Frank Armstrong, Drop Kicker

by Matthew M. Colton

"She certainly did set up a howl this morning," said Jimmy, "when——"

"Who, the cat or Mrs. Bowser?" inquired Frank.

"The cat, my smart young drop kicker; and then she—the cat, not Mrs. Bowser—flew out with her tail the size of a muff."

"And like the last lines of the story, she was never seen nor heard of again," added Jimmy dolefully.

"Poor Mrs. Bowser!" said Frank.

"Poor Tabby!" said the Codfish. "Mrs. Bowser still has her nice, warm, comfortable house, while poor pussy is probably out in the cold somewhere. Why doesn't the fool cat have sense enough to go home?" he continued. "I would."

"Probably the fear of hearing your voice is in her heart, and she would have to pass Honeywell Hall to get back home."

The incident that the boys were discussing was the appearance that morning at prayers of a sleek black cat. Evidently she had been picked up by some one of a mischievous turn of mind and smuggled into the Chapel. Prayers were just over. The boys were in the middle of the fine old tune of "America," and had reached the first line of the third verse, "Let music swell the breeze," when there was a piercing howl, and a furry bunch of animation, which proved to be a black cat, shot across the open space of the Chapel just below the platform and between that and the first row of seats. The volume of tone instantly diminished as heads were turned and necks craned to see what was happening. Pussy ran up the steps of the platform, took one wild look at Dr. Hobart and then tore down the aisle for the door. Hands shot out here and there to interrupt the meteor-like passage of the black cat, but she dodged them all and, uttering high-pitched yowls, reached the Chapel door and disappeared.

From that moment no one had seen her. During the day the news had spread around that Mrs. Black Cat, who bore the euphonious name of "Pandora," had been kidnapped. A search was instituted. The Chapel building had been searched and the dormitories next to it, but neither hide nor hair of Pandora had come to light. Mrs. Bowser was distracted. The guilty boy or boys who smuggled the cat into the Chapel had gone undetected, although there had been much cross-questioning and some little detective work by the proctors.

"Well, I'd like to find Pandora," said Frank. "I don't forget that Mrs. Bowser helped us out of a bad scrape last year, when Lewis got the tags mixed up on the ice-cream consignment and sent the poor lady the wrong box."