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7
GULLIVER THE GREAT
A score of long, graceful leaps took the dog out of sight among
the cedars
GULLIVER THE GREAT
AND OTHER DOG STORIES
BY
WALTER A. DYER
* * *
Author of "Pierrot, Dog of Belgium," etc.
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1916
Copyright, 1916, by
THE CENTURY Co.
Published, September, 1916
'HE NEW Y
PUBLIC LIBRARY
ASTOR LENOX AND
TILOEN FOUNDATIONS
O
TO THE ONE
WHO SHARES WITH MB
FOND MEMORIES OF
DUSTY AND SANDY
THIS VOLUME OF TALES
IS AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Most of the stories which follow have appeared
in periodicals, to which I wish to render grateful
acknowledgment for permission to reprint them in
book form. " Gulliver the Great " appeared in The
Cavalier; " The Twa Dogs o' Glenfergus ' and
" Tom Sawyer of the Movies ' in The Ladies'
Home Journal; " Maginnis ' and " The Blood of
His Fathers ' in The Woman's Magazine; " The
Madness of Antony Spatola ' in The Woman's
Home Companion; " Justice at Valley Brook" and
" Ishmael ' in The Associated Sunday Magazines;
" The Strike at Tiverton Manor " in The American
Magazine; " Spider of the Newsies " and " Prayer
for a Pup " in Our Dumb Animals; " The Regenera-
tion of Timmy " in The Designer; " Wotan the Ter-
rible " in McCall's Magazine; " The Return of the
Champion ' in The Delineator. I am further in-
debted to Doubleday, Page & Co., holders of the
copyright, for permission to reprint " Prayer for a
Pup."
W. A. D.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
GULLIVER THE GREAT ........... 3
THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS ........ 29
MAGINNIS ............... 5I
THE MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA ...... 75
JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK ......... 97
ISHMAEL ................ II5
THE STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
SPIDER OF THE NEWSIES ..........
THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS .........
THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY ........
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE ...........
THE HOUND OF MY LADY BLANCHE ...... 239
LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE .........
TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
PRAYER FOR A PUP
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
A score of long, graceful leaps took the dog out of sight
among the cedars Frontispiece
Again and again Gulliver gave voice, deep, full, powerful 23
Wallace was a beautiful sable with a white bib ... 39
Bruce, a tri-colored dog with a broad head and short
muzzle 39
The wire-haired fox terrier Champion Rodney II . .83
Beside him stood the great, handsome young dog . . . 149
Her husband surveyed the dog critically 173
Wotan was dignified, he was majestic, he was physically
superb 223
But her wonderful sable and white were marred by the
patch of blue shading to black around her left eye . 251
He was now full-grown, a splendid specimen of his breed 291
GULLIVER THE GREAT
GULLIVER THE GREAT
AND OTHER DOG STORIES
>
GULLIVER THE GREAT
IT was a mild evening in early spring, and the
magnolias were in bloom. We motored around
the park, turned up a side street, and finally came
to a throbbing standstill before the Churchwarden
Club.
There was nothing about its exterior to indicate
that it was a clubhouse at all, but within there was
an indefinable atmosphere of early Victorian com-
fort. There was something about it that suggested
Mr. Pickwick. Old prints of horses and ships and
battles hung upon the walls, and the oak was dark
and old. There seemed to be no decorative scheme
or keynote, and yet the atmosphere was utterly
distinctive. It was my first visit to the Church-
warden Club, of which my quaint, old-fashioned
Uncle Ford had long been a member, and I was
charmed.
We dined in the rathskeller, the walls of which
were completely covered with long churchwarden
3
4 GULLIVER THE GREAT
pipes, arranged in the most intricate and marvelous
patterns; and after our mutton-chop and ale and
plum pudding, we filled with the choicest of
tobaccos the pipes which the old major-domo
brought us.
Then came Jacob R. Enderby to smoke with us.
Tall and spare he was, with long, straight, black
hair, large, aquiline nose, and piercing eyes. I
disgraced myself by staring at him. I did n't know
that such a man existed in New York, and yet I
could n't decide whether his habitat should be
Arizona or Cape Cod.
Enderby and Uncle Ford were deep in a discus-
sion of the statesmanship of James G. Elaine, when
a waiter summoned my uncle to the telephone.
I neglected to state that my uncle, in his prosaic
hours, is a physician; and this was a call. I knew
it the moment I saw the waiter approaching. I
was disappointed and disgusted.
Uncle Ford saw this and laughed.
" Cheer up ! ' said he. " You need n't come
with me to visit the sick. I '11 be back in an hour,
and meanwhile Mr. Enderby will take care of you;
won't you, Jake ? '
For answer Enderby arose, and refilling his pipe
took me by the arm, while my uncle got into his
overcoat. As he passed us on the way out he
whispered in my ear :
GULLIVER THE GREAT 5
" Talk about dogs."
I heard and nodded.
Enderby led me to the lounge or loafing-room,
an oak-paneled apartment in the rear of the floor
above, with huge leather chairs and a seat in the
bay window. Save for a gray-haired old chap
dozing over a copy of Simplicissimus, the room was
deserted.
But no sooner had Enderby seated himself on the
window-seat than there was a rush and a commo-
tion, and a short, glad bark, and Nubbins, the
steward's bull-terrier, bounded in and landed at
Enderby's side with canine expressions of great
joy.
I reached forward to pat him, but he paid abso-
lutely no attention to me.
At last his wriggling subsided, and he settled
down with his head on Enderby's knee, the picture
of content. Then I recalled my uncle's parting
injunction.
"Friend of yours?' I suggested.
Enderby smiled. " Yes," he said, "we're
friends, I guess. And the funny part of it is that
he does n't pay any attention to any one else except
his master. They all act that way wjtli, rne^dqgs
do." Ariel he pulled NobkirTs^sfubby ears.
" Natural attraction, I suppose t ^3i < ^-
" Yes, it is," he answered^ with the modest jrankr
6 GULLIVER THE GREAT
ness of a big man. 'It's a thing hard to explain,
though there 's a sort of reason for it in my case."
I pushed toward him a little tobacco-laden teak-
wood stand hopefully. He refilled and lighted.
' It 's an extraordinary thing, even so," he said,
puffing. ' Every dog nowadays seems to look upon
me as his long-lost master, but it was n't always
so. I hated dogs and they hated me."
Not wishing to say " Really ' or " Indeed ' to
this big, outdoor man, I simply grunted my sur-
prise.
" Yes, we were born enemies. More than that,
I was afraid of dogs. A little fuzzy toy dog,
ambling up to me in a room full of company, with
his -tail wagging, gave me the shudders. I couldn't
touch the beast. And as for big dogs outdoors, I
feared them like the plague. I would go blocks
out of my way to avoid one.
* I don't remember being particularly cowardly
about other things, but I just could n't help this. It
was in my blood, for some reason or other. It was
the bane of my existence. I could n't see what the
brutes were put into the world for, or how any one
could have anything to do with them.
" And the dogs reciprocated. They disliked and
distrusted me. The most docile old Brunos would
growl and show their teeth when I came near."
" Did the change come suddenly ? ' I asked.
GULLIVER THE GREAT 7
"Quite. It was in 1901. I accepted a com-
mission from an importing and trading company to
go to the Philippines to do a little quiet exploring,
and spent four months in the sickly place. Then
I got the fever, and when I recovered I couldn't
get out of there too soon.
* I reached Manila just in time to see the mail
steamer disappearing around the point, and I was
mad. There would be another in six days, but I
could n't wait. I was just crazy to get back home.
' I made inquiries and learned of an old tramp
steamer, named the Old Squaw, making ready to
leave for Honolulu on the following day with a
cargo of hemp and stuff, and a bunch of Moros for
some show in the States, and I booked passage on
that.
" She was the worst old tub you ever saw. I
did n't learn much about her, but I verily believe
her to have been a condemned excursion boat. She
would n't have been allowed to run to Coney Island.
' She was battered and unpainted, and she wal-
lowed horribly. I don't believe she could have
reached Honolulu much before the next regular boat,
but I could n't wait, and I took her.
' I made myself as comfortable as possible,
bribed the cook to insure myself against starvation,
and swung a hammock on the forward deck as far
as possible from the worst of the vile smells.
8 GULLIVER THE GREAT
" But we had n't lost sight of Manila Bay when
I discovered that there was a dog aboard and
such a dog! I had never seen one that sent me
into such a panic as this one, and he had free range
of the ship. A Great Dane he was, named Gulli-
ver, and he was the pride of the captain's rum-
soaked heart.
" With all my fear, I realized he was a mag-
nificent animal, but I looked on him as a gigantic
devil. Without exception, he was the biggest dog
I ever saw, and as muscular as a lion. He lacked
some points that show judges set store by, but he
had the size and the build.
