The Story of Jennie- or the Abandoned Read online

  Peter thought: `How very odd. He's old, yes, quite—and yet what he really looks like most is a little boy. He really doesn't seem to be much older than I am, at least that's the way he feels to me. I think I am going to like him.'

  The watchman's expression was so friendly as he put away the skillet and leaned down and said: `There now, you are a fine fellow! Come over 'ere and let's 'ave a look at you,' that Peter wanted to go to him right away, even if his clothes and hands were dirty, but Jennie cautioned him:

  `No, no, Peter! Let me handle this. If you give in right away you don't get any milk,' and with that she sent up another plaintive series of miaows, a tone which even to Peter's ears was filled with the most false and evident pathos.

  But apparently it struck the proper and necessary chord in the heart of old Mr. Grims, for he said at once: `Reckon as 'aw the two of you could do with a bit of milk, eh? Don't you go 'way, and I'll fetch some right away,' and he turned back into the inside of the shack.

  `Aha!' said Jennie with a triumphant look on her face. `You see? I heard the word "milk." I didn't understand the rest.'

  'I did,' said Peter. `He said we weren't to go, he was going to fetch some immediately.'

  Jennie stared at Peter as though she couldn't believe her ears. `Peter! You mean you can understand everything he says?'

  `But of course I can. Why not? He spoke in plain English. If he spoke French or German I'm sure I shouldn't know a word, though Daddy says next year I'm to begin to learn French. ..'

  `Well, I never!' Jennie said, and sat down and blinked several times. `This wants thinking over. I never would have believed it. Then you really are a little boy …'

  `But I told you I was,' Peter insisted.

  `Of course you did,' Jennie admitted, `and I believed you, though not entirely. But now here's the proof for once and all. For if you were entirely a cat you wouldn't understand all of his language, and I must say—'

  But what Jennie felt compelled to say at that point was lost, due to the fact that Mr. Grims returned to the door with a large flat saucer in one hand, a bottle of milk in the other.

  `Here we are, then,' he said, and called to them—'Come, pusses. Nice fresh milk …' And he poured a generous helping into the saucer and held it up.

  Peter's throat was so parched that he could hardly refrain from jumping for it, and he craned and stretched his neck and too uttered plaintive miaows.

  Jennie said: `See if you can get him to give it to us outdoors. I'd rather not go inside if I can help it.'

  They both cruised back and forth in front of the door, their tails straight up in the air, reaching and crying. But Mr. Grims said, `Come in if you want it, pusses. I'm just about to ‘ave me tea.'

  Peter translated for Jennie, `He says we're to come inside if we want it.'

  She signed and gave up. 'Ah well … come along then,' and treading cautiously over the sill and giving a sniff or two, she led the way with Peter following.

  At once Mr. Grims closed the door behind them and set the saucer of milk on the floor where Peter with a little glad cry that was half a purr, hurled himself upon it, buried his face in it, and tried to suck it up. The next moment he was sneezing, coughing and choking with milk up his nose and into his eyes and his lungs full of it.

  `Oh, oh, eh!' cried Mr. Grims as Peter backed away from the dish, `easy does it . . .'

  Jennie said, `Oh dear!' and struggled not to laugh. `I didn't want to say anything, but I was afraid something like that would happen. Poor Peter … of course you can't drink milk that way. Horses can suck, but we have to lap it up.'

  `Ugh-ick-kaCHOO!' Peter coughed and sneezed the last of the milk from his lungs and nose, and with the tears still running from his eyes from the effort, begged, `Show be how to do id, please, Jeddie! I dever tried …'

  Jennie squatted down at the side of the saucer, her head just over it and lowered to the level of the milk. Then her little pink tongue emerged and vanished with incredible speed. The level of the milk in the saucer began to fall.

  Mr. Grims of course misunderstood completely what was happening and laughed, `Ho, ho, ho! 'Ad to ‘ave a bit of a lesson in manners from your girl friend, eh, Whitey? 'Appens to the best of us. Now it's your turn.'

