Contrary Mary

The story that he told was of Whittington and his cat. But it was not

the old nursery rhyme. He gave it as it is written by one of England's

younger poets. Since he lacked the time for it all, he sketched the

theme, rounding it out here and there with a verse--and it seemed to Mary

that, as he spoke, all the bells of London boomed!

"'Flos Mercatorum,' moaned the bell of All Hallowes,

'There was he an orphan, O, a little lad, alone!'

'Then we all sang,' echoed happy St. Saviour's,

'Called him and lured him, and made him our own.'"

And now they saw the little lad stealing toward the big city, saw all the

color and glow as he entered upon its enchantment, saw his meeting with

the green-gowned Alice, saw him cold and hungry, faint and footsore, saw

him aswoon on a door-step.

"'Alice,' roared a voice, and then, O like a lilied angel,

Leaning from the lighted door, a fair face unafraid,

Leaning over Red Rose Lane, O, leaning out of Paradise

Drooped the sudden glory of his green-gowned maid!"

Touching now a lighter note, his voice laughed through the lovely lines;

of the ship which was to sail beyond the world; of how each man staked

such small wealth as he possessed; "for in those days Marchaunt

adventurers shared with their prentices the happy chance of each new

venture."

But Whittington had nothing to give. "Not a groat," he tells sweet

Alice. "I staked my last groat in a cat!"

"'Ay, but we need a cat,'

The Captain said. So when the painted ship

Sailed through a golden sunrise down the Thames,

A gray tail waved upon the misty poop,

And Whittington had his venture on the seas!"

The ringing words brought tumultuous applause. Pittiwitz, startled, sat

up and blinked. People bent to each other, asking: "Who is this Roger

Poole?" Under his breath Barry was saying, boyishly, "Gee!" He might

still wonder about Mary's lodger, he would never again look down on him.

And Delilah Jeliffe sitting next to Barry murmured, "I've heard that

voice before--but where?"

Again the bells boomed as the story swept on to the fortune which came to

the prentice lad--the price paid for his cat in Barbary by a king whose

house was rich in gems but sorely plagued with rats and mice.

Then Whittington's offer of his wealth to Alice, her refusal, and so--to

the end.

"'I know a way,' said the Bell of St. Martin's.

'Tell it and be quick,' laughed the prentices below!

'Whittington shall marry her, marry her, marry her!

Peal for a wedding,' said the Big Bell of Bow."