" I have seen Vohl's Vulcan and the Wurtem-
burg breed, but they were fox-terriers compared
with Gulliver. His tail was as big around as my
arm, and the cook lived in terror of his getting into
the galley and wagging it ; and he had a mouth that
looked to me like the crater of Mauna Loa, and a
voice that shook the planking when he spoke.
" I first caught sight of him appearing from
behind a huge coil of cordage in the stern. He
stretched and yawned, and I nearly died of fright.
" I caught up a belay ing-pin, though little good
that would have done me. I think he saw me do
it, and doubtless he set me down for an enemy then
and there.
" We were well out of the harbor, and there was
GULLIVER THE GREAT 9
no turning back, but I would have given my right
hand to be off that boat. I fully expected him to
eat me up, and I slept with that belaying-pin
sticking into my ribs in the hammock, and with my
revolver loaded and handy.
' Fortunately, Gulliver's dislike for me took the
form of sublime contempt. He knew I was afraid
of him, and he despised me for it. He was a great
pet with the captain and crew, and even the Moros
treated him with admiring respect when they were
allowed on deck. I could n't understand it. I
would as soon have made a pet of a hungry boa-
constrictor.
" On the third day out the poor old boiler burst
and the Old Squaw caught fire. She was dry and
rotten inside and she burned like tinder. No
attempt was made to extinguish the flames, which
got into the hemp in the hold in short order.
" The smoke was stifling, and in a jiffy all hands
were struggling with the boats. The Moros came
tumbling up from below and added to the confusion
with their terrified yells.
" The davits were old and rusty, and the men
were soon fighting among themselves. One boat
dropped stern foremost, filled, and sank immedi-
ately, and the Old Squaw herself was visibly
settling.
" I saw there was no chance of getting away in
io GULLIVER THE GREAT
the boats, and I recalled a life-raft on the deck
forward near my hammock. It was a sort of
catamaran a double platform on a pair of hollow,
water-tight, cylindrical buoys. It was n't twenty
feet long and about half as broad, but it would have
to do. I fancy it was a forgotten relic of the old
excursion-boat days.
There was no time to lose, for the Old Squaw
was bound to sink presently. Besides, I was aft
with the rest, and the flames were licking up the
deck and running-gear in the waist of the boat.
; The galley, which was amidships near the
engine-room, had received the full force of the
explosion, and the cook lay moaning in the lee
scuppers with a small water-cask thumping against
his chest. I could n't stop to help the man, but I
did kick the cask away.
" It seemed to be nearly full, and it occurred to
me that I should need it. I glanced quickly around,
and luckily found a tin of biscuits that had also
been blown out of the galley. I picked this up, and
rolling the cask of water ahead of me as rapidly as
I could, I made my way through the hot, stifling
smoke to the bow of the boat.
' I kicked at the life-raft; it seemed to be sound,
and I lashed the biscuits and water to it. I also
threw on a coil of rope and a piece of sail-cloth. I
saw nothing else about that could possibly be of any
GULLIVER THE GREAT 11
value to me. I abandoned my trunk for fear it
would only prove troublesome.
" Then I hacked the raft loose with my knife and
shoved it over to the bulwark. Apparently no one
had seen me, for there was no one else forward
of the sheet of flame that now cut the boat in
two.
The raft was a mighty heavy affair, but I man-
aged to raise one end to the rail. I don't believe
I would ever have been able to heave it over under
any circumstances, but I did n't have to.
' I felt a great upheaval, and the prow of the
Old Squaw went up into the air. I grabbed the
ropes that I had lashed the food on with and clung
to the raft. The deck became almost perpen-
dicular, and it was a miracle that the raft didn't
slide down with me into the flames. Somehow it
stuck where it was.
Then the boat sank with a great roar, and for
about a thousand years, it seemed to me, I was
under water. I did n't do anything. I could n't
think.
' I was only conscious of a tremendous weight
of water and a feeling that I would burst open.
Instinct alone made me cling to the raft.
; When it finally brought me to the surface I was
as nearly dead as I care to be. I lay there on the
thing in a half-conscious condition for an endless
12 GULLIVER THE GREAT
time. If my life had depended on my doing some-
thing, I would have been lost.
" Then gradually I came to, and began to spit
out salt water and gasp for breath. I gathered my
wits together and sat up. My hands were abso-
lutely numb, and I had to loosen the grip of my
fingers with the help of my toes. Odd sensation.
" Then I looked about me. My biscuits and
water and rope were safe, but the sail-cloth had
vanished. I remember that this annoyed me hugely
at the time, though I don't know what earthly good
it would have been.
The sea was fairly calm, and I could see all
about. Not a human being was visible, only a few
floating bits of wreckage. Every man on board
must have gone down with the ship and drowned,
except myself.
" Then I caught sight of something that made
my heart stand still. The huge head of Gulliver
was coming rapidly toward me through the water!
The dog was swimming strongly, and must
have leaped from the Old Squaw before she sank.
My raft was the only thing afloat large enough to
hold him, and he knew it.
' I drew my revolver, but it was soaking wet and
useless. Then I sat down on the cracker tin and
gritted my teeth and waited. I had been alarmed,
I must admit, when the boiler blew up and the panic
GULLIVER THE GREAT - 13
began, but that was nothing to the terror that seized
me now.
" Here I was all alone on the top of the Pacific
Ocean with a horrible demon making for me as fast
as he could swim. My mind was benumbed, and
I could think of nothing to do. I trembled and my
teeth rattled. I prayed for a shark, but no shark
came.
ct
Soon Gulliver reached the raft and placed one
of his forepaws on it and then the other. The top
of it stood six or eight inches above the water, and
it took a great effort for the dog to raise himself.
I wanted to kick him back, but I did n't dare to
move.
" Gulliver struggled mightily. Again and again
he reared his great shoulders above the sea, only to
be cast back, scratching and kicking, at a lurch of
the raft.
' Finally a wave favored him, and he caught the
edge of the under platform with one of his hind
feet. With a stupendous effort he heaved his huge
bulk over the edge and lay sprawling at my feet,
panting and trembling/'
Enderby paused and gazed out of the window
with a big sigh, as though the recital of his story
had brought back some of the horror of his remark-
able experience.
Nubbins looked up inquiringly, and then snug-
i 4 GULLIVER THE GREAT
gled closer to his friend, while Enderby smoothed
the white head.
" Well," he continued, " there we were. You
can't possibly imagine how I felt unless you, too,
have been afflicted with dog-fear. It was awful.
And I hated the brute so. I could have torn him
limb from limb if I had had the strength. But he
was vastly more powerful than I. I could only
fear him.
' By and by he got up and shook himself. I
cowered on my cracker-tin, but he only looked at
me contemptuously, went to the other end of the
raft, and lay down to wait patiently for deliver-
ance.
" We remained this way until nightfall. The
sea was comparatively calm, and we seemed to be
drifting but slowly. We were in the path of ships
likely to be passing one way or the other, and I
would have been hopeful of the outcome if it had
not been for my feared and hated companion.
' I began to feel faint, and opened the cracker-
tin. The biscuits were wet with salt water, but I
ate a couple, and left the cover of the tin open to
dry them. Gulliver looked around, and I shut the
tin hastily. But the dog never moved. He was
not disposed to ask any favors. By kicking the
sides of the cask and prying with my knife, I man-
aged to get the bung out and took a drink. Then
GULLIVER THE GREAT 15
I settled myself on the raft with my back against
the cask, and longed for a smoke.
" The gentle motion of the raft produced a lull-
ing effect on my exhausted nerves, and I began to
nod, only to awake with a start, with fear gripping
at my heart. I dared not sleep. I don't know
what I thought Gulliver would do to me, for I did
not understand dogs, but I felt that I must watch
him constantly. In the starlight I could see that
his eyes were open. Gulliver was watchful too.
" All night long I kept up a running fight with
drowsiness. I dozed at intervals, but never for
long at a time. It was a horrible night, and I can-
not tell you how I longed for day and welcomed it
when it came.
' I must have slept toward dawn, for I suddenly
became conscious of broad daylight. I roused my-
self, stood up, and swung my arms and legs to stir
up circulation, for the night had been chilly. Gulli-
ver arose, too, and stood silently watching me until
I ceased for fear. When he had settled down again
I got my breakfast out of the cracker-tin. Gulli-
ver was restless, and was evidently interested.
1 ' He must be hungry,* I thought, and then a
new fear caught me. I had only to wait until he
became very hungry and then he would surely
attack me. I concluded that it would be wiser to
feed him, and I tossed him a biscuit.
1 6 GULLIVER THE GREAT
" I expected to see him grab it ravenously, and
wondered as soon as I had thrown it if the taste
of food would only serve to make him more
ferocious. But at first he would not touch it. He
only lay there with his great head on his paws and
glowered at me. Distrust was plainly visible in his
face. I had never realized before that a dog's face
could express the subtler emotions.
