The White Cat

  Produced by David Widger

  CAPTAINS ALL

  By W.W. Jacobs

  THE WHITE CAT

  "The White Cat."]

  The traveller stood looking from the tap-room window of the _Cauliflower_at the falling rain. The village street below was empty, and everythingwas quiet with the exception of the garrulous old man smoking with muchenjoyment on the settle behind him.

  "It'll do a power o' good," said the ancient, craning his neck round theedge of the settle and turning a bleared eye on the window. "I ain'tlike some folk; I never did mind a drop o' rain."

  The traveller grunted and, returning to the settle opposite the old man,fell to lazily stroking a cat which had strolled in attracted by thewarmth of the small fire which smouldered in the grate.

  "He's a good mouser," said the old man, "but I expect that Smith thelandlord would sell 'im to anybody for arf a crown; but we 'ad a cat inClaybury once that you couldn't ha' bought for a hundred goldensovereigns."

  The traveller continued to caress the cat.

  "A white cat, with one yaller eye and one blue one," continued the oldman. "It sounds queer, but it's as true as I sit 'ere wishing that I 'adanother mug o' ale as good as the last you gave me."

  The traveller, with a start that upset the cat's nerves, finished his ownmug, and then ordered both to be refilled. He stirred the fire into ablaze, and, lighting his pipe and putting one foot on to the hob,prepared to listen.

  It used to belong to old man Clark, young Joe Clark's uncle, said theancient, smacking his lips delicately over the ale and extending atremulous claw to the tobacco-pouch pushed towards him; and he was nevertired of showing it off to people. He used to call it 'is blue-eyeddarling, and the fuss 'e made o' that cat was sinful.

  Young Joe Clark couldn't bear it, but being down in 'is uncle's will forfive cottages and a bit o' land bringing in about forty pounds a year, he'ad to 'ide his feelings and pretend as he loved it. He used to take itlittle drops o' cream and tit-bits o' meat, and old Clark was so pleasedthat 'e promised 'im that he should 'ave the cat along with all the otherproperty when 'e was dead.

  Young Joe said he couldn't thank 'im enough, and the old man, who 'adbeen ailing a long time, made 'im come up every day to teach 'im 'ow totake care of it arter he was gone. He taught Joe 'ow to cook its meatand then chop it up fine; 'ow it liked a clean saucer every time for itsmilk; and 'ow he wasn't to make a noise when it was asleep.

  "Take care your children don't worry it, Joe," he ses one day, verysharp. "One o' your boys was pulling its tail this morning, and I wantyou to clump his 'ead for 'im."

  "Which one was it?" ses Joe.

  "The slobbery-nosed one," ses old Clark.

  "I'll give 'im a clout as soon as I get 'ome," ses Joe, who was very fondof 'is children.

  "Go and fetch 'im and do it 'ere," ses the old man; "that'll teach 'im tolove animals."

  Joe went off 'ome to fetch the boy, and arter his mother 'ad washed hisface, and wiped his nose, an' put a clean pinneyfore on 'im, he took 'imto 'is uncle's and clouted his 'ead for 'im. Arter that Joe and 'is wife'ad words all night long, and next morning old Clark, coming in from thegarden, was just in time to see 'im kick the cat right acrost thekitchen.

  He could 'ardly speak for a minute, and when 'e could Joe see plain wot afool he'd been. Fust of all 'e called Joe every name he could think of--which took 'im a long time--and then he ordered 'im out of 'is house.

  "You shall 'ave my money wen your betters have done with it," he ses,"and not afore. That's all you've done for yourself."

  Joe Clark didn't know wot he meant at the time, but when old Clark diedthree months arterwards 'e found out. His uncle 'ad made a new will andleft everything to old George Barstow for as long as the cat lived,providing that he took care of it. When the cat was dead the propertywas to go to Joe.

  The cat was only two years old at the time, and George Barstow, who wasarf crazy with joy, said it shouldn't be 'is fault if it didn't liveanother twenty years.

