Come Out of the Kitchen! A Romance. Alice Duer Miller

knee and began to purr in his face.

      Tucker, under the most favorable circumstances, was not at his best in the early morning. Later in the day he might have borne such an occurrence with more calm, but before ten o'clock he was like a man without armor against such attacks. He sprang to his feet with an exclamation, and drove the cat ahead of him from the room, returning alone an instant later.

      "It is outrageous," he said, when he returned, "that our lives are to be rendered miserable by that filthy beast."

      "Sit down, Tuck," said Burton, who was talking about wines with the butler. "My life is not rendered in the least miserable. The champagne, Smithfield, ought to go on the ice—"

      Tucker, however, could not distract his mind so quickly from the thought of the outrage to which he had just been subjected.

      "I must really ask you, Burton," he said, "before you go on with your orders, to insist that that animal be drowned, or at least sent out of the house—"

      "Oh, I beg, sir, that you won't do that," broke in Smithfield. "The cat belongs to the cook, and I really could not say, sir, what she might do, if the cat were put out of the house."

      "We seem to hear a vast amount about what this cook likes and doesn't like," said Tucker, dribbling a little more hot milk into his half cup of coffee. "The house, I believe, is not run entirely for her convenience."

      It is possible that Crane had already been rendered slightly inimical to his friend's point of view, but he was saved the trouble of answering him, for at this moment the cook herself entered the room, in what no one present doubted for an instant was a towering rage. She was wearing a sky blue gingham dress, her eyes were shining frightfully, and her cheeks were very pink.

      At the sight of her, all conversation died away.

      The butler approaching her, attempted to draw her aside, murmuring something to which she paid no attention.

      "No," she said aloud, pulling her arm away from his restraining hand, "I will not go away and leave it to you. I will not stay in any house where dumb animals are ill-treated, least of all, my own dear cat."

      It is, as most of us know to our cost, easier to be pompous than dignified when one feels oneself in the wrong.

      "Pooh," said Tucker, "your cat was not ill-treated. She had no business in the dining-room."

      "He was kicked," said the cook.

      "Come, my girl," returned Tucker, "this is not the way to speak to your employer."

      And at this, with one of those complete changes of manner so disconcerting in the weaker sex, the cook turned to Crane, and said, with the most melting gentleness:

      "I'm sure it was not you, sir. I am sure you would not do such a thing. You will excuse me if I was disrespectful, but perhaps you know, if you have ever loved an animal, how you feel to see it brutally kicked downstairs."

      "Preposterous," said Tucker, carefully indicating that he was addressing Crane alone. "This is all preposterous. Tell the woman to keep her cat where it belongs, and we'll have no more trouble."

      "It hasn't troubled me, Tuck," answered Crane cheerfully. "But I am curious to know whether or not you did kick him."

      "The question seems to be, do you allow your servants to be insolent or not?"

      Crane turned to the cook.

      "Mr. Tucker seems unwilling to commit himself on the subject of the kick," he observed. "Have you any reason for supposing your cat was kicked?"

      "Yes," said Jane-Ellen. "The noise, the scuffle, the bad language, and the way Willoughby ran into the kitchen with his tail as big as a fox's. He is not a cat to make a fuss about nothing, I can tell you."

      "I beg your pardon," said Crane, who was now evidently enjoying himself, "but what did you say the cat's name is?"

      "Willoughby."

      Burton threw himself back in his chair.

      "Willoughby!" he exclaimed, "how perfectly delightful. Now, you must own, Tuck, prejudiced as you are, that that's the best cat name you ever heard in your life."

      But Tucker would not or could not respond to this overture, and so Crane looked back at Jane-Ellen, who looked at him and said:

      "Oh, do you like that name? I'm so glad, sir." And at this they smiled at each other.

      "Don't you think you had better go back to the kitchen, Jane-Ellen?" said the butler sternly.

      In the meantime, Tucker had lighted a cigar and had slightly recovered his equanimity.

      "As a matter of fact," he now said, in a deep, growling voice, "I did not kick the creature at all—though, if I had, I should have considered myself fully justified. I merely assisted its progress down the kitchen stairs with a sort of push with my foot."

      "It was a kick to Willoughby," said the cook, in spite of a quick effort on Smithfield's part to keep her quiet.

      "O Tuck!" cried Crane, "it takes a lawyer, doesn't it, to distinguish between a kick and an assisting push with the foot. Well, Jane-Ellen," he went on, turning to her, "I think it's not too much to ask that Willoughby be kept in the kitchen hereafter."

      "I'm sure he has no wish to go where he's not wanted," she replied proudly, and at this instant Willoughby entered exactly as before. All four watched him in a sort of hypnotic inactivity. As before, he walked with a slow, firm step to the chair in which Tucker sat, and, as before, jumped upon his knee. But this time Tucker did not move. He only looked at Willoughby and sneered.

      Jane-Ellen, with the gesture of a mother rescuing an innocent babe from massacre, sprang forward and snatched the cat up in her arms. Then she turned on her heel and left the room. As she did so, the face of Willoughby over her shoulder distinctly grinned at the discomfited Tucker.

      Not unnaturally, Tucker took what he could from the situation.

      "If I were you, Burt," he said, "I should get rid of that young woman. She is not a suitable cook for a bachelor's establishment. She's too pretty and she knows it."

      "Well, she wouldn't have sense enough to cook so well, if she didn't know it."

      "It seems to me she trades on her looks when she comes up here and makes a scene like this."

      "Beg pardon, sir," said Smithfield, with a slightly heightened color, "Jane-Ellen is a very good, respectable girl."

      "Certainly, she is," said Crane, rising. "Nothing could be more obvious. Just run down, Smithfield, and ask her to send up a menu for to-night's dinner." Then, as the man left the room, he added to his friend:

      "Sorry, Tuck, if I seem lacking in respect for you and your wishes, but I really couldn't dismiss such a good cook because you think her a little bit too good-looking. She is a lovely little creature, isn't she?"

      

Jane-Ellen sprang forward and snatched the cat from Tucker's knee

      "She doesn't know her place."

      Crane walked to the window and stood looking out for a minute, and then he said thoughtfully:

      "If ever I have a cat I shall name it Willoughby."

      "Have a cat!" cried Tucker. "I thought you detested the animals as much as I do."

      "I felt rather attracted toward this one," said Crane.

III

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      HIS household cares disposed of, Crane went off to the stables. It was a soft hazy autumn morning, and though he walked along whistling his heart