' His gaze fascinated me, and I could not take
my eyes from his. The bulk of him was tremen-
dous as he lay there, and I noticed the big, swelling
muscles of his jaw. At last he arose, sniffed
suspiciously at the biscuit, and looked up at me
again.
" ' It 's all right ; eat it ! ' I cried.
The sound of my own voice frightened me.
I had not intended to speak to him. But in spite
of my strained tone he seemed somewhat reassured.
' He took a little nibble, and then swallowed the
biscuit after one or two crunches, and looked up
expectantly. I threw him another and he ate that.
" ' That 's all,' said I. * We must be sparing of
them.'
" I was amazed to discover how perfectly he
understood. He lay down again and licked his
chops.
" Late in the forenoon I saw a line of smoke on
the horizon, and soon a steamer hove into view. I
GULLIVER THE GREAT 17
stood up and waved my coat frantically, but to no
purpose. Gulliver stood up and looked from me
to the steamer, apparently much interested.
" ' Too far off,' I said to Gulliver. ' I hope the
next one will come nearer.'
" At midday I dined, and fed Gulliver. This
time he took the two biscuits quite without reserve
and whacked his great tail against the raft. It
seemed to me that his attitude was less hostile, and
I wondered at it.
When I took my drink from the cask, Gulliver
showed signs of interest.
' I suppose dogs get thirsty, too/ I said aloud.
' Gulliver rapped with his tail. I looked about
for some sort of receptacle, and finally pulled off
my shoe, filled it with water, and shoved it toward
him with my foot. He drank gratefully.
' During the afternoon I sighted another ship,
but it was too distant to notice me. However, the
sea remained calm and I did not despair.
" After we had had supper, I settled back against
my cask, resolved to keep awake, for still I did not
trust Gulliver. The sun set suddenly and the stars
came out, and I found myself strangely lonesome.
It seemed as though I had been alone out there on
the Pacific for weeks. The miles and miles of
heaving waters, almost on a level with my eye, were
beginning to get on my nerves. I longed for some
i8 GULLIVER THE GREAT
one to talk to, and wished I had dragged the half-
breed cook along with me for company. I sighed
loudly, and Gulliver raised his head.
' Lonesome out here, is n't it ? ' I said, simply
to hear the sound of my own voice.
; Then for the first time Gulliver spoke. He
made a deep sound in his throat, but it was n't a
growl, and with all my ignorance of dog language
I knew it.
" Then I began to talk. I talked about every-
thing the people back home and all that and
Gulliver listened. I know more about dogs now,
and I know that the best way to make friends with
a dog is to talk to him. He can't talk back, but
he can understand a heap more than you think he
can.
' Finally Gulliver, who had kept his distance all
this time, arose and came toward me. My words
died in my throat. What was he going to do?
To my immense relief he did nothing but sink down
at my feet with a grunt and curl his huge body into
a semicircle. He had dignity, Gulliver had. He
wanted to be friendly, but he would not presume.
However, I had lost interest in conversation, and
sat watching him and wondering.
' In spite of my firm resolution, I fell asleep at
length from sheer exhaustion, and never woke until
daybreak. The sky was clouded and our craft was
GULLIVER THE GREAT 19
pitching. Gulliver was standing in the middle of
the raft, looking at me in evident alarm. I glanced
over my shoulder, and the blackness of the horizon
told me that a storm was coming, and coming soon.
" I made fast our slender provender, tied the end
of a line about my own waist for safety, and waited.
" In a short time the storm struck us in all its
tropical fury. The raft pitched and tossed, now
high up at one end, and now at the other, and some-
times almost engulfed in the waves.
" Gulliver was having a desperate time to keep
aboard. His blunt claws slipped on the wet deck
of the raft, and he fell and slid about dangerously.
The thought flashed across my mind that the storm
might prove to be a blessing in disguise, and that
I might soon be rid of the brute.
" As I clung there to the lashings, I saw him slip
down to the further end of the raft, his hind quar-
ters actually over the edge. A wave swept over
him, but still he clung, panting madly. Then the
raft righted itself for a moment, and as he hung
there he gave me a look I shall never forget a
look of fear, of pleading, of reproach, and yet of
silent courage. And with all my stupidity I read
that look. Somehow it told me that I was the
master, after all, and he the dog. I could not resist
it. Cautiously I raised myself and loosened the
spare rope I had saved. As the raft tipped the
20 GULLIVER THE GREAT
other way Gulliver regained his footing and came
sliding toward me.
" Quickly I passed the rope around his body, and
as the raft dived again I hung on to the rope with
one hand, retaining my own hold with the other.
Gulliver's great weight nearly pulled my arm from
its socket, but he helped mightily, and during the
next moment of equilibrium I took another turn
about his body and made the end of the rope fast.
The storm passed as swiftly as it had come,
and though it left us drenched and exhausted, we
were both safe.
That evening Gulliver crept close to me as I
talked, and I let him. Loneliness will make a man
do strange things.
' On the fifth day, when our provisions were
nearly gone, and I had begun to feel the sinking
dullness of despair, I sighted a steamer apparently
coming directly toward us. Instantly I felt new
life in my limbs and around my heart, and while the
boat was yet miles away I began to shout and to
wave my coat.
" ' I believe she 's coming, old man ! ' I cried to
Gulliver ; ' I believe she 's coming ! '
" I soon wearied of this foolishness and sat down
to wait. Gulliver came close and sat beside me, and
for the first time I put my hand on him. He
looked up at me and rapped furiously with his tail.
GULLIVER THE GREAT 21
I patted his head a little gingerly, I must con-
fess.
" It was a big, smooth head, and it felt solid and
strong. I passed my hand down his neck, his back,
his flanks. He seemed to quiver with joy. He
leaned his huge body against me. Then he bowed
his head and licked my shoe.
" A feeling of intense shame and unworthiness
came over me, with the realization of how com-
pletely I had misunderstood him. Why should this
great, powerful creature lick my shoe? It was
incredible.
" Then, somehow, everything changed. Fear
and distrust left me, and a feeling of comradeship
and understanding took their place. We two had
been through so much together. A dog was no
longer a frightful beast to me; he was a dog! I
cannot think of a nobler word. And Gulliver had
licked my shoe ! Doubtless it was only the fineness
of his perception that had prevented him from lick-
ing my hand. I might have resented that. I put
my arms suddenly around Gulliver's neck and
hugged him. I loved that dog!
" Slowly, slowly, the steamer crawled along, but
still she kept to her course. When she was about
a mile away, however, I saw that she would not
pass as near to us as I had hoped ; so I began once
more my waving and yelling. She came nearer,
22 GULLIVER THE GREAT
nearer, but still showed no sign of observing us.
" She was abreast of us, and passing. I was in
a frenzy!
' She was so near that I could make out the figure
of the captain on the bridge, and other figures on
the deck below. It seemed as though they must
see us, though I realized how low in the water we
stood, and how pitifully weak and hoarse my voice
was. I had been a fool to waste it. Then an idea
struck me.
" ' Speak ! ' I cried to Gulliver, who stood watch-
ing beside me. ' Speak, old man ! '
' Gulliver needed no second bidding. A roar
like that of all the bulls of Bashan rolled out over
the blue Pacific. Again and again Gulliver gave
voice, deep, full, powerful. His great sides heaved
with the mighty effort, his red, cavernous mouth
open, and his head raised high.
"'Good, old man!' I cried. 'Good!' And
again that magnificent voice boomed forth.
Then something happened on board the
steamer. The figures came to the side. I waved
my coat and danced. Then they saw us.
' I was pretty well done up when they took us
aboard, and I slept for twenty-four hours straight.
When I awoke there sat Gulliver by my bunk, and
when I turned to look at him he lifted a great paw
and put it on my arm."
Again and again Gulliver gave voice, deep, full, powerful
GULLIVER THE GREAT 25
Enderby ceased, and there was silence in the
room save for the light snoring of Nubbins.
" You took him home with you, I suppose ? ' I
asked.
Enderby nodded.
" And you have him still ? ' I certainly wanted
to have a look at that dog.
But he did not answer. I saw an expression of
great sadness come into his eyes as he gazed out
of the window, and I knew that Jacob Enderby had
finished his story.
THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS
THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS
THE estate of Glenfergus possesses five things
that are near-Scotch : its name ; the lineage of
its owner, Robert Ferguson; Jock-o'-the-Heath, the
Scottish terrier, now old, deaf, and house-loving;
and two collies, Wallace and Bruce. The only Si-
mon-pure, made-in-Scotland article about the place
is Sandy MacNair. As for Terry Burke of the gar-
dens, he is straight Irish and no mistake.
Sandy, among his other duties, has charge of the
flock of registered Dorsets that are at once the pride
and the despair of the master. Handsome creatures
they are, possessed of a sort of artistic instinct for
composing a picture on the hillside pastures of Glen-
fergus, but timid and all too often victims of swift
tragedy. The estate lies not in Scotland, but in the
Massachusetts Berkshires, in a community not yet
organized about the industry of sheep raising.
