THE RESCUE
The tumult which had arisen in the street beneath the banner when the crowd caught sight of the cat was hushed for a moment after the woman's frantic cry. Before that there had been some laughter, and not a few cat-calls and exaggerated "miaows" from boys in the street. But now every one, even the mischievous urchins, seemed to sense that something unusual was about to take place.
"Come back, Peter! Come back!" cried the woman, stretching out her arms to the cat from the window out of which she leaned. "Come back to me!"
The white cat on the wire heard the voice of the woman and seemed to want to return to its mistress. But either the cat was not an adept at turning on such a narrow support, or it was afraid to try.
And, likewise, it was afraid to go forward. There it stood, about in the middle of the wire, high above the street, and it clung to its perch by its claws.
The banner was hung from the cross wire by means of several loops of rope, and it was in some of these loops that the cat had stuck its claws, and so hung on.
As the cat remained there, suspended, the crowd in the street below increased in size. But from the time the woman had so frantically called there had been no more of the cries from the crowd that might be expected to frighten the animal.
"Will some one get my cat?" cried the woman in a shrill voice, which could easily be heard by Joe, Helen, and nearly every one else. "I'll give one hundred dollars in cash to whoever saves him!" she went on. "Come back, Peter! Come back!" she appealed.
There was a thoughtless laugh from some one at the woman's anxiety, and some one cried:
"There's lots of cats! Let Peter go!"
"The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals ought to get after whoever that was," said Helen indignantly, and there was an approving murmur from some of those near her.
"Does any one know that lady?" asked Joe, pointing at the figure in the window. A pathetic figure it was, too, of an old woman clad in black, as though she had lost all her friends.
"Yes, she's a queer character," said some one who seemed to know. "Lives up there all alone in the old house that, except for the upper part where she is now, has been turned into offices.
"She's rich, they say. Owns that building and a lot of others on this street. But she lives all alone in a few rooms, and has a lot of pet cats. I guess that's one which got away."
"It got away all right," said another man. "And I don't believe she'll ever get it back. The cat's scared to death."
"Why doesn't it jump?" asked some one. "I heard that cats always land on their feet, no matter how far they fall."
"A fall from there would kill any cat," said Joe, as he handed Helen a small package he had been carrying—a purchase he had made at one of the stores.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, sensing that Joe Strong had some object in mind.
"I'm going to get that cat," he said in a low voice. "I can't bear to see it harmed, and it can't cling there much longer. Night's coming on, too, and if it isn't rescued soon it won't be until morning. I know what it is to have a pet suffer. I'm going to get that cat!"
"Oh, mister, you can't!" cried a small girl who was standing near by and overheard this remark.
"I should say not!" exclaimed the man who had given a little personal sketch of the woman in black. "The longest ladder in the fire department won't reach up to that wire, and they can't use extension ones, or scaling ones as they could on a building. You can't get that cat, sir, though I wish some one could. I don't like to see dumb brutes suffer. But you can't get it!"
"Perhaps I can!" said Joe modestly.
He started toward the street entrance of the old building, from the upper window of which leaned the pathetic figure of the woman calling to her cat out on the swaying wire.
"Oh, Joe," Helen began, "are you really going to—" and then she stopped.
"I am!" he answered, for he knew she understood. "Wait here for me. I won't be long."
Only a few in the crowd had heard what Joe said, or understood his intentions as he made his way through the press of people. The woman at the window was unaware of the fact that some one had heard her and was about to heed her appeal.
"A hundred dollars to whoever saves my cat!" she cried again.
This time no one laughed.
Joe Strong, acrobat, athlete, magician, and possessed of many other muscular accomplishments started up the stairs. The lower part of the office building was deserted at this hour, but he made his way to the place where he judged the woman lived alone. He was confirmed in this belief by hearing from behind a closed door the barking and whining of dogs.
"She must keep a regular menagerie," mused Joe. "Probably these are all the friends she has, poor old lady!"