  But when Peter tried to get a drink of milk from the saucer he had no better luck. This time all the liquid splashed on to the floor next to the saucer and not a drop could Peter get into his parched mouth. He was almost in despair when Jennie, who had been watching and studying him closely, cried:

  `Oh! Now I know! You must curl your tongue under when you lap. We don't curl it up and around, but down, around and under.'

  `But it doesn't make any sense,' Peter protested. `Curling it up makes it like a spoon, except it all runs out on to the floor. Turning it down under it would never hold anything. And besides, I'm sure I couldn't possibly do it, or learn. Our tongues just don't go that way.'

  `Yours don't, but cats' do,' Jennie replied, `and whatever you once were, you are most certainly a cat now, so try it. Think of your tongue curling under, and see what happens.'

  So Peter went at it again, and thought hard of curling his tongue downwards, and almost at once, to his great surprise, it was bending in that direction quite as though he had been drinking milk in that fashion all his life, and the cool, sweet drops were splashing into his mouth and running down his throat. He drank and drank as though he would never get enough, but suddenly, in the midst of drinking, he remembered what Jennie had said about cats not being greedy and sharing what they had with others, and felt a little ashamed, and so, with his thirst still not completely quenched, he backed away from the dish and said politely to Jennie: `Please, won't you have some more …?'

  Jennie rewarded him with her most winning smile, saying, `How sweet of you, Peter! I don't mind if I do,' and therewith she returned to the dish and applied herself to it, giving Peter a chance to look around and see where he was.

  The shack was most simply furnished with a wooden bed at the far end on which were some rumpled blankets, a few shelves containing some bare necessities. An unpainted and battered table was placed against one wall, with a small wireless set and an alarm clock with the glass broken out of its face standing on it. There was one rickety wooden chair with most of the slats out of the back. Right in the centre was a fat, potbellied stove, connected to a rusty pipe that went up through the roof. There was a fire in it now, a dented tea-kettle was singing on it over to one side, and the rest of the space on top of it was being used by Mr. Grims to finish the job of cooking his slice of liver that he was planning to have with his tea.

  All of the furnishings in the place, Peter noticed, were poor and shabby and worn out, and yet the room looked as gay and cheerful as a palace, for everywhere there was a place or a ledge, shelf or level spot to put it, stood a flowerpot with growing flowers in it—geraniums of every kind and variety, from pure snow white to darkest glowing crimson, some the colour of apple-blossoms, pink and white, and others all shades of pink verging on salmon, puce-coloured ones and every variation of red from brick to blood to sunset. And the scent of them filled the shack and was stronger even than the odour of frying liver.

  And while waiting for Jennie to finish the rest of her share of the milk, Peter wondered about Mr. Grims, who he had been and what kind of a life he had led, what had happened to him that he was compelled to spend the end of it as a watchman in a mean little shack, and what had become of his family. It was a game Peter liked to play, trying to guess what people were by looking at them—but he could not make up his mind about Mr. Grims except that he was very old and lonely and seemed to have nobody at all, for there were no pictures of any kind up on the wall.

  Peter also remembered what Jennie had said, that Mr. Grims had offered her a home and had been trying to persuade her to come and live with him for months, and suddenly, he did not know why, his heart felt heavy and intolerably sad. He set to washing himself violently down his back to see if it would make him fe
el any better, as Jennie had said it would. He found that it did somewhat, but not entirely.

  'Cleanin' up, eh? said Mr. Grims in his friendly voice. `Maybe you'd be wanting to wait a bit with that …' He moved over to the shelf, got the bread and cut himself several slices, poured the tea and transferred the liver from the skillet to one of his cracked plates. `It ain't often I have company for tea. I might be able to spare a bit o' liver for me pals. Share and share alike is my motto.' And with that he took a knife, divided the piece of liver exactly in two, and commenced to cut up one of the halves into very small pieces.

  `He's going to give us liver,' Peter announced to Jennie with considerable excitement. Previously, when he had been living at home and he had been made by Nanny to eat liver to make sure he was getting enough vitamins, he hadn't liked it particularly, but now the smell, the look of it, and particularly the preparations sent him into a perfect fever of expectation and delight.

