Blurb: Henry Tilney, paleontologist for a NY museum, is unwittingly roped into helping Catherine Morland take a leopard to a farm in Connecticut. NA as Bringing Up Baby.

The first chapter of NA is basically the author establishing that Catherine is too basic to be a classic heroine: too boyish in her games, too plain in her looks, with no naturally excellent feminine talent to make her stand out. I leaned into Catherine's list of sports here.

AND BABY MAKES THREE

3: Breaking Bread

Ten minutes later and the two of them were standing in a corner of the kitchen, out of the way of the cooks and dishwashers. Catherine was eating a chicken breast over a bed of rice while Henry was cutting into a steak.

He placed a piece in his mouth and chewed and sighed in contentment. "I think the last solid food I had was lunch yesterday," he said before cutting another piece.

The news took Catherine aback. "Mr. Tilney, you need to take better care of yourself than that, or at least someone should."

Henry made a noise that might have been agreement, might have been merely appreciation for the chef's skill. "My sister Eleanor and I always had each other to look out for growing up, but she's in Wyoming right now. She got married this week," he said. It felt good to share that with another person.

Catherine nearly dropped her fork. "How wonderful! You must be so happy for her!"

"Yes, but keep it under your hat," said Henry. "She eloped and I don't think our uncle needs to know right now."

Catherine quietly absorbed that fact before asking, "Is there a problem with your sister's husband?"

Henry took a deep breath and then a mouthful of potato while he tried to formulate an answer that would be complementary. He didn't want to say anything that would reflect poorly on the museum to a potential donor, or even someone who was on a first name basis with a potential donor. "Our parents died when we were teenagers," he began. He didn't tell this story often, but this was a good steak and better company. "Which left us in the care of our uncle. Uncle Errol has never been married and has no children. He didn't really know what to do with us, but we were old enough to figure most of it out ourselves."

Catherine scrunched up her brow in sympathy. Rather than waiting for her well-meaning reply, Henry barrelled on: "And besides, Uncle Errol has the museum, which is rather like his child. It's the most important thing in his life, and you have to respect that. Unfortunately, this means that when he thinks in terms of what's best for us, he puts the museum first."

"How do you mean?" she prompted.

"I'm a paleontologist," he started then faltered. This is where the truth got tricky. He knew that his uncle would be upset over Eleanor's elopement and a part of him worried that his uncle would express his personal displeasure in a professional way. Or an unprofessional way, if firing his niece in a fit of pique was not strictly professional, but he could hardly say that.

"I study the bones of dinosaurs which are animals that lived tens or hundreds of millions of years ago," he said instead. "I'm not a golfer. I'd much rather be digging in a pit with a spoon than swinging my way out of a sand trap. But the museum needs money, my department needs money; without it, my sister and her husband and everyone else employed at their excavation site will be out of a job. So I need to impress Mr. Sherman so he'll speak well of us to the Allen Foundation so they'll give us money so we can afford various research projects and exhibits. So it is very important for me to speak with Mr. Sherman and clear up any bad impressions I made today before my wedding gift to my sister is an extended honeymoon because the museum can no longer afford to employ her or her husband."

"That doesn't sound like fun," Catherine opined.

"No, but it's a living," Henry grouched and rested his chin in his hand.

"I know Sacha can be a bit of a stickler when it comes to following the rules, but that's just because legally he's required to be," Catherine warned him. Henry could believe it, having had to play all 18 holes. "But I'll go with you and talk to him, see if I can smooth things out."

"That's very kind of you, Miss Morland," Henry said. "You don't need to do that. You don't need to do any of this."

"It's no trouble. It's not like I had much else planned. And maybe I feel a little guilty for making you miss your earlier appointments," she admitted.

Henry just looked at her for a moment, wondering how he could thank her properly because he didn't doubt that she could talk Mr. Sherman - or any man for that matter - into doing whatever she asked.

"Wait a moment," he said as her words sunk in, "wait a moment. Why don't you have other plans? Did you really come to the club to eat dinner by yourself?"

"I'm hardly by myself if there are 50 other people in the dining room," she said, not meeting his eye. "It's just, I live in Connecticut with my parents most of the time. And then my brother sent a telegram that he was sending something very important - very mysterious if you ask me - that needed to be picked up so I came down. I always stay with Aunt Bess when I come down - she's the one who belongs to the club - but she had to dash off to Boston so yes, I have no plans for tonight, Mr. Tilney. I can take you to see Sacha when we're done with dinner."

"You travel alone often?"

