THE STREET OF THE
FOUR WINDS
I
The animal paused on the threshold, interrogative
alert, ready for flight if necessary. Severn laid down his palette, and held
out a hand of welcome. The cat remained motionless, her yellow eyes fastened
upon Severn.
"Puss," he said, in his low, pleasant voice,
"come in."
The tip of her thin tail twitched uncertainly.
"Come in," he said again.
Apparently she found his voice reassuring, for she
slowly settled upon all fours, her eyes still fastened upon him, her tail
tucked under her gaunt flanks.
He rose from his easel smiling. She eyed him quietly,
and when he walked toward her she watched him bend above her without a wince;
her eyes followed his hand until it touched her head. Then she uttered a ragged
mew.
It had long been Severn's custom to converse with
animals, probably because he lived so much alone; and now he said, "What's
the matter, puss?"
Her timid eyes sought his.
"I understand," he said gently, "you
shall have it at once."
Then moving quietly about he busied himself with the
duties of a host, rinsed a saucer, filled it with the rest of the milk from the
bottle on the window-sill, and kneeling down, crumbled a roll into the hollow
of his hand.
The creature rose and crept toward the saucer.
With the handle of a palette-knife he stirred the
crumbs and milk together and stepped back as she thrust her nose into the mess.
He watched her in silence. From time to time the saucer clinked upon the tiled
floor as she reached for a morsel on the rim; and at last the bread was all
gone, and her purple tongue travelled over every unlicked spot until the saucer
shone like polished marble. Then she sat up, and coolly turning her back to
him, began her ablutions.
"Keep it up," said Severn, much interested,
"you need it."
She flattened one ear, but neither turned nor
interrupted her toilet. As the grime was slowly removed Severn observed that
nature had intended her for a white cat. Her fur had disappeared in patches,
from disease or the chances of war, her tail was bony and her spine sharp. But
what charms she had were becoming apparent under vigorous licking, and he
waited until she had finished before re-opening the conversation. When at last
she closed her eyes and folded her forepaws under her breast, he began again
very gently: "Puss, tell me your troubles."
At the sound of his voice she broke into a harsh
rumbling which he recognized as an attempt to purr. He bent over to rub her
cheek and she mewed again, an amiable inquiring little mew, to which he
replied, "Certainly, you are greatly improved, and when you recover your
plumage you will be a gorgeous bird." Much flattered, she stood up and
marched around and around his legs, pushing her head between them and making
pleased remarks, to which he responded with grave politeness.
"Now, what sent you here," he
said—"here into the Street of the Four Winds, and up five flights to the
very door where you would be welcome? What was it that prevented your meditated
flight when I turned from my canvas to encounter your yellow eyes? Are you a
Latin Quarter cat as I am a Latin Quarter man? And why do you wear a
rose-coloured flowered garter buckled about your neck?" The cat had
climbed into his lap, and now sat purring as he passed his hand over her thin
coat.
"Excuse me," he continued in lazy soothing
tones, harmonizing with her purring, "if I seem indelicate, but I cannot
help musing on this rose-coloured garter, flowered so quaintly and fastened
with a silver clasp. For the clasp is silver; I can see the mint mark on the
edge, as is prescribed by the law of the French Republic. Now, why is this
garter woven of rose silk and delicately embroidered,—why is this silken garter
with its silver clasp about your famished throat? Am I indiscreet when I inquire
if its owner is your owner? Is she some aged dame living in memory of youthful
vanities, fond, doting on you, decorating you with her intimate personal
attire? The circumference of the garter would suggest this, for your neck is
thin, and the garter fits you. But then again I notice—I notice most
things—that the garter is capable of being much enlarged. These small
silver-rimmed eyelets, of which I count five, are proof of that. And now I
observe that the fifth eyelet is worn out, as though the tongue of the clasp
were accustomed to lie there. That seems to argue a well-rounded form."
The cat curled her toes in contentment. The street was
very still outside.
He murmured on: "Why should your mistress
decorate you with an article most necessary to her at all times? Anyway, at
most times. How did she come to slip this bit of silk and silver about your
neck? Was it the caprice of a moment,—when you, before you had lost your
pristine plumpness, marched singing into her bedroom to bid her good-morning?
Of course, and she sat up among the pillows, her coiled hair tumbling to her
shoulders, as you sprang upon the bed purring: 'Good-day, my lady.' Oh, it is
very easy to understand," he yawned, resting his head on the back of the
chair. The cat still purred, tightening and relaxing her padded claws over his
knee.
"Shall I tell you all about her, cat? She is very
beautiful—your mistress," he murmured drowsily, "and her hair is
heavy as burnished gold. I could paint her,—not on canvas—for I should need
shades and tones and hues and dyes more splendid than the iris of a splendid
rainbow. I could only paint her with closed eyes, for in dreams alone can such
colours as I need be found. For her eyes, I must have azure from skies
untroubled by a cloud—the skies of dreamland. For her lips, roses from the
palaces of slumberland, and for her brow, snow-drifts from mountains which
tower in fantastic pinnacles to the moons;—oh, much higher than our moon
here,—the crystal moons of dreamland. She is—very—beautiful, your mistress."
The words died on his lips and his eyelids drooped.
The cat, too, was asleep, her cheek turned up upon her
wasted flank, her paws relaxed and limp.
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