He knocked on a door that seemed to be the entrance to the living apartments. There was a cessation of the barking and whining, and a moment later a querulous voice asked:
"Who is there? What do you want?"
"Is that your cat out on the wire?" asked Joe.
"Yes! Oh, yes! That's Peter! My favorite cat! Oh, have you saved him? Have you got him down? No, you can't have! He's out on that wire yet!" she cried. And then she opened the door.
Joe was confronted by the same woman he had observed leaning from the window. Her face was pale, and she was quite elderly. But there was a kind and pathetic look about her eyes. Once, she must have been beautiful.
Joe had no time to speculate on what might have been the romantic history of the woman. She looked eagerly at him.
"What do you want?" she demanded. "I never see any one. I live here alone. I must beg you to excuse me. I have to see if some one will not, save my cat."
"That is just what I came up for," said Joe, smiling. "I am a lover of animals myself. I'd like to save your pet."
"Oh, if you will, I'll pay you the hundred dollars!" cried the woman. "I have it!" she went on eagerly. "It's in here," and she motioned to the rooms. They were tastefully, but not lavishly, furnished.
"We'll talk about that later," said Joe, with a smile. "The point is let me get the cat first."
"But you can't get him from here—from these rooms!" the woman in black exclaimed. "He's out on the wire! You'll have to climb up in some way! Oh, I don't know how you can do it!" There were tears in her eyes and she clasped her hands imploringly.
"I can't get your cat from the street," said Joe. "That's why I came up here. I must walk out on the wire from your window. Have you a pair of slippers? The older and softer the better—slippers with thin, worn soles."
"Why, yes, I have. But you—you can't walk out on the wire! It is too small, almost, for my cat! You can't do it! It is impossible!"
"Oh, no," answered Joe gently, "it isn't impossible. I have done it before. If you'll let me get to a window near which the wire is stretched, and if you will let me take a pair of old slippers."
"Come in!" interrupted the eccentric old woman, opening wide the door. "I don't in the least know what you intend to do, but something seems to tell me I can trust you. And if only you can save Peter—"
"I'll try," said Joe simply.
The woman began to search frantically in a closet, throwing out shoes, dresses, and other feminine wearing apparel. As she delved among the things, a shout arose from the street, the noise of the voices floating in through the open window. Joe looked out.
"Oh, has Peter fallen?" cried the woman.
That, too, had been Joe's thought.
"No," he answered, as he took an observation. "Your cat has only changed his position a little. I suppose the crowd thought it was going to fall, but it's all right. I'll soon have it back to you. Is it a vicious cat?"
"Oh, no indeed. He's as gentle as can be. But perhaps he might be so scared now that he wouldn't know what he was doing. I see what you mean. Here, I'll give you an old pair of gloves for your hands."
"That's what I want," said Joe. "I can't afford to have my hands scratched, as I do some legerdemain tricks. But I need some soft-soled slippers more than I need gloves."
"Here is a pair," said the woman. "They're mine. I wear large ones, for I like to be comfortable."
"They'll fit me," decided Joe, after an inspection. "Just what I want, too!"
He began to take off his shoes.
"Do you really mean you are going to walk out on that wire and get my cat?" asked the woman, comprehending his intention as she saw Joe putting on the slippers and drawing on the old gloves she had given him. They were a man's size, and he judged she must have used them in rough work about the house.
"I'm going out on the wire to get your cat," he said.
"Oh, but I ought not to let you! You may fall and be killed! When I said I'd give a hundred dollars to whoever would save Peter, I did not mean that any one should risk his life. Much as I love my cat, I couldn't allow that."
"I'll be all right," said Joe easily. "Walking wires is part of my business. Now don't worry. And please don't scream if you are going to watch me."
She looked at him curiously.
"I am not in the habit of screaming," she said quietly.
"Well, I thought it best to mention it," said Joe.
He was now ready for his most novel form of walking the wire. He moved toward the window from which the woman had leaned. It was the same casement whence the cat had started on its perilous journey. Joe felt sure of himself. The slippers were just what he needed, with soft, pliable soles, worn thin. They were the best substitute he could have found for his circus shoes.
The wire from which the banner was suspended was fast to an eye-bolt set in the brick wall of the building a little below the sill of the window. It had been easy for the cat to step out and get on the cable.
Joe appeared at the window. He had taken off his coat and, in his white shirt, blue tie, and black trousers, he made a striking figure in the brilliant sunset light.
Instantly the crowd in the street saw him and divined his intention. Joe doubted not that Helen was looking up at him.
It was an easy step for him from the window sill to the wire from which was suspended the banner. He knew it would support his weight in addition to the big net affair. The size of the cable and the manner in which it was fastened told him that. Still he cautiously tried it with one foot before trusting all his weight to it. The spring of the wire told him all he needed to know.
Pausing a moment to make sure of himself, Joe Strong started to walk across the wire toward the clinging cat. The crowd gave one roar of welcome and approval, and then became hushed. This was what Joe wanted.
Now it was just as if he were doing the act in the circus. Only there was this difference—there was no safety net below him. But it was not the first time Joe had taken this risk. True, beneath him were the hard stones of the street, but a fall from the height at which he now was would be fatal, no matter what the character of ground under him. He dismissed all such thoughts from his mind.
Slowly, and with the caution he always used, Joe started on his journey across the wire. The cat felt his coming, and turned its head, as it crouched down, and looked at him. But it did not move. The creature was literally "scared stiff."
Foot by foot Joe progressed. Below him the crowd watched breathlessly. Joe knew Helen was there, praying for him, though he could not see her. In the window stood the figure in black, a silent, hopeful but much worried woman. She kept her promise not to scream, but Joe realized that the crucial moment was yet to come.
On and on he went nearer and nearer to the crouching cat. If only the animal would have sense enough to lie still and not make a fuss when he picked it up, Joe felt that all would be well.
But would Peter behave? That was the question.
Joe was now almost over the middle of the street. Far below him was the crowd—a sea of upturned faces, reddened by the reflected rays of the setting sun. The throng was silent. Joe was glad of that.
"Keep still now, Peter, I'm coming for you!" said Joe in a low voice.
"That's right, Peter!" added the woman. "Be a good cat now. You are going to be saved! Keep still and don't scratch!"
Whether the cat heard and understood it is hard to say. But it uttered a pitiful:
"Mew!"
Inch by inch, foot by foot Joe advanced. He was quite sure of himself now. He felt that he could easily have walked across the wire from building to building, with the street chasm below him, and even could have made the return trip. But picking up the cat and carrying it back was another thing. It would have been easier for Joe to have carried a man across on his back. He could direct the motions of the man. Could he those of the cat?
Still he was going to try.
On and on he went. The woman in black was leaning from the window, holding out her arms as though to catch Joe should he fall.
But he did not think of falling.
In another few seconds he was standing right over the cat. He could see the animal's claws tensely clinging to the rope strands that held the banner. Now came ticklish work.
"Easy, Peter! Go easy now!" said Joe soothingly.
He slowly and carefully stooped down. It was a trick he had often performed in the circus on the high wire. But never under circumstances like this.
Joe's hands came in contact with the fur of the cat's back. He gently stroked the animal, murmuring:
"Come on now, Peter! Let go! Loosen your claws! I'm not going to hurt you. Let me pick you up!"
Again it is hard to say that the cat knew what Joe was saying, but it certainly made its body less tense. The claws were loosed. Joe straightened up, holding the cat in his arms. He could feel its heart beating like some overworked motor.
A roar arose from the crowd, but it was instantly hushed. The throng seemed to realize that the return journey was infinitely more perilous than the outward one had been.
Joe could not turn. He must walk backward to the window, carrying the cat, which at any moment might become wild and scramble from his arms, upsetting his balance.
Yet Joe Strong never faltered.