There are dogs in that country that are strangers to
the ethics of sheep herding, and they murdered the
Dorsets of Glenfergus. In spite of wire fences,
which were an abomination to Robert Ferguson any-
29
30 THE TWA DOGS O' GLEXFERGUS
how. the dogs got in. slew, tasted blood, and van-
ished to return another day.
One night it was Morton's restless Irish terrier
from over the ridge that killed a ewe and her lamb,
and galloped back across the hill in the full moon-
light before the wrathful gaze of Sandy. One
afternoon Nicholas. Tom Abbott's champion Rus-
sian wolfhound, severed home ties for a space,
covered the intervening ten miles with his long, un-
dulating bounds, leaped the live-foot fence, killed
three of the flock, and returned home for his din-
ner. But the worst of all was an unknown brute
that came repeatedly in the night, took his toll of
warm blood, and escaped unseen.
There were apologies aplenty from neighbors and
damages from a well-intentioned State, but they did
not bring back the slain Dorsets nor soothe the wrath
of the master and Sandy MacXair. The flock was
demoralized and getting into bad condition.
" Sandy." said Robert Ferguson with decision.
" something has got to be done. If we can't stop
this killing we '11 have to dispose of the sheep."
" Well." said Sandy. ' I should not like to say
that we could end the trouble, but I would try a
dog."
" Dog ! ' exclaimed Mr. Ferguson. There are
too many dos:s hereabouts already. I 'm not fond
enough of dogs to want to feed one on live mutton.
THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS 31
" I know," said Sandy ; " but I think it 's the only
way. It 's the Old-Country way and it works there.
Fight dog with dog."
Robert Ferguson gave in at last to Sandy's en-
treaties, and one day he brought home proud Wal-
lace in his automobile and turned him over to the
shepherd.
" I got the best to be had," he said; " a two-year-
old, pure Scotch collie of the Greystone breed. See
what he will do."
Wallace was a beautiful sable with a white bib.
From his well-set ears to his waving tail he was an
aristocrat of the aristocrats.
" Is he broken to the sheep? " asked Sandy.
' No," replied Mr. Ferguson. : He 's a kennel
dog. But he has the blood. Can you train him ? '
Sandy looked doubtfully at the pointed nose, the
narrow head, the small eyes. ' I '11 try, sir," he
said.
As Sandy was leading Wallace to the stable, Terry
Burke appeared with a basket of green peas. ' And
what have ye there ? ' ' asked Terry.
" An elephant," replied Sandy dourly. " Can ye
not see ? '
; It looks more like a wolf or a penwiper," said
Terry. " The first thing I 'd do with that dog
would be to get rid of him. If ye Ve an idea he '11
herd the sheep ye may as well forget it."
32 THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS
; What do you know about dogs, pea-gatherer ? '
asked Sandy, hotly.
Terry laughed. " The little man asks me what I
know about dogs ! Why, Scotchman, I was raised
with dogs. I 've owned and bred and trained more
dogs meself than you 've set eyes on. Let me tell
ye something to add to your small wisdom. There
was a fine dog wanst that some folks called a collie,
but most folks called a shepherd dog. He was a
dog with a heart and a brain. He could \vhip a
bulldog and he could gentle a baby. He knew as
much as a Christian and more than a Scotchman.
But he 's gone. What has become of him? Och, I
could n't tell ye. I only know that these millionaire
dog-show folks have got a new collie with not room
enough in his toothpick head for the sense of a pug.
He 's a decaitf ul, thievin', snappin', autymobile-
chasin' dude, an' this here 's wan of thim."
' Irishman," rumbled Sandy, raging inside, ' ye
talk like a fule," and he led his new charge into the
stable.
Additional precautions were taken with the sheep
until the new dog could be intrusted with their care.
The training of the princely but kennel-bred Wal-
lace was no easy task, but Sandy MacNair was pa-
tient and experienced. With rare persistence he
strove to win the dog's interest and affection, and at
length succeeded in achieving a certain degree of
THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS 33
obedience. Then he rigged up a pen of hurdles
in the pasture and took Wallace out to try him on
the sheep.
The first attempt was an ignominious failure.
Wallace promptly scattered the flock and nipped
their heels joyfully. With difficulty Sandy caught
him and prevented serious damage.
" Better let him chase the autymobiles," advised
Terry. " 'T is safer."
But somewhere back in Wallace's family tree
there were sheepdogs genuine collies of the Scot-
tish heath and the instinct of his ancestors had
not been entirely bred out of him. Blood and
Sandy's perseverance began to tell, and as the cold
days of November passed the collie began to take a
more personal interest in the sheep. Moreover, he
had become devoted to Sandy, and Sandy to him.
The day the collie rounded up the meager half-
dozen and herded them successfully back into the
pen was a proud one for Sandy.
Terry was forced to conceal his chagrin behind a
greater volume of banter. " Wait till he 's needed
to drive off the big dog in the night, and then ye '11
see what a poor heart he has under his pretty coat."
But \Vallace was unquestionably becoming a bet-
ter dog. He acted with more directness and ap-
peared to be gaining some sense of responsibility.
Terry Burke saw all this, and resentment against
34 THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS
Sandy and Wallace grew in his heart. He left his
wife to care for the greenhouse one day and re-
turned late that night with a bundle. Where he had
been no one knew, and it was some time before it
was discovefed that the bundle was a dog. Terry
kept him in his cottage as long as he could, but the
secret was bound to come out.
It was on a bright day in January that Terry,
crossing the stable yard, came upon Sandy, grinning
broadly.
" I think there 's a wee bear follerin' ye," said
Sandy.
Terry looked behind him. There, standing in the
path, was his dog, looking up at him expectantly.
Terry was wrathful. He wanted to call the dog
names, and some unusually choice ones leaped to his
tongue; but pride and the presence of Sandy re-
strained him. " Go back, Bruce ! " he roared, " and
stay in the house where ye belong ! '
The dog turned dejectedly about and trotted back
obediently.
" 'T is a good Scotch name ye 've given the poor
thing/' said Sandy. " What kind of a dog would
ye say it was, now ? '
" He cannot help the name he was christened
with," retorted Terry, passing on with unusual reti-
cence.
THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS 35
There was no more need for secrecy, and there-
after Terry allowed Bruce to follow him about at
will. It was quite evident that Bruce was no show
dog. His pendulous ears, one set higher than the
other, would have barred him from the ring, even
if there were an established class for his nearly ex-
tinct breed. For Terry had found somewhere a
survivor of the race of old-fashioned collies or
shepherd dogs a tri-colored dog with a broad
head and short muzzle. In his eyes, at least, he was
the superior of all the blue-ribbon dandies on the
circuit.
It was Terry's plan to supplant Wallace with
Bruce, and he took every opportunity to give him
such training as circumstances allowed. To this
Bruce responded cheerfully; apparently he could
learn anything.
An encounter between the dogs was inevitable, for
Wallace considered Glenfergus his own particular
realm and it was not in him to brook the presence of
an interloper. Bruce, on the other hand, was
friendly by nature, and the attack which immediately
followed their first meeting took him so by surprise
that he turned tail and ran into the greenhouse,
where Terry repelled the pursuer with a flower-pot.
Sandy's delight was unconcealed. Ye should
have seen the mutt beat it," he said to Mollie the
36 THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS
cook, whom he always strove to address in her own
language. ' I ' ve no doubt he would run from one
of my Iambics."
Terry lectured his charge in private and the next
time it was different. The two dogs met by chance
behind the carriage shed, and, before Terry could
reach them with a pail of water, blood was drawn.
Sandy and Terry, angry though they were., realized
the seriousness of the situation. If the master
should learn of a dog fight on his premises, that
would mean the last of the dogs. So, because Wal-
lace was the recognized dog of Glenfergus, it be-
came Terry's bitter task to hold Bruce in restraint
and to chain him to his little packing-case kennel
beside the greenhouse.
With the coming of spring Wallace's education
advanced rapidly, and it was a great day of tri-
umph for Sandy when he put the dog through his
paces and herded the sheep before an approving au-
dience, consisting of Robert Ferguson and two
friends from the city.
' He 's learnt ! ' Sandy cried with supreme satis-
faction ; and later, passing Terry on his way to sup-
per, he could not forbear a grinning gibe. Ye
may as well send your tabby-cat away. It 's not
needed here."
Sandy's sense of triumph increased as the days
went by and Wallace was placed in charge of the
THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS 37
flock at night. Dogs came sheep-hunting as of yore
little dogs, big dogs, dogs of high and low de-
gree. For the most part they retreated before the
vociferous threats of the collie, and those that ven-
tured nearer were repulsed with loss. Wallace had
" learnt," and success and Sandy's approbation gave
him confidence.
