The Green Mouse | Page 7

was really driven out of my
studio--quite frightened, I confess."
"What drove you out?" he asked guiltily.
"Something--you can scarcely credit it--and I dare not tell the janitor
for fear he will think me--queer." She raised her distressed and lovely

eyes again: "Oh, please believe that I did see a bright green mouse!"
"I do believe it," he said, wincing.
"Thank you. I--I know perfectly well how it sounds--and I know that
horrid people see things like that, but"--she spoke piteously--"I had
only one glass of claret at luncheon, and I am perfectly healthy in body
and mind. How could I see such a thing if it was not there?"
"It was there," he declared.
"Do you really think so? A green--bright green mouse?"
"Haven't a doubt of it," he assured her; "saw one myself the other day."
"Where?"
"On the floor--" he made a vague gesture. "There's probably a crack
between your studio and my wall, and the little rascal crept into your
place."
She stood looking at him uncertainly: "Are there really such things as
green mice?"
"Well," he explained, "I fancy this one was originally white. Somebody
probably dyed it green."
"But who on earth would be silly enough to do such a thing?"
His ears grew red--he felt them doing it.
After a moment she said: "I am glad you told me that you, too, saw this
unspeakable mouse. I have decided to write to the owners of the house
and request an immediate investigation. Would--would it be too much
to ask you to write also?"
"Are you--you going to write?" he asked, appalled.
"Certainly. Either some dreadful creature here keeps a bird store and

brings home things that escape, or the house is infested. I don't care
what the janitor says; I did hear squeals and whines and whimpers!"
"Suppose--suppose we wait," he began lamely; but at that moment her
blue eyes widened; she caught him convulsively by the arm, pointing,
one snowy finger outstretched.
"Oh-h!" she said hysterically, and the next instant was standing upon a
chair, pale as a ghost. It was a wonder she had not mounted the dresser,
too, for there, issuing in creepy single file from the wainscoting, came
mice--mice of various tints. A red one led the grewsome rank, a black
and white one came next, then in decorous procession followed the
guilty green one, a yellow one, a blue one, and finally--horror of
horrors!--a red-white-and-blue mouse, carrying a tiny American flag.
He turned a miserable face toward her; she, eyes dilated, frozen to a
statue, saw him advance, hold out a white wand--saw the uncanny
procession of mice mount the stick and form into a row, tails hanging
down--saw him carry the creatures to a box and dump them in.
He was trying to speak now. She heard him stammer something about
the escape of the mice; she heard him asking her pardon. Dazed, she
laid her hand in his as he aided her to descend to the floor; nerveless,
speechless, she sank into the big chair, horror still dilating her eyes.
"It's all up with me," he said slowly, "if you write to the owners. I've
bribed the janitor to say nothing. I'm dreadfully mortified that these
things have happened to annoy you."
The color came back into her face; amazement dominated her anger.
"But why--why do you keep such creatures?"
"Why shouldn't I?" he asked. "It is my profession."
"Your--what?"
"My profession," he repeated doggedly.

"Oh," she said, revolted, "that is not true! You are a gentleman--I know
who you are perfectly well!"
"Who am I?"
She called him by name, almost angrily.
"Well," he said sullenly, "what of it? If you have investigated my
record you must know I am as poor as these miserable mice."
"I--I know it. But you are a gentleman----"
"I am a mountebank," he said; "I mean a mountebank in its original
interpretation. There's neither sense nor necessity for me to deny it."
"I--I don't understand you," she whispered, shocked.
"Why, I do monkey tricks to entertain people," he replied, forcing a
laugh, "or rather, I hope to do a few--and be paid for them. I fancy
every man finds his own level; I've found mine, apparently."
Her face was inscrutable; she lay back in the great chair, watching him.
"I have a little money left," he said; "enough to last a day or two. Then
I am to be paid for entertaining some people at Seabright; and," he
added with that very attractive smile of his from which all bitterness
had departed, "and that will be the first money I ever earned in all my
life."
She was young enough to be fascinated, child enough to feel the little
lump in her throat rising. She knew he was poor; her sisters had