"You see, I was a massive tomboy as a child. My mother despaired of me. She worried that I'd grow up completely unfit for polite society. But then Aunt Bess took me under her wing, as it were. She taught me how to play tennis and croquet and golf and badminton and bowling, as well as how to swim and skate. And she took me skiing with her in Vermont for a few years. She sent me to ballroom dancing lessons and would have signed me up for Spanish and Irish dancing too but my parents weren't very keen on the idea."

"You've done all that?"

"I didn't say I was good at any of it," Catherine modestly deflected.

Henry didn't believe her. He had seen her play golf already.

"Oh, and field hockey, lacrosse, rowing, and cricket," she amended, "which ruined me for all other bat sports. Basically everything that didn't involve football, horses, or guns.

"The whole point of the whirlwind was to keep me so busy doing acceptable activities that I'd have no time for, well, unacceptable activities," she concluded. "And it worked. Now I've started to settle down and Aunt Bess has been teaching me how to play cards and knit although to be honest I don't think I'll stick with it much longer."

"Why not?" Henry asked as if prompted.

"I'm terribly competitive. At least with cards, my partner and I are playing against another couple; with knitting, it's just me versus the yarn, and I can't stand losing."

He burst into laughter.

She spotted a waiter as he moved past them. "Benny, can I trouble you for a slice of chocolate cake?" she asked with a dangerously disarming smile.

"It's no trouble, Miss Catherine," he said.

Henry could feel Catherine's charm even when it wasn't aimed at him.

"Is anything wrong, Mr. Tilney?"

He tried to pass it off. "Benny the waiter, Charlie the bartender… Aren't you worried the caddies will get jealous?"

"Daniel? Of course not. We go way back," she said with breezy confidence.

And Henry realized that it wasn't the caddy's jealousy that concerned him.

"Anyway, I come down often enough to visit Aunt Bess and we'll come to the club when I'm here. As I said, she's in Boston right now but they all know me here at the club, Aunt Bess made sure of that. I'm welcome anytime but always take care not to overstay. And normally I would just wait for Aunt Bess to come back to New York but, as I mentioned, my brother's very important, very urgent telegram said that someone needs to be here to pick up a very important package tomorrow. So my parents sent me down. I can't imagine what James is sending us, but I'm sure it's fabulous!"

Henry almost asked if he could call her tomorrow to find out what her brother had sent or to tell her about the intercostal clavicle when it arrived but perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. He decided to wait until after he finally spoke with Mr. Sherman.

.o8o

Alexander Sherman lived in a mansion of a house but it was dark and shuttered by the time Henry's car pulled to a stop in front of it.

"This is the place?" he asked uneasily. "Must be nice to be born rich."

Catherine didn't say anything but Henry felt her silence keenly.

"Sorry, that was just sour grapes," Henry started to apologize. "There's nothing wrong with having money; I just wish I was so lucky."

"Money can't buy happiness," Catherine shrugged.

"It can buy a pretty nice house," Henry countered, gesturing to the mansion in front of them. "Although it looks like everyone has gone to bed. What time is it?"

It wasn't yet 11 o'clock and Catherine was confident that Mr. Sherman was still awake, so they got out of the car and knocked on the front door. There was a distinct lack of response from inside: no lights turned on, no curtains flicked open, no figure could be spotted approaching the entrance. He knocked again but there was no answer.

Henry began to fear that he had lost his chance with Mr. Sherman and the Allen Foundation. His uncle would be livid when he found out. "We're too late," he lamented.

"Come on," Catherine said, grabbing his hand. "Don't give up yet. His bedroom window is back here."

She led him to the side. The windows were just as dark here as in the front of the house.

"Too late," Henry chastised himself again. "Uncle Errol is going to kill me."

Catherine dropped his hand to pick up a handful of gravel which she tossed at the window. She missed, mostly, but was encouraged to try again. The second time was perfect, scattering the window with a whole bunch of noisy pebbles, but still the bedroom stayed dark. Catherine tossed a third handful just as successfully. She bent down to grab more rocks when Henry saw movement inside.

The sash flew open and a man's head poked out. "What in tarnation -" he began before being pelted with rocks. He cried out in surprise, hit the back of his head soundly on the window frame, tripped over his own feet and fell backwards, out of view.

A woman's scream - Mrs. Sherman no doubt - sent Henry and Catherine scrambling before they could be caught standing around, wide-eyed and mouths agape. Instinct took over and they raced to Henry's car and sped down the block before either one thought to ask the other.

"That was…" Catherine began. "Oh, poor Sacha! What have I done?"

While Henry felt bad for Miss Morland and Mr. Sherman, he selfishly felt worse for himself. What Catherine had done, that was known and immutable. She could apologize later to her old friend and would undoubtedly be forgiven. The thing that was going to keep Henry awake tonight was a completely different question: Having effectively burned his bridges with the Allen Foundation and their money, what was he going to do?