  Jennie had a kind of pleased and satisfied smirk on her countenance as she too cruised back and forth near the table where the cutting was going on, as though to say: `You see, I told you this would be a little bit of all right.'

  At last, the portions were ready. Mr. Grims divided them into two even heaps, one on either side of a plate, and set the dish down on the floor. Peter and Jennie at once squatted down comfortably on either side and fell to eating without further ceremony.

  On his part, Mr. Grims poured himself a cup of tea, smeared a slice of bread with margarine, and sitting down to the table with knife and fork commenced to eat what was left of his liver with cheerful gusto and a running commentary of conversation addressed partly to no one in particular and partly at his two visitors.

  Said he, spearing a piece of the liver and conveying it to his mouth, 'It ain't much, but what I say is— you're welcome to what I've got. It ain't often we get to see a bit o' fresh meat like this now, and I'll wager you both are wondering 'ow I've come by it.' He wagged his head and said, 'Ah, well, you'll find old Bill Grims still 'as a friend or two.

  `Mr. Tewkes the butcher says to me: "'Ere you are, Mr. Grims, a fine fresh bit of English lamb's liver I've set by for you, for I says to myself, it's not much meat you gets to see on your ration book."

  `I says to him: "Right you are, and I only wish there was something I could do for you some day."

  `Then he says to me: "Well, now that you mention it, Mr. Grims, there is a little something. I've a nephew very anxious to get into the docks to have a word with the foreman about a job, and I says to him, `Mr. Grims the watchman can give you a 'and there—' eh, Mr. Grims?"

  `And I says to him: "Quid pro quo, meaning one good turn deserves another! Quid pro quo, Mr. Tewkes, and thank you very much." And 'ere we all are sitting down to liver for tea like the King himself in Buckingham Palace.

  `It's quiet living here, but comfortable, pusses, with nobody coming to disturb you for weeks on end if there isn't a call for cargo to be shifted or a ship to unload or clear. Not that it don't get a bit lonely at times, but then the three of us would find plenty to say to one another, I reckon.

  `Merry as grigs we three'd be in here, that is providin' as ow you liked flowers. But then I've never seen a puss as didn't like flowers, always sniffin' and smellin' around them and teppin' so nice and dainty with their feet so as not to 'urt them.'

  Here he arose and went over to the shelf from which he took down a jampot. He scraped down into the bottom of it with a knife, but scratch and try as he would, not a single smidgen of jam came forth there from on the end of the knife, showing that pot was quite empty.

  ‘Ah well,' said Mr. Grims, still in utmost good humour, 'it comes and it goes. But never fear that YOU two wouldn't be well looked after. Ol' Bill Grims would see to that. Cereal in the morning with a bit off the top o' the milk ration. And sometimes when a ship comes in from the Argentine, a bit o' real beef right off the 'oof as it were. The run o' the docks and storage 'ouses with me, and WOT parcels, crates, bales and packages to hinvestigate! I don't know where they all don't come from. Hindia, China, South Africa, Australia, and NOO York. ..'

  He glanced appraisingly about the tiny room and continued 'Now I'd shift me bed into that corner, so you'd have the other one on a pile of something soft and then none of us would interfere with the other comin' and goin', that is, pusses, providin' you're of a mind to stop and stay a while. It ain't much, but it would be 'ome sweet 'ome for all of us, and welcome you'd be. And that goes for you too, Whitey, as long as you're a friend o' hers.'

  Feasting on the nourishing and delicious liver, satisfying fill of milk, warm and comfortable, Peter felt there was nothing he would have liked better than to stay on with Mr. Grims and be looked after by him. He didn't mind his being dirty and everything being poor and cracked and shabby, in fact he rather liked it because there wasn't any danger of hurting anything. At home he was always having to be careful of this article of furniture, or that piece of bric-k-brac….

  `What has he been saying?' Jennie inquired of him, her meal finished, as she began licking her right paw and then carefully rubbing it over her whiskers and the side of her mouth and face.

  Peter told her the gist of Mr. Grims' conversation as best as he could remember, but with emphasis on the fact that they were invited to remain there and make their home with him. Jennie interrupted her washing long enough to remark—You see. Just as I told you. I didn't like it at all when he shut the door on us …'

  `But he's so nice and kind . . .' Peter remonstrated.