Then one night the black sheep-killer came. The
sheep were lying peacefully on the broad, grassy
slope of the west pasture. Under a spreading oak
Wallace lay dozing, his head on his forepaws, his
nose and ears pointed toward the flock. Among the
sumacs on the brow of the hill a twig snapped.
Wallace was awake in an instant, his head raised,
his ears cocked, his nostrils quivering. Then a
huge, dark form bounded out of the shadows and
down the hill.
Wallace leaped to his feet, trembling with ex-
citement. The invader paused a moment, sniffed
the air, and then, dashing into the midst of the flock,
swerved and leaped ferociously upon an old ewe,
that was bowled over like a bundle of wool. The
sheep-killer sprang again, but before he could close
his huge jaws upon the ewe's neck there was an
angry snarl, an impetuous rush, and Wallace was at
his throat. The big dog crouched and tossed his
head mightily, and Wallace was thrown off, only to
return to the attack with a better directed rush.
38 THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS
The sheep dashed into a hollow by the fence and
huddled together in terror, watching the fight on the
hill. The two dogs rolled over and over, biting and
snarling and fighting for a throat hold. The enemy
was heavier than Wallace, doubtless a more experi-
enced fighter. But Wallace was quick, crafty, and
fired with a knightly spirit that knew no fear. His
brass-studded collar, too, and his long coat bafBed his
antagonist, who sought in vain for the crunching
hold that would end the fray.
The angry snarling was almost incessant, low,
menacing, intense, punctuated now and then by a
sharp yelp of pain or fury. The human inhabitants
of Glenfergus were asleep or at least indoors, and
none heard the sounds of battle save the cowering
sheep and the soft-eyed, gentle Bruce, sitting at the
end of his chain down by Terry Burke' s cottage,
trembling and whining softly with excitement, his
ears lifted, his nose searching the air eagerly for
some clue.
With a sudden snap Wallace managed to bring
his teeth together in the jowl of his enemy and hung
on. The big dog rose on his hind-legs, and, al-
though the collie was no small dog, he was lifted
clear from the ground ; but he hung on. Then again
a mighty effort, and Wallace with a swift wrench
tore the big fellow's cheek viciously. Howling with
pain, bloody and blind with rage, the sheep-killer
Wallace was a beautiful sable with a white bib
Bruce, a tri-colored dog with a broad head
and a short muzzle
THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS 41
rushed once more, but he had lost his head. Wal-
lace dodged and caught him just below the ear.
The big brute, a coward at heart, had had enough.
He turned and ran for the sumacs, Wallace, a past
master at hock nipping, hastening his flight.
At length Wallace came trotting back to his trem-
bling flock. Turning for a moment on the brow of
the hill he gave voice the short, sharp bark of de-
fiance. From over the hill came the answer the
promise of revenge. Down by Terry Burke's cot-
tage Bruce turned whimpering back to bed.
In the morning Sandy MacNair found blood on
Wallace's muzzle and knew there had been a battle
in the night. Gently he felt beneath the beautiful
coat, finding a scratch here, a lumpy bruise there, but
no serious injury done. He threw his arms about
Wallace's neck and buried his face in the silky ruff.
" Good lad ! Good lad ! ' he murmured, but in
his heart there was anxiety.
When the news spread abroad Wallace stood in
danger of being spoiled, but Sandy took him in hand,
drew him away from his admirers, gave him a bath,
rubbed peroxide in his wounds, and took him to a
quiet place for a nap. That night Wallace was
again at his post under the oak tree.
For a week peace brooded over Glenfergus.
Then on another night came the sheep-killer again.
By some extraordinary cunning he found his way in
42 THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS
and stole down through the sumacs and wild blue-
berries. But the breeze carried his scent to Wal-
lace's keen nostrils, and the collie rose quickly, then
walked slowly toward his flock, every muscle tense
and waiting. Again the great, dark form bounded
out from the shadows and down the hill, and again
the flock stampeded, terror-stricken. Again there
was a snarl and a rush as Wallace dashed at the
trespasser.
The big dog made a show of battle and then
turned and ran up the slope, \Vallace close at his
heels. At the edge of the rough ground the collie
nipped him sharply in the flank, and the brute
flashed about with amazing quickness. But Wal-
lace was ready for him. The big, ugly teeth shut
with a snap an inch from the collie's neck, and Wal-
lace made a lunge for his enemy's throat. The
sheep-killer gave a bark of pain as he shook Wal-
lace off, and down by the gardener's house Bruce
awoke with a start and thrust an inquiring nose
against the breeze.
The two antagonists grappled, rolled, broke, and
closed again.
Then out of the thicket stole another form, a
wicked-looking, brindle bull terrier, small but power-
ful, and built for fighting. Out of the corner of his
eye Wallace caught a shadowy glimpse of the new-
comer's white breast, and the meaning of the big
THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS 43
dog's manoeuvers became clear to him. Then there
was a rush. Wallace snapped and missed, then
sprang to the other side of the big dog.
It was a desperate situation two against one
but the collie never faltered. He sprang again at
the big fellow so swiftly that he got a grip in the
fleshy part of his neck below the ear. He knew he
must fight to kill.
But ,the bull terrier understood his role. He kept
away from the struggling dogs for a moment, and
then, watching his chance, rushed in and seized Wal-
lace by the left hind leg. His jaws were powerful,
the spot well chosen, just above the hock.
Wallace, knowing his peril, dared not relax his
hold on the more deadly foe. But the terriers teeth
had found sinew and bone ; the pain was intense, and
a muffled cry was forced from his breast. Soon a
perilous weakness began to take hold of his limbs;
his lungs labored painfully, and he closed his eyes in
his agony. He was paying the penalty of a breed-
ing a shade too fine. Still he hung on. To relax
his grip was to die. Again the pitiful, muffled cry
came from his throat.
The fresh breeze blew the sounds of battle, the
snarling and the cries, to the keen ears of Bruce.
They were perfectly intelligible to him. He knew
there were three dogs; he knew that the battle was
to the death. He heard the distress cry of Wallace
44 THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS
and he knew what it meant and who uttered it. All
the spirit of his ancestors dogs of faithfulness
and courage every one awoke in his breast. He
became strong and eager. He tugged violently at
his chain. The links held; the staple was clinched
on the inside of the packing-box kennel; but the
boards were thin, the construction flimsy, and with
a crack and a smash Bruce broke loose and dashed
at top speed across garden and stable yard, dangling
a piece of board behind him.
Up the hill he sped. Wallace's second cry of
agony caught his ears and spurred him on. With-
out a moment's delay he plunged into the fray.
With rare judgment he seized the terrier by the
throat and his strong jaws closed in a viselike grip.
The terrier loosed his hold of Wallace's leg and tried
to turn on his new assailant. But Bruce had him;
he was powerless. Bruce felt him gradually weaken
and then collapse, and with a final shake he cast him
aside and leaped to Wallace's aid.
The big dog, seeing him, shook off the weakened
Wallace with one last, desperate effort, and, bound-
ing into the thicket, disappeared forever from the
pastures of Glenfergus.
Terry Burke was awakened from his first sleep
by the furious barking of Bruce. The dog was
usually quiet at night and Terry knew that some-
thing must be wrong. He sprang out of bed, hastily
THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS 45
drew on trousers and shoes, and hurried out of the
house. Bruce leaped upon him in his excitement
and then dashed off. Terry, unable to understand,
stepped into the carriage shed and lighted a lantern.
He tried to quiet Bruce, but the dog continued his
excited barking, dashing off and returning re-
peatedly, trying to tell the man what the trouble was.
As they started off, Sandy MacNair appeared
within the circle of the lantern light. " What 's the
beast makin' all the row about ? " he inquired gruffly.
But Terry was in no mood for repartee. ' Sure
it 's that I 'm tryin' to learn," he replied.
Sandy was about to frame some scathing re-
joinder, but Bruce's evident eagerness to lead them
toward the west pasture awoke in him a sudden
alarm, and he fell silently in beside Terry. The two
' men followed Bruce rapidly across the lower
meadow, through the gate in the wire fence, and up
the hill.
The sheep were still huddled together, but were
quiet now. The cause of their terror had evidently
departed.
As the men reached the brow of the hill Sandy
ran suddenly forward and fell on his knees above the
prostrate Wallace. ' Oh, laddie ! my puir, bonny
laddie! " he moaned, lapsing into his broad Scotch.
" Ye 're hurt, but ye 're not done to death! Oh.
laddie, ye 're not done to death ! '
46 THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS
Wallace was lying on his side, panting painfully,
his beautiful eyes closed in weakness. But at his
master's appeal he lifted his head, opened his eyes
and feebly licked the hand that caressed him.
An exclamation from Terry, who had turned
away from a scene that was almost too much for his
Irish heart, caused Sandy to look up. Terry was
holding the lantern above the lifeless form of the
bull terrier.
