THE ROOM--AND BILLY
For the first fifteen minutes after Billy's arrival conversation was a fitful thing made up mostly of a merry monologue on the part of Billy herself, interspersed with somewhat dazed replies from one after another of her auditors as she talked to them in turn. No one thought to ask if she cared to go up to her room, and during the entire fifteen minutes Billy sat on the floor with Spunk in her lap. She was still there when the funereal face of Pete appeared in the doorway. Pete's jaw dropped. It was plain that only the sternest self-control enabled him to announce dinner, with anything like dignity. But he managed to stammer out the words, and then turn loftily away. Bertram, who sat near the door, however, saw him raise his hands in horror as he plunged through the hall and down the stairway.
With a motion to Bertram to lead the way with Billy, William frenziedly gripped his sister's arm, and hissed in her ear for all the world like a villain in melodrama:
"Listen! You'll sleep in Bert's room to-night, and Bert will come up-stairs with me. Get Billy to bed as soon as you can after dinner, and then come back down to us. We've got to plan what's got to be done. Sh-h!" And he dragged his sister downstairs.
In the dining-room there was a slight commotion. Billy stood at her chair with Spunk in her arms. Before her Pete was standing, dumbly staring into her eyes. At last he stammered:
"Ma'am?"
"A chair, please, I said, for Spunk, you know. Spunk always sits at the table right next to me."It was too much for Bertram. He fled chokingly to the hall.
William dropped weakly into his own place. Cyril stared as had Pete; but Mrs. Hartwell spoke.
"You don't mean--that that cat--has a chair--at the table!" she gasped.
"Yes; and isn't it cute of him?" beamed Billy, entirely misconstruing the surprise in the lady's voice. "His mother always sat at table with us, and behaved beautifully, too. Of course Spunk is little, and makes mistakes sometimes. But he'll learn. Oh, there's a chair right here," she added, as she spied Bertram's childhood's high-chair, which for long years had stood unused in the corner.
"I'll just squeeze it right in here," she finished gleefully, making room for the chair at her side.
When Bertram, a little red of face, but very grave, entered, the dining-room a moment later, he found the family seated with Spunk snugly placed between Billy and a plainly disgusted and dismayed brother, Cyril. The kitten was alert and interested; but he had settled back in his chair, and was looking as absurdly dignified as the flaring pink bow would let him.
"Isn't he a dear?" Billy was saying. But Bertram noticed that there was no reply to this question.
It was a peculiar dinner-party. Only Billy did not feel the strain. Even Spunk was not entirely happy--his efforts to investigate the table and its contents were too frequently curbed by his mistress for his unalloyed satisfaction. William, it is true, made a valiant attempt to cause the conversation to be general; but he failed dismally. Kate was sternly silent, while Cyril was openly repellent. Bertram talked, indeed--but Bertram always talked; and very soon he and Billy had things pretty much to themselves--that is, with occasional interruptions caused by Spunk.
Spunk had an inquisitive nose or paw for each new dish placed before his mistress; and Billy spent much time admonishing him.
Billy said she was training him; that it was wonderful what training would do, and, of course, Spunk WAS little, now.
Dinner was half over when there was a slight diversion created by Spunk's conclusion to get acquainted with the silent man at his left. Cyril, however, did not respond to Spunk's advances. So very evident, indeed, was the man's aversion that Billy turned in amazement.
"Why, Mr. Cyril, don't you see? Spunk is trying to say 'How do you do'?""Very likely; but I'm not fond of cats, Miss Billy.""You're not fond--of--cats!" repeated the girl, as if she could not have heard aright. "Why not?"Cyril changed his position.
"Why, just because I--I'm not," he retorted lamely. "Isn't there anything that--that you don't like?"Billy considered.
"Why, not that I know of," she began, after a moment, "only rainy days and--tripe. And Spunk isn't a bit like those."Bertram chuckled, and even Cyril smiled--though unwillingly.
"All the same," he reiterated, "I don't like cats.""Oh, I'm so sorry," lamented Billy; and at the grieved hurt in her dark eyes Bertram came promptly to the rescue.
