Wild Kitty by L. T. Meade (fun to read .TXT) 📖

she doesn't come soon, I believe my heart will burst."

"That is exactly like one of your exaggerated statements," said Alice.
"People's hearts don't burst. Oh, if you only would stay quiet."

"I believe that's herself turning round the corner," cried Kitty, bending out so far now that it was a wonder she was not overbalanced.

"Really, Kitty, you make my heart stand still," said Alice. "You will fall out if you are not careful. Oh, for goodness' sake, don't stoop out any further."

"It's not her," said Kitty, popping in her head. "I was only stooping far enough to catch a glimpse of her boots. Elma always wears such horrid shabby boots; and her feet are too large. By the way, Alice, what do you think of these shoes; do you like them with straps across, and little rosettes?"

"I don't like anything in the way of dress at the present moment," said Alice. "I want quiet and peace. It is impossible for me to do anything while you fidget as you do."

Kitty jumped with a bang into the nearest chair; opened a novel, and tried to read it upside down.

"If she isn't in time I won't be able to send the letter to-night and then—Alice, do you mind my interrupting you for a moment? What time does the last post go?"

"The pillar outside the gate is cleared at twelve," said Alice.

"It is only nine now. You don't happen to be able to tell me when a letter, cleared at twelve, would reach Castle Malone?"

"I cannot tell you. Forgive me, Kitty, I cannot stay in the room any longer. I am going to our bedroom."

Alice gathered up her books, and swept out of tho room. When she reached the bedroom she shut and locked the door.

Kitty was now left alone in the drawing-room, for Mr. and Mrs. Denvers were spending the evening out. She was glad of this, as she could lean as far out of the window as she dared, and there was no one to shout at her. She could also pace up and down the room, which she presently did with the rapidity and eagerness of a young tigress.

Oh, to be back again at Castle Malone! What was Laurie doing now?
Suppose Paddy Wheel-about really told her father about Laurie!

Squire Malone was extremely kind to Kitty; there was no saying what he would not do for Kitty were she in trouble; but Laurie and Pat were different matters. He had fits of severity-with them—only fits, mind you; for he was too Irish in his character, too generous-hearted, ever to keep his anger long; but in these fits he often made strange resolves, and when these resolves were made, as a rule, he carried them out. He was too proud to change his mind. If once he decided that the boys were to go to school to England, to school they must go—to "prison," Kitty termed it. Tears rose in her bright eyes, they rolled down her cheeks. Oh, why was not Elma in time? How dreadful, how dreadful if she (Kitty) missed the twelve-o'clock post! She was in this state of fret and worry, when Fred entered the room. Fred hated all girls, with the exception of Kitty Malone. He could not be said by this time to hate her, for he admired her very much indeed. The moment she saw him she called out to him to come in.

"Ah, then, Fred, it is you. Come along in," she cried; "you'll be a drain of a comfort—not much, but still a drain. Oh, Fred, it's I who am in the trouble entirely. You wouldn't think it to look at me, but I am."

"Dear me, Kitty I am sorry," said Fred. "What's up? Has Alice been teasing you as usual?"

"Oh, bother Alice! as if I minded her little pinpricks. It's that darling Laurie in Ireland. He has got into trouble, the broth of a boy that he is."

She then related what had occurred in connection with Paddy
Wheel-about's coat.

"And the poor old coat is in the bottom of the lake," she added, "and the lake is feet deep in mud just at the bottom, and anything that falls with a weight into it would sink and sink. Oh, they will never find the coat till the day of judgment, and it full of beautiful money! And Paddy Wheel-about has lost the little grain of sense he ever possessed, and Laurie will be sent to one of those prisons."

"To prison?" cried Fred; "but surely your father—"

"Oh, I mean a school—it's all the same. Don't interrupt me, Fred. When my mind is full I must rattle off the speech somehow."

"And he wants you to send him ten pounds?"

"Yes."

"And have you got ten pounds to send him?"

"To be sure I have—I have ten pounds ten. I am an awful girl for spending money. I bought a whole pound's worth of chocolate yesterday. I only wish I had the money now instead; but poor little Agnes Moore and the other girls in my class, they do love chocolate, and they quite seem to fatten them. I bought the chocolates, and I have got ten shillings in my pocket."

"But you showed me a whole purseful of gold the other day," said Fred.

"Well, it's gone, Fred, and it isn't gone; but I know who could help me to find it if I could catch a sight of her."

"And who is that?" asked Fred.

"Elma Lewis."

"Elma Lewis! Do you like her?"

"I can't say that I like her—no I don't think I do; but she would help me, if I could only get to see her."

"Then, do you want me to go to her house and tell her so?"

"Why, Fred, that's a splendid idea. You are a jewel, a darling, a duck!
Let me fetch my hat, and you and I will go together."

"But I don't know my lessons yet. It is that beastly German. I have pages to translate. It is such rot."

"Oh, what does the German matter? Think of the misery poor Laurie is in.
Just stay where you are, Fred; I'll be back in a minute."