Sandy sprang to his side and turned the carcass
over with his foot. Then he looked at the collar.
" J T is Holman's Jack," said he. " He was a good
dog; 'twas not like him to come killin' sheep."
Both men were puzzled. Sandy could not believe
that the small terrier, born fighter though he was,
could so nearly have done for Wallace. Then he
went back to the slowly reviving collie and began
feeling gently beneath the long silky coat. Lumps,
bruises, and scratches were numerous enough, but he
found no serious wound till he came to the sadly
mangled leg. His words of pity were stilled by
a sudden fear. What was the meaning of
this? Surely Wallace could not have been running
away!
It was Terry who discovered the black hair in
Wallace's teeth. There was no black hair on the
terrier.
Sandy leaped to his feet with joy. " 'T was the
THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFE.RGUS 47
big, black one!" he cried. "Ah, Wallace, 'twas
cruel ! "
" Two sheep-killers," said Terry. " Sure, it must
have been a grand fight ! '
" Twa sheep-killers," echoed Sandy; and then,
glancing at Bruce's dangling chain, he added
thoughtfully : " And twa collies."
Comprehension of the situation broke at last upon
the minds of both. They stood for a few moments
in silence. Then Bruce came forward almost shyly,
and sniffed at Wallace's muzzle, walked around him,
found the bleeding leg and licked it tenderly. Si-
multaneously the two men looked at each other, and
as quickly their eyes fell.
" Come," said Terry, breaking the awkward si-
lence, " we must get him down to his kennel.
There '11 be no more sheep-killers about to-night."
Tenderly they picked Wallace up and carried him
between them down the hill, Bruce trotting close be-
hind.
Next morning the two men met in the yard.
" How 's yer Wallace ? ' asked Terry, somewhat
sheepishly, his eyes fixed on the weather vane.
" He 's doin' well, thank ye," said Sandy, patting
Bruce's head with a studied air of absent minded-
ness. " The bone was not broken, but he will be
lame for a long time, I fear. I shall have to train
Bruce to mind the sheep, maybe."
48 THE TWA DOGS O' GLENFERGUS
" Maybe he could n't learn," Terry managed to
say, almost bursting with pride.
" We might try," returned Sandy, cautiously.
"If you should feel like say in' a kind word to W T al-
lace ye '11 find him in the kitchen."
" Yes," said Terry, " I was thinkin' I 'd like to
see the poor dog."
" An' if you was to drop in again this evenin' to
see him maybe ye 'd not mind a wee game o' pinochle
before bedtime."
" Why, no," said Terry, as he started away, gaz-
ing fondly into the soft, upturned eyes of Bruce,
" I 'd not mind."
MAGINNIS
MAGINNIS
STARTING somewhere down among the precip-
itous Andes of masonry at the end of the island,
the greatest street in the world chooses a route all
its own, quite independent of squares and right
angles, and runs in a northerly direction between
swarming hives of business, clear through the heart
of the city, and leaps boldly out into the country be-
yond. Sooner or later everything of worldly sig-
nificance must pass up or down this great thorough-
fare all sorts of people of every nationality under
the sun, rich and poor, demagogue and statesman,
peddler and financier, reformer and anarchist,
women of the demi-monde and the super-monde.
Seven or eight miles up from the Battery, where
the mighty way has swung somewhat to the west, it
spreads its broad length between brick buildings that
are at once dwellings and market places. To right
and left extend long rows of human ant hills. Great
wagons and motor trucks and tram cars rumble up
and down the pavement far into the night, and up
above the street and down the ant-hill rows there
dwell in conglomerate mass hate and fear and plot-
Si
52 MAGINNIS
tings and strivings and birth and death and love and
the radium of human kindness.
One mid- forenoon in September, when the bustle
and roar of the great current was at its height and
the tide of human life was at the flood, there trotted
down Broadway a small, piebald, mongrel dog. He
was a wretched little atom, and he did not belong
there; that was most evident. One ear was set so
far forward that it flopped over his eye, and the
other was disfigured by a ragged notch. He was
what might be called a calico dog, with fox terrier
blood as his chief but by no means overwhelming
ingredient. Brownish black patches bespattered his
approximately white body with no apparent attempt
at arrangement. His tail was crooked and long in
proportion to the rest of him and seemed perma-
nently glued between his legs. His feet, also, were
far too large, but perhaps that was because he was
still a puppy.
He pursued a wavering and inconstant course
down the sidewalk, timidly avoiding the feet of pass-
ing humans, and occasionally hurrying sidewise, in a
terrified sort of way, into the gutter. From his
neck dangled a bit of muddy string, which was the
only indication that he had come from anywhere in
particular.
At the corner of one of the cross streets, where a
double row of the big, square human ant hills
MAGINNIS 53
stretched down toward the west, with fire escapes
like iron spider webs along their fronts, there was a
congestion of traffic. A big human creature of
some sort stepped hastily back to avoid a collision
and kicked the calico pup in the ribs. The pup was
surprised into a little, high-pitched yelp, and darted
sideways into the legs of another human. Blindly
scurrying here and there he at last extricated him-
self and trotted wearily down the side street.
Here there seemed to be fewer people, and the
calico pup slackened his pace a bit and began snif-
fing at interesting looking small objects along the
way, for he was very hungry. He crossed timor-
ously one or two broad streets running north and
south, and at length caught the smell of the river.
The human ant hills began to appear smaller and
less elegant as he passed along, until he came to a
place where the road dipped down hill a little. The
street here was rather dirty, and the calico pup
found one or two unsavory morsels that he con-
sidered food.
Presently a crowd of noisy young humans spied
him, and setting up a yell dashed toward him. In a
panic the pup sped by as fast as his tired little legs
would carry him, his ears flopping and his eyes big
with fright. The young humans hurled a missile or
two and gave up the chase, but the pup fled on till
an open door caught his eye. Without considering
54 MAGINXIS
the consequences he swerved and bounded up three
stone steps and into a dark hallway.
Here a new peril assailed him; there seemed to
be no outlet beyond. But there was an interesting
smell of something to eat that whetted his curiosity
if it did not embolden his heart. Lifting inquiring
nostrils he made his way gingerly up a flight of dark,
narrow stairs to another hallway. But there was
nothing there; the smells seemed to come from be-
hind a closed door. He trotted down the hall and
came to the foot of another stairway. He placed
his forefeet on the lower step and stretched up his
head, sniffing noisily. Then a sound above startled
him and he hurried back. Down the narrow stairs
he made his way awkwardly, his absurd toe nails
making a thumping little clatter.
At the foot of the stairs he gave a great sigh and
started toward the door, when his little heart gave a
leap of terror; for seated on the stone step in the
doorway was a young human a very small hu-
man, to be sure blocking his only way of escape.
The calico pup was trapped.
The young human was a little boy of five or six,
with rumpled, tow-colored hair and very dirty hands
and face. One of his stockings had a great yawn-
ing hole in the knee, and the flesh that peeped
through was scratched and grimy. He was not a
robust little boy. His blue eyes were big and
MAGINNIS 55
sunken, and his cheeks were not round and rosy as
they should have been. His expression was solemn.
In his hand he held the end of a loaf of bread from
which he took an occasional bite.
The little boy heard the calico pup as he scrambled
down the stairs, and turned to see what it was. The
pup stood stock still in his alarm, and they regarded
each other suspiciously. The boy thrust his bread
under his jacket and the dog crouched abjectly.
At length the strain of the situation began to tell
on the pup, and he yawned tremulously, ending
with a little nervous whine. For some reason this
amused the little boy, and a half smile flashed across
his pale features.
" Puppy," said the little boy.
The calico pup did not reply, but he cocked his
ridiculous head a trifle, which brought a thin little
laugh from the child.
" Puppy-dog," said the little boy again, and he
stretched out an inviting hand.
This human did not look so terrible, after all, and
the dog stood up and cocked his head over farther
to one side. Still he did not dare advance. Then
the little boy broke off a piece of his bread a very
small piece and held it out. The pup sniffed, and
the end of his tail wiggled a little, but he had learned
caution in a hard school.
The little boy concluded that this was a game
5 6 MAGINNIS
worth while, and presently he tossed his piece of
bread to the pup. The dog sidled suspiciously to-
ward it, sniffed at it tentatively, gobbled it up, and
then sat up expectantly on his haunches, now and
then showing the end of a pink, moist tongue.
The child was delighted. He tossed another piece
of bread to the pup, and then another, until at length
he had coaxed him within reach. He put out his
hand, but the dog ducked and jumped back. Then
he broke off another piece of bread and held it out
enticingly. The dog cocked his head, licked his
chops, and lifted one front foot, but the child did
not throw him the bread. So he sidled cautiously
up, stretching his neck to its fullest extent, until his
nose touched the ambrosial dainty. There seemed
to be no trick about this, after all, and he gentlv
took the bread and devoured it.
