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Updated: June 14, 2025
Occasionally Arlo Junior would shake something out of a paper to the ground and the cats would immediately roll and frolic and slap playfully at one another, acting as the girl had never seen cats act before. The pleasantly situated cottage belonging to Mr. Broxton Day stood almost directly across the way from the Arlo Weeks' place on Knight Street.
And because of Arlo Junior and a bunch of cats she had forgotten all about her mother's miniature and all the other heirlooms in the treasure-box! Her tears were those of anger at herself as well as sorrow because of the disappearance of the heirlooms. Yet at the moment she did not fully appreciate the full weight of the happening. Janice could not stand and cry about it.
To report him to his parents was just like shooting cannon balls into a stack of feathers. His mother, tall, cadaverous, and of complaining voice and manner, only declared: "He's too much for me. I tell Arlo that Junior ought to be locked up, or handcuffed, or something. And that's all the good it does." To complain to Mr. Weeks of his namesake was quite as unsatisfactory. "What?
"Why, that is Arlo Junior. What can he be doing out of doors so early? And look at those cats following him. Did you ever!" Janice Day stared wonderingly from her front bedroom window at the boy crossing the street in the dim pre-dawn light, with a cat and three half-grown kittens gamboling about him.
For the Days, father and daughter, were dependent on hired service, and such service in the form of Olga Cedarstrom was about as incapable and stupid as fate had yet produced. Having caught the first glimpse of that mischievous youngster, Arlo Weeks, Junior, with the cats, Janice raised her window softly as far as the lower sash would go, to peer out at the strange procession.
Wishing to make sure that it was Arlo Junior who had been below, the girl ran back to her bedroom. Yes! there he was scuttling across the street in evident haste to get under cover. "Now, isn't that odd?" murmured Janice. Suddenly a sound floated up from below an echoing wail that seemed wrenched from the very soul of a tortured cat. The cry reverberated through the house in a most eerie fashion.
Besides, he very much objected to "being invalided to the upper story" while he was tied down with a broken leg. Mr. Arlo Weeks came in night and morning to help turn the injured man, and remake his bed. Mr. Weeks was, after all, a good neighbor; he was more helpful than anybody else who came to the Day house, save Mrs. Carringford. The surgeon came now and then to restrap the broken leg.
You see, she did not want anything for her injured cat, she merely wanted to come in and talk about it." "But but, Daddy," confessed Janice, blushing deeply, "I really did fight Arlo Junior on the street. I boxed his ears." Mr. Day had great difficulty to keep from laughing, but Janice was too absorbed in her troubles to notice it. "Well, well! Taking the law into your own hands, were you?"
"All right," said Junior, offering an attentive ear. "You know where Gummy Carringford lives?" "Course I do." "Well, you run there, and see his mother; and you tell her " Janice in whispers told the boy just what to say to Mrs. Carringford, and he repeated it before he darted off on the errand. Arlo Junior was a great boy to play tricks, but he would not play them at such a time as this.
"Why, Janice! How was that?" "Oh, he did the cleaning very well. As well as it could be done. That soft coal made marks on the walls that never will come off until they are painted again. It's awful smutchy that coal." "I know," agreed Broxton Day. "But about Arlo?" "I'm coming to that," she said smiling. "You see, Arlo Junior was just about through when his mother come over looking for him.
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