kitty? Take itin your hand. Here are the ten sovereigns, and the three shillings, andthe sixpence and twopence. Have you got them all right? I must owe youthe balance, but I'll pay you soon--soon."

  Elma's voice sounded weaker and weaker. Kitty clasped the money; hersmall fingers closed over it, her eyes grew brigh
t, a flaming color roseinto each of her cheeks, and it was as if new life was put into her.

  "How bad you look!" she cried; "but oh, how happy I am to have thismoney! Never mind for a moment what you meant to do; I have it now, andI forgive you with my whole heart. Let us go straight to the nearestpost office. I must get a postal order lor eight pounds immediately.Come, Elma, come."

  "But what do you mean? Why should I go with you?"

  "Because you must--because I am not going to part with you--not yet.Come, come at once. Oh, how dead tired you look! You are not to go backto that dreadful little house of yours--not yet. Here is a nice-lookingrestaurant. You just go straight in, and I'll go on to the post officeand send off the postal order to the dear old boy. He is saved now, andI am saved; nothing--nothing else matters. Dear Elma, of course Iforgive you; pray don't look so miserable. I felt fit to die fiveminutes ago, but now I am as well and jolly as possible. Here, Elma,come into the restaurant and wait."

  Kitty had clutched hold of Elma's arm, and now she dragged her into alarge, bright-looking restaurant, which they were just passing. The nextmoment Elma found herself seated by a small marble table. Kitty wasordering tea or something, Elma could not quite make out what, nor didshe care. Everything was dreamy and unreal to her.

  "I'll be back in a minute, Elma," cried Kitty. Her flashing eyes smiledas they glanced at Elma. Elma tried to smile back, but could not. Thenext moment Kitty was out of the place. She was back again in less thana quarter of an hour.

  "I have done it," she cried, "and my heart is as light as a feather. Ihave sent off the postal order to Laurie; he will be saved now. Oh, itis so comforting; and we have a little over two pounds for ourselves."

  "For ourselves--what do you mean?" said Elma.

  "Why, of course, we'll divide it and have a jolly time. Aren't you goingto have your breakfast? I'm as hungry as a hawk."

  As Kitty spoke she poured out a cup of tea, added milk to it, and pushedit toward Elma. Elma drank it off, and when she had done so the confusedfeeling in her head got a little better. Kitty then began to speak in alow, excited whisper.

  "Let us do something," she said. "Let us do something quite mad andwild and jolly. We have got out of our scrape."

  "You have; but I am in it up to my neck," said poor Elma. "Oh Kitty, Iam a miserable, wretched girl!"

  "Never mind, you are going to be a jolly girl now, the jolliest girl inthe world. Do you think because I am happy again that I am going toleave you to all this misery, particularly after that nice blunt,determined Carrie of yours telling me that it was my fault, and that Iwould repent it to my dying day? Look here, Elma, did you say that youwanted to go back to Middleton School this morning?"

  "I have to. I am to be exposed, you know."

  "Not a bit of it. Neither you nor I will go to that hateful school; letus run away."

  "Run away? But I have run away and come back again."

  "Let us do it over again."

  "Kitty, what do you mean?"

  "What I say. I have heaps of money; let us get back to Saltbury and enjoyourselves, Elma. Why can't we take the next train? No one will preventus; no one will guess where we are. We will have a nice time, a reallynice time. Say 'Yes,' Elma, won't you?"

  "But would you really go with me?"

  "Why not? I am the wild Irish girl, and you are the naughty Englishgirl; let us go off together."

  "Well, it does sound tempting," said Elma, her eyes sparkling. "Kitty,it is wonderful of you not to give me up."

  "Oh, I am not the sort of girl to give up a friend when she is introuble. You have made it right for me, and the sun is shining again,and I am as happy as the day is long. Elma, you must come."

  "It does sound tempting--I wish my head did not ache so badly."

  "It will be better when you get to the seaside."

  "Perhaps so, and then I need not go to Middleton School."

  "You need never go there again. Oh, don't waste any more time overbreakfast. We can eat when we get to Saltbury. I want to get off beforeAlice and Carrie or any of them begin to miss us. Let us go to therailway station; it is not far off."

  Kitty's eager and impetuous words earned the day, and in a quarter of anhour's time the girls found themselves speeding away to Saltbury.

  "We have indeed burned our boats now," said Kitty, with a laugh; "wehave both run away. Now they have something really to scold us about;but never mind. I never felt, more jolly in my life."