It was not long before the pup was in the little
boy's lap, and they were eating the rest of the bread
together. When the last crumb had vanished the
puppy did not leap away, but placed his fore paws
on the child's breast and gave him a slobbery, canine
kiss on the cheek. The child gathered him impul-
sively in his arms and buried his face in the dog's
stiff, dusty coat. The compact of friendship was
sealed.
Presently the child arose, still holding the dog,
and struggled up the stairs. This time the pup did
MAGINNIS 57
not feel so frightened ; he did not try to escape. Up
two flights they went, and then paused before one of
the doors. Getting a new grip on his burden, the
little boy managed io turn the knob and push open
the door.
They passed through a room that was warm and
steamy and then into another which was very quiet.
There was a white bed in this room, with a long
mound under the blanket, and on the pillow there
was a white face, very thin and still. By the bed-
side sat a strange man, wearing round, black-rimmed
glasses, with a gold watch in his hand. Standing by
the foot of the bed was big, ferocious Mrs. O'Brien,
who lived on the floor below.
Mrs. O'Brien heard the little boy as he entered,
and turned upon him hurriedly. Her huge bulk
bore him out into the other room, and there she held
him with a fiery eye.
" Tommy Sweeney," she whispered hoarsely,
" did n't I tell ye Holy saints ! What have ye
there?"
" Thith ith," lisped Tommy, " thith ith Magin-
nith."
" Maginnis is ut ? Well, you take Maginnis
an' trun 'im out. We can't have no lousy mutts
around here now. Where did ye find the dirty
baste?"
" He corned," explained Tommy. " I want him."
58 MAGINNIS
. .
\Yell, ye can't have ''im. We 've trouble enough
here without havin' that dirty gutter pup around un-
der foot. Trim 'im out," and she wafted Tommy
and Maginnis before her to the door.
Tommy set the pup on the floor in the hallway
and stood regarding him ruefully. Maginnis
watched him with trustful eyes, his tail released
slightly and trying to wag. Then he lifted his fore
feet in a little half jump, whimpering softly as pup-
pies do. Tommy eyed the door for a moment re-
belliouslv. and then started toward the head of the
* *
stairs.
1 Come, Maginnith," he commanded, and the two
went clumping and scraping down the bare wooden
stairs.
At the outer door Tommy paused and cast an in-
quiring look up and down the street, Maginnis, at
his side, fixing a gaze of pleading adoration on the
child's smudgy face. The coast, fortunately, was
clear, and Tommy started down the street, with Ma-
ginnis frisking clumsily at his heels. He turned up
a narrow alley that he knew, and into an area behind
a saloon. And here Tommy and Maginnis played a
long game of their own devising, and the pup discov-
ered that he possessed a joyful little bark.
That afternoon an ambulance came and carried
Tommv's mother awav, and Mrs. O'Brien took
* / ^
Tommy in to live with her. Tommy did not like
MAGINNIS 59
this, and he had a feeling that he was not wholly wel-
come, so he troubled Mrs. O'Brien with his presence
as little as possible.
He had great difficulty in persuading Maginnis not
to follow him into the house, and after supper he
stole down to find the pup lying patiently in the
lower hall. Tommy was wise beyond his years in
the ways of the street in which he lived, and he knew
this would never do. So, with a piece of meat and a
bit of bread, he enticed Maginnis back to the area
behind the saloon, and then hastily retreated, placing
a couple of boards across the opening into the nar-
row alley, so that Maginnis could not get out. Shrill
and piteous protests pursued Tommy on his way
back to Mrs. O'Brien's, and hot tears washed little
paths down his cheeks, but he felt that he had acted
for the best.
Next morning Tommy hastened to the rendezvous
with a portion of his breakfast which he had se-
creted, and the greeting of Maginnis was joyous be-
yond words. There they played at their strange
games all the forenoon, and there Maginnis made his
home for many days, with his bed on a wad of ex-
celsior in an old box in the corner of the yard.
Sometimes a fat man in a white apron appeared at
the back door of the saloon, but he smiled and called
Tommy " kiddo," and did not drive Maginnis away.
Sometimes he even threw things out that were good
60 MAGINNIS
to eat. He seemed to be an unusually kind sort of
man.
But by-and-by there came a day when Tommy did
not appear. All the forenoon Maginnis waited pa-
tiently at the barricade for his playmate, and all the
afternoon, crying a little some of the time. He was
very lonely, and the things the man in the white
apron threw out somehow did not seem to taste so
good. He went to bed in his box that night with a
heavy heart. Next day Tommy did not come,
either, nor the next, nor the next, and Maginnis for-
got entirely that he had a joyous little bark, and his
tail drooped back between his legs.
Tommy Sweeney, meanwhile, had become, tech-
nically, an orphan. For the white-faced woman
had died quietly in a big hospital early one morn-
ing; and there never had been any father in
Tommy's family so far as any one knew. Mrs.
O'Brien tried to explain this to Tommy, and suc-
ceeded in frightening him into docility.
A policeman came and took Tommy away to a
building with two green gas lamps in front of it.
They ascended the steps and passed into a big room
where a man in a blue coat with brass buttons sat on
a platform behind a desk. The policeman explained
about Tommy to the man behind the desk who turned
and pressed a button. It was all rather frightful.
A woman in a white apron came and took Tommy
MAGINNIS 61
upstairs. She washed his face and hands and
combed his hair and told him not to cry.
By-and-by the woman came again and took
Tommy downstairs. There was a man waiting for
him there a youngish sort of man with a black
mustache. The man smiled at Tommy.
; What is your name, young man? " he asked.
" Tommy Thweeney."
" Well, you 're going with me, Tommy," said the
man. " I 'm going to take you to a place where
there are other little boys and girls, and you will
have good things to eat, and new clothes, and a
shiny white bed to sleep in. How will you like
that ? "
" Yeth, thir," replied Tommy.
" Then," continued the man, " perhaps if you 're
good you will be taken out to the country to live,
where there '11 be lots of fun playing with other chil-
dren. Do you know about the country ? :
" Jerthey ? " asked Tommy.
" Well, something like Jersey," said the man.
" Thure," said Tommy.
So the man took Tommy to another building
on another street a tall brick building. Here
Tommy's name was written in another book and an-
other lady in a white apron and a white cap and long
white cuffs took Tommy up in an elevator. Tommy
liked the elevator, and everybody smiled at him and
62 MAGINNIS
called him " young man," so he began to lose a little
of his fear.
After Tommy had been in the shelter for a good
many days, and had begun to get well enough ac-
quainted with other little boys to tell them about
Maginnis, he was taken in a railroad train a long
way from the city to a place where a big building
stood with trees around it and a lot of smaller houses
and buildings not far away. The trees were all red
and brown and yellow, and the air was quite chilly,
but Tommy had warm clothes now and did n't mind.
In fact, he was quite comfortable and happy, for his
pale mother had been away from home or sick so
much that he scarcely missed her now. He was
very young, you know, and did not understand about
family ties. What he did understand, though, was
the heart warmth that a glad little bark can bring,
the great peace that comes when a little wet nose is
pushed up under your chin. So Tommy cried a
little in the morning sometimes when he woke up
and remembered.
Tommy was given to a gray-haired lady that was
almost as big around as Mrs. O'Brien, but not nearly
so fierce. In fact, she was a very gentle lady, and
she kissed twenty little boys good night when she
put them to bed. Tommy and the gray-haired lady
and the other little boys lived together in one of the
cottages near the big buildings. In the other cot-
MAGINNIS 63
tages there lived other groups of boys and girls of
different ages. In a big barn were horses and cows
and pigs; but in all this whole village of houses
there was not a single little dog to play with not
one. The managers of our great orphanages are
doing wonderful things in these days, but they still
'have much to learn.
So Tommy kept one thing in his heart that pre-
vented him from being entirely happy. Otherwise
it was pleasant enough. When the weather got
colder warm coats and caps and mittens and rubbers
came from somewhere, and there were great times
in the playground after the snow fell. Then there
was a wonderful room in the big building where
Tommy went for a little while each day, and where
all sorts of kindergarten lessons were taught and
wonderful things were done with paper and scissors
and blocks and a blackboard.
Visitors came sometimes to this place in motor
cars. One lady, who wore very black, glossy fur,
came to Tommy's cottage quite often, and one day
she talked with Tommy. She was a beautiful lady
with a soft voice and sweet smells about her, and her
fingers lay on Tommy's head in an extraordinarily
pleasant manner. I forgot to say that Tommy's
cheeks had become round and pink, and a sparkle
had come into his blue eyes; also he was always
washed and combed and brushed now, and seldom
64 MAGINNIS
had smutches on his cheeks. All this seemed to
please the lady.
