Just then there came a terrible outcry from the cat-basket; Weejums burst open the cover and, with one parting spit at Mustard, shot through the station door. Eunice dashed after her, and Kenneth made a grab at Mustard, who dived under one of the seats and began dabbing at the swinging legs of a child. The infant did not understand that this was only play and roared with fright; its mother scolded, and just at this moment Grandmother appeared. “Where’s Eunice?” she asked, looking around.
“Weejums!” said Kenneth, pointing to the door.
“What’s all this commotion about?”
“Mustard!” answered Kenneth, briefly.
“You stay here till I come back. And take that kitten, or the woman’ll throw him at us.”
The baby’s mother had dragged Mustard out from under the seat through a cloud of peanut-shells, and was holding him at arm’s length by the back of the neck. His eyes were closed, his tail curled meekly upward, and his mouth was drawn back in a forced smile. Kenneth stuffed him hastily into the basket, just as Grandmother returned, leading Eunice by the hand.
“No, we can’t wait over another train, and there’s no time to look anywhere else. I’ll telegraph Mrs. Teechout to let us know when Weejums comes home, and Mother will go down and get her.”
“But she won’t know the w-a-y,” said Eunice, her voice vanishing upward in a squeak of misery. “She was lost before, and couldn’t find the way h-o-me.”
“That was because she was young, and didn’t know the city. She’ll get back this time, don’t you be afraid. Now wait here while I send the telegram.”
When they were in the train, Grandmother told Eunice all the stories that she could remember, about cats who had been lost or otherwise disposed of, and who reached home long before the people that disposed of them. And Eunice was so tired that she presently fell asleep on Grandmother’s shoulder, and dreamed that some one was saying, in a far-off voice, “Plague take the cat, anyhow, it’s more bother than it’s worth!”