  The funny thing was the quiet way Joe Clark took it. He didn't seem tobe at all cut up about it, and when Henery Walker said it was a shame,'e said he didn't mind, and that George Barstow was a old man, and he wasquite welcome to 'ave the property as long as the cat lived.

  "It must come to me by the time I'm an old man," he ses, "ard that's allI care about."

  Henery Walker went off, and as 'e passed the cottage where old Clark usedto live, and which George Barstow 'ad moved into, 'e spoke to the old manover the palings and told 'im wot Joe Clark 'ad said. George Barstowonly grunted and went on stooping and prying over 'is front garden.

  "Bin and lost something?" ses Henery Walker, watching 'im.

  "No; I'm finding," ses George Barstow, very fierce, and picking upsomething. "That's the fifth bit o' powdered liver I've found in mygarden this morning."

  Henery Walker went off whistling, and the opinion he'd 'ad o' Joe Clarkbegan to improve. He spoke to Joe about it that arternoon, and Joe saidthat if 'e ever accused 'im o' such a thing again he'd knock 'is 'eadoff. He said that he 'oped the cat 'ud live to be a hundred, and that'e'd no more think of giving it poisoned meat than Henery Walker would ofpaying for 'is drink so long as 'e could get anybody else to do it for'im.

  They 'ad bets up at this 'ere _Cauliflower_ public-'ouse that evening as to'ow long that cat 'ud live. Nobody gave it more than a month, and BillChambers sat and thought o' so many ways o' killing it on the sly that itwas wunnerful to hear 'im.

  George Barstow took fright when he 'eard of them, and the care 'e took o'that cat was wunnerful to behold. Arf its time it was shut up in theback bedroom, and the other arf George Barstow was fussing arter it tillthat cat got to hate 'im like pison. Instead o' giving up work as he'dthought to do, 'e told Henery Walker that 'e'd never worked so 'ard inhis life.

  "Wot about fresh air and exercise for it?" ses Henery.

  "Wot about Joe Clark?" ses George Bar-stow. "I'm tied 'and and foot. Idursent leave the house for a moment. I ain't been to the _Cauliflower_since I've 'ad it, and three times I got out o' bed last night to see ifit was safe."

  "Mark my words," ses Henery Walker; "if that cat don't 'ave exercise,you'll lose it.

  "I shall lose it if it does 'ave exercise," ses George Barstow, "that Iknow."

  He sat down thinking arter Henery Walker 'ad gone, and then he 'ad alittle collar and chain made for it, and took it out for a walk. Prettynearly every dog in Claybury went with 'em, and the cat was in such astate o' mind afore they got 'ome he couldn't do anything with it. It'ad a fit as soon as they got indoors, and George Barstow, who 'ad readabout children's fits in the almanac, gave it a warm bath. It brought itround immediate, and then it began to tear round the room and up anddownstairs till George Barstow was afraid to go near it.

  "He 'ad a little collar and chain made for it, and took itout for a walk."]

  It was so bad that evening, sneezing, that George Barstow sent for BillChambers, who'd got a good name for doctoring animals, and asked 'im togive it something. Bill said he'd got some powders at 'ome that wouldcure it at once, and he went and fetched 'em and mixed one up with a bito' butter.

  "That's the way to give a cat medicine," he ses; "smear it with thebutter and then it'll lick it off, powder and all."

  He was just going to rub it on the cat when George Barstow caught 'old of'is arm and stopped 'im.

  "How do I know it ain't pison?" he ses. "You're a friend o' Joe Clark's,and for all I know he may ha' paid you to pison it."

  "I wouldn't do such a thing," ses Bill. "You ought to know me betterthan that."

  "All right," ses George Barstow; "you eat it then, and I'll give you twoshillings in stead o' one. You can easy mix some more."

  "No
t me," ses Bill Chambers, making a face.

  "Well, three