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THE first thing that the Cat did the next morning was to walk all around the outside of the house. The grass seemed more crushed than usual, as though some one else, heavier than the Cat, had also been there. The air was filled with the smell of honeysuckle and crimson rambler roses and wet grass and soft earth, and beyond all that the salt fragrance of the sea. All these the Cat was used to. The moment they opened the door both the Cat and the Captain could tell by the smell whether the breeze came over the harbor, or across the hills. They didn't need even a glance at the schooner weather vane which spread its sails, no bigger than a handkerchief, above the roof of the tool shed. But this morning the Cat seemed to smell something strange. Perhaps it was a different tobacco. Perhaps it was boots. He couldn't be sure, but suddenly the odor brought back the memory of the most awful day in his life.
The year before, he had been with the Captain on the Lively Ann taking lumber to Havana. The weather was terribly rough for five days. The Ann was leaking, the waves were enormous, the wind howled all the time. The Mate of the ship was not an agreeable man at the best, and he was less agreeable after five days of storm. He hadn't had any real sleep and he'd been too busy to eat much. He hadn't shaved, or even washed himself. His eyes were red with sleepiness, his lips were blue with cold, and he was in a terrible temper, when he happened to come on the ship's cat sitting comfortably washing his paws in the cabin as though there were no storm at all. The sight infuriated him.
"You're the cause of all this tempest," he cried. "Every one knows that black cats bring bad luck on the sea. Overboard you go and we'll see if the wind won't shift!" With that he grabbed the Cat by the scruff of the neck and started for the deck.
"Mew!" cried the Cat. "Mew! mew! mew!"
Outside the waves were like the jaws of monsters waiting to swallow him up. They opened and shut their green mouths. They shot out their long, hungry, white tongues.
"Mew! mew! mew!" cried the Cat again. He was usually a brave cat, but now he was limp with helplessness and terror. But who was to hear him in all the noise and hurry? Who was to think of a cat in the midst of such a storm? Right to the rail went the Mate, and the Cat saw the waves reaching for him. But suddenly there were hurrying steps. Some one's fist shot out and hit the Mate on the chin. Down he fell,
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letting go the Cat as he went, and in a moment more the Cat was trembling but safe in the Captain's arms.
The Mate never forgave either of them for that blow, and when he left the ship at the next port he was scowling and muttering.