  `They all are—at first,' Jennie replied. `Believe me, Peter, I know. You must trust me. We must watch for an opportunity. When it comes, do exactly as I say. Now then, get on with your washing, just as though we were quite content to stay here.'

  Peter would not have dreamed of disobeying Jennie, for he already owed so much to her wisdom and kindness and generosity, including his life, and so he too set about cleaning his face and whiskers while Mr. Grims said cheerily, `That's what I like to see, pusses, settling down nice and 'omey and 'avin a bit of a clean-up.'

  He gathered all the dishes together and placed them in a bucket and went outside with them. `Water an' conveniences not laid on,' he explained to them, `but the tap ain't far and it's no trouble. We'll all have a wash-up.' He closed the door behind him very carefully and was only gone a few moments when he was back with the bucket full of water which he set upon the stove. But this time the latch of the door did not quite click. Peter did not notice it, but Jennie did. She edged over to him and said: `Get ready.'

  Peter was just about to whisper, `Get ready for what?' when it happened. A breeze of wind from the outside stirred the door and opened it just a foot.

  `Now!' cried Jennie. `Follow me!' and was off like an arrow through the crack, her tail standing out straight and streamlined, and ears flattened back.

  Peter was so startled that before he knew what he was doing he was up and after her, right on her tail, through the door and beyond, running as though for dear life.

  Behind him he heard Mr. Grims calling—"Ere now! No, no! Don't go, pusses. 'Ere, come back! Next time you shall 'ave all the liver. Puss! Whitey! Come back!'

  Hard as he was running to keep up with Jennie, Peter yet managed to turn his head around and look back over his shoulder. Mr. Grims was standing in the doorway of his shack with the boxes of red geraniums on either side, waving his hands in a helpless manner, and looking very bowed and old and lonely with his white hair and drooping moustache and shoulders.

  'Ah, there, pusses,' he called once more, `don't go away, please!’

  Then Jennie ducked around behind a huge pile of oil drums, with Peter after her, and Mr. Grims was lost from sight; and soon after, as they continued to run, passing from the drums to piles of green timber and then stacks of ingots of copper and tin, and finally into a perfect wilderness of piled-up steel rails where nobody could ever find anyone who didn't wish to be found, he passed also from their hearing. And not until then did Jennie pull up to rest w
ith a `Well done, Peter!'

  But somehow Peter couldn't manage to feel that they, or even he, had done well at all.

  CHAPTER NINE: The Stowaways

  ` WASN'T it a lark?' Jennie laughed. `I'll never forget the expression on his face. He looked so foolish when we ran off. Weren't you amused?'

  `No,' said Peter, `I wasn't.'

  They were sitting on a string-piece down by the Thames-side near the London Docks, hard by Wapping Wall, watching three snub-nosed tugboats shoving, hauling and straining a long grey-and-white Esso tanker into position against the side of its pier. To his surprise he found that his tail, of which up to that moment he had not been particularly conscious, in spite of the fact that he had never had such an appendage before and it wanted some getting used to, was lashing back and forth, squirming and twitching and writhing like something separate and alive that did not belong to him at all.

  Jennie noticed it the same time he did, probably because she was just a little shocked at his brusque tone in reply to her question, for she said, `Oh dear, Peter, your tail! I'm afraid you're angry with me. Have I done anything wrong?’

  'No,' Peter replied. `At least I don't suppose you meant to.

  I'm sorry about my tail, but it's something that seems to be going on in spite of me. It's just that I feel such a rotter.'

  `But why, Peter? After all—

  'After all,' Peter repeated, `he did give us half his rations when he was probably hungry himself. And he didn't look foolish or funny when we ran off, he looked disappointed and lonely and miserable.'

  `But, Peter,' Jennie protested, `don't you see, he wanted something from us. That's why he gave us the milk and the liver. He was trying to bribe us to come and live with him in that dirty, stuffy little house. You wouldn't let yourself be bribed, would you?' she concluded, with what almost amounted to self– righteousness.