In the forties she managed to control the situation; in the fifties a
frantic rush from within burst a string that fastened the basket lid, but
the girl held it down with energy.
In the sixties a tempest broke loose in the basket; harrowing yowls
pierced the atmosphere; the girl, crimson with embarrassment and
distress, signaled the conductor at Sixty-fourth Street and descended,
clinging valiantly to a basket which apparently contained a pack of
firecrackers in process of explosion.
A classical heroine in dire distress invariably exclaims aloud: "Will
_no_ one aid me?" Brown, whose automatic legs had compelled him to
follow, instinctively awaited some similar appeal.
It came unexpectedly; the kicking basket escaped from her arms, the lid
burst open, and an extraordinarily large, healthy and indignant cat flew
out, tail as big as a duster, and fled east on Sixty-fourth Street.
The girl in the summer gown and white straw hat ran after the cat.
Brown's legs ran, too.
There was, and is, between the house on the northeast corner of Sixty-
fourth Street and Lexington Avenue and the next house on Sixty-fourth, an
open space guarded by an iron railing; through this the cat darted, fur
on end, and, with a flying leap, took to the back fences.
"Oh!" gasped the girl.
Then Brown's legs did an extraordinary thing--they began to scramble and
kick and shin up the iron railing, hoisting Brown over; and Brown's
voice, pleasant, calm, reassuring, was busy, too: "If you will look out
for my suitcase I think I can recover your cat.
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