Next time she came she stopped at the big brick
building only for a moment, and then had the chauf-
feur drive her right over to the cottage where
Tommy lived. The chauffeur wore furs too, and
sat up on the front seat like a picture of a bear.
Tommy watched him from the window.
The large, gray-haired matron brought Tommy
down to talk with the lady. She lifted him to her
knee and smoothed back his hair with very soft
hands, and they became very friendly indeed.
Tommy grew quite confidential and told the lady all
he could remember about the street he had lived in
and the fire escapes and Mrs. O'Brien and the pale
mother who was sick so much and the fat man with
the white apron. He kept putting off telling her
about Maginnis, because a lump came into his throat
whenever he tried.
The lady saw there was something else to tell, and
finally she drew it out of him.
" An' the fat man thwowed thingth an' Magin-
nith yumped. An' he whithled like when I put the
board up. An' we wunned up an' down an' Magin-
nith thaid 'wa! wa! wa!' An' " But Tommy
could tell no more. His lower lip was trembling
and his eyes were all watery. The lady put her arm
around his shoulders and drew him closer, and he
MAGINNIS 65
put his face right down in the glossy black furs and
cried.
When that was over, Tommy felt a great peace
stealing over him. It was good to be in this lady's
arms. He looked up into her face. There were
tears in her lovely eyes, too. Tommy was quite
surprised.
' Did you ever thee Maginnith? " he asked.
" No/' admitted the lady, " I never actually saw
Maginnis."
Next time Tommy's lady came it was after Sun-
day school and there was a man with her. He had
a red face and bright, black eyes, and said " Hm !
Hm ! ' a great deal. But he seemed more embar-
rassed than anything else, and he and the pretty lady
appeared to be very fond of each other. He was
not the sort of man to frighten one. They both
talked to Tommy, but the lady did most of the talk-
ing. At the door, as they were going, the lady
asked the gentleman a question that Tommy could
not hear.
" Sure," the man responded. " Seems to be a
normal sort of a little beggar." The lady seemed
quite satisfied with that.
Well, the lady came again in a few days and took
Tommy away in the automobile. Tommy was
rather sorry to leave the gray-haired matron and the
other children, but the lady asked him quite frankly
66 MAGINNIS
if he would like to go and live with her, and he was
forced to admit that he would.
They went a long way in the automobile and the
lady had plenty of time to tell him of lots of nice
things he was to have. The lady was to be his
mother, it seemed, and he was to have a sunny room
all his own to play in, with white rabbits and black
cats and pink pigs and roosters of all colors on the
wall. He was to have a great, big box full of tin
soldiers in blue and red coats, and a man that sawed
wood when you wound him up, and a train of cars
on a track, and blocks to build a church with, and -
and a little brown dog with a short nose and a short
tail and a round head.
Tommy looked up quickly at the lady, and his lip
trembled, but he said nothing. The lady did n't say
anything more, either, but she took his hand and
patted it a little. She seemed to understand.
So that is the end of the story of Tommy
Sweeney. He went to live in a beautiful home
where he had everything heart could desire. He
grew strong and happy and very, very fond of the
pretty lady and the red- faced gentleman. Fortune
certainly smiled on Tommy Martin, nee Sweeney.
Also it was very pleasant for the little brown dog
with the round head.
But what of Maginnis, the calico pup? He did
MAGINNIS 67
not suffer much in the area way, for he had a warm
place to sleep in and more or less to eat, but there
are other pains than those of the flesh. He felt ut-
terly forsaken and heart-broken, and when he found
the barrier down one morning he crawled over it
and slunk out to the street. He turned to the left
and trotted along, keeping close to the buildings,
till he came to the doorway where he had first found
Tommy Sweeney and his bread.
Maginnis sniffed about the stone steps, but dis-
covered no friendly scent. He entered the doorway
and went up the flight of stairs to Mrs. O'Brien's
floor, where he found the smell of cooking but noth-
ing else. On the floor above he found odors so
strange that fear seized him again and he hurried
back to the street, quite convinced that his playfellow
had departed forever.
He turned and trotted up the sidewalk without
any particular purpose, sniffing hopelessly at various
objects as he passed along. He crossed one or two
broad streets, hurrying aimlessly along between the
human ant hills that were now becoming more ele-
gant, till he came to the great thoroughfare through
which the traffic of the world even then was passing.
All along the cross street humans had been coming
out of doorways and here at the corner there were
so many of them, and they seemed so hurried and so
terrible, that Maginnis turned fearfully back. The
68 MAGINNIS
area was better than this; it was at least safe.
So he retraced his steps, crossing the broad streets
amid grave perils, till he reached the corner of his
own and Tommy's block. He had forgotten all
about the savage mob of young humans that had as-
saulted him the day he arrived, but they were there.
One of them set up a cry that he imagined to be an
imitation of the yelp of a dog. Another savage
rushed at Maginnis with outstretched hands and a
look of fiendish glee on his face.
Thoroughly panic-stricken, Maginnis dashed
blindly out into the street, to find himself hopelessly
lost in a forest of great rolling and stamping things.
He tried to turn to avoid a big brown horse, and
something struck him and knocked him over. One
short yelp of pain and fright escaped him, and then
the wheel of a thundering truck rolled over him,
leaving a poor, crushed, unlovely carcass in the
street.
The young savages stepped into the road as soon
as opportunity offered, with apparently some ill-de-
fined intention regarding the remains, but the police-
man, happening along, dispersed them. With his
big foot he pushed the stiffening body of the calico
pup up to the curb, and went off to telephone to the
Board of Health.
*
The high court of judgment was convened in the
MAGINNIS 69
Dogs' Heaven. Hundreds of dog angels gathered
to witness the proceedings canine heroes, the good
and great ones of all time. There were Beautiful
Joe and Rip Van Winkle's Wolf, Patrasche, the dog
of Flanders, big Rab, and even Mother Hubbard's
poor dog. There were Sir Walter Scott's favorite
Camp, J. G. Holland's Blanco, Enos A. Mills's
Scotch, Robert Hichens's Whisper, and John Muir's
brave little Stikeen. At one side stood Jack Lon-
don's terrible White Fang, as a sort of sergeant-at-
arms. Grouped in a semi-circle stood the heroes of
the hospice of St. Bernard, and on the high judge's
seat was the St. Bernard Barry who had saved forty
lives of men. On his right sat faithful Gelert, and
on his left Greyfriars Bobby. In front, Bob, Son oi
Battle, sat with the Book of Record, and great
gate of Heaven was guarded by Old Dog Tray.
Presently a little scratching was barely audible
without, and there was silence and a pricking up of
ears. Old Dog Tray lowered his muzzle and sniffed
at the threshold. Again came the timid scratching.
Tray turned his head and Judge Barry nodded.
Rising on his hind feet Tray swung open the pon-
derous portal, and there entered, with awed hesita-
tion, the shade of a little, piebald pup, with wonder-
ing, frightened eyes and a long, crooked tail tucked
between his legs.
The big door clanged shut and the little stranger
70 MAGINNIS
stood cowering in the midst of the august assem-
blage. His eyes roved about in dumb pleading.
What was this new danger that threatened him?
Was the harassed little spirit admitted here to be
torn asunder by White Fang and his powerful com-
panions ? The calico pup sank back in the crouch of
fear.
: The name," demanded Judge Barry in his deep
voice.
" Maginnis," read Bob, Son of Battle, from his
book. ' Mongrel ; ten months old ; slain by a motor
truck."
" And the charges against him ? '
Oor Bob turned the page and read : " On Sep-
tember 4, 1913, stole one smoked herring from a box
in tL - e ]1 .oorway of a grocery store on upper Broad-
way, N r ^w York."
' Any others? " asked Judge Barry.
" No others," answered Bob.
* Are any virtues recorded ? '
'/ One," replied Bob. " He loved a little boy."
There was a pause, and some of the great dogs
cast meaning glances at one another, as though they
understood about little boys.
" Is that all the history recorded ? ' asked the
judge.
That is all the history recorded," said Bob, Son
of Battle, and added, " He was very young."
MAGINNIS 71
Judge Barry consulted for a moment in a gruff
undertone with Gelert and Greyfriars Bobby, and
all the court waited in silence. The little calico pup
watched the great St. Bernard with eyes of plaintive
inquiry. Presently the judge spoke.
" The Court finds," said he, " that the virtues of
Maginnis outweigh his faults. He is therefore ad-
mitted to Heaven."
V
Then a wonderful thing happened to Maginnis.
Old Dog Tray, who had been standing beside him,
turned and licked the notched ear. Bob, Son of
Battle, laid down his book, and came forward with
friendly, wagging tail. Then came all the high
court, the St. Bernards and the heroes of song and
story, to offer their congratulations Newfound-
lands, collies, mastiffs, and Great Danes. Even
Barry and the two associate judges descended from
the dais and favored him with friendly caresses.
Little Maginnis, at first amazed