Kitty dashed upstairs, two or three steps at a time, and thundered a loud tattoo on the locked door of Alice's bedroom.

"You cannot come in, whoever you are," cried Alice from within.

"Yes, but I must, Alice, aroon; let me in, jewel that you are. I want my hat, and gloves and jacket, nothing else. Do, for goodness' sake, let me in, Alice, asthore!"

But Alice was obdurate. Once let Kitty in, she would never be able to get rid of her again, and her lessons must be learned. They were specially difficult and required all her attention.

"Then if you won't," cried Kitty, whose quick temper was beginning to rise, "at least fling the things out of the window."

"You know you must not go out at this hour."

"If you won't give them to me," said Kitty, "I'll go without them."

"You are not to have them; you are not to go out. It isn't right," called Alice, who felt strong in the cause of virtue.

Kitty rattled violently on the handle for a moment longer, and then rushed downstairs again to where Fred was waiting.

"I can't get my hat," she said; "but it doesn't matter. I'll go as I am."

Now Kitty's dress was more picturesque than suitable. She had on a crimson blouse and a skirt bedizened with many ribbons and frills. The blouse had only elbow sleeves and was cut rather low in the neck. Nothing could be more becoming to the dancing eyes, the rose-bloom cheeks, the head of dark hair.

"Lend me a cap of yours, Fred, there's a darling," called Kitty, "and we'll be off. Alice is in one of her tantrums, and she won't let me into our room nor give me my hat and jacket. If your mother were there it would be all right."

Fred only thought that Kitty looked remarkably pretty. It did not occur to him as at all queer that she should want to walk a couple of miles in this erratic dress. He went downstairs, accommodated her with a small cap which bore the college coat of arms in front, and the two were soon hurrying along the roads at a rapid rate in the direction of Elma's house.

There were two ways to Elma's home. One way was by crossing a wide common, cutting off a certain corner, walking down a by-street, and so, by a series of short cuts, reaching Constantine Road. By the other and slightly longer way you had to pass an open thoroughfare in the center of which blazed, with its shining lights and its gay exterior, a large public-house called the "Spotted Leopard." Now the "Spotted Leopard" was by no means a nice place to pass at night. Men considerably the worse for drink were apt to linger about the doors. Gossiping and idle fellows would congregate just by this special corner, ready to take up any bit of fun or nonsense which might be coming, meaning no special mischief, but being decidedly disagreeable to meet at night.

Fred was as careless a schoolboy as could be found in the length and breadth of Great Britain; Kitty was equally reckless, perhaps more so, if that were possible. That special evening Fred decided that they would not take the short cut across the common.

"A beastly lonely place at this hour of night," he said, "and the road is so uneven and there are no lamps. We'll go round by the 'Spotted Leopard'. You don't mind, do you, Kit?"

"Never a bit," answered Kitty. "Come along, Fred; stretch your legs. I must get to see Elma Lewis to-night as quickly as possible."

Fred walked fast, and Kitty laughed and talked and danced by his side. Now that she was in action she forgot her fears; her volatile spirits rose once again to a height. She entertained Fred with numerous stories relating to Paddy Wheel-about, Laurie, and Pat, and invited him to come to Castle Malone for the whole of the summer holidays, assuring him that the fishing would be splendid, the cycling superb, the riding such as would make your eyes water, and the shooting and the hunting when that season began all that could stimulate the least ambitious of boys. And when Kitty spoke she was apt to illustrate her words, dancing now in front of her companion, now keeping by his side, now lingering a little behind him, all the time gesticulating with eyes and lips and gay motions. She was like a restive young colt—beautiful, excitable. The boy felt that he had never had such a charming companion before.

All went well, and Kitty's bizarre dress, her hair tossed wildly over her head and hanging partly down her shoulders, her little feet encased in the shoes with the rosettes and steel buckles, the frills on her gay skirt, her bare arms, failed to attract any special attention. But when they got into the neighborhood of the "Spotted Leopard," a blaze of light fell full across her. She was a remarkable enough figure to be out at this hour, and when joined to the somewhat peculiar spectacle, the wild-looking boys—for they were little more—who had congregated round this special corner, saw the college cap on her head, they made a rush forward and the next moment had surrounded her.

They began to laugh and to make facetious remarks. It was all done in a second. Kitty stood stock still as if some one had shot her. He gay manner ceased on the instant, she drew herself erect, and the next moment aimed a blow straight from the shoulder at the nearest of the men, knocking him over as completely as though he had been a ninepin; then taking hold of Fred's arm—who had come to her rescue, although the poor lad had not the least idea what to do—marched away, her face as crimson as her gay silk blouse.

"Well, Kitty, you did that splendidly," he said.

"The impertinent wretches! Don't speak to me about them," answered Kitty. But just then she came face to face with a more serious obstacle. This was no less a person than Miss Worrick herself.

Now if there was a prim mistress in the whole length and breadth of England, it was Matilda Worrick. She liked girls to be neatly dressed; she could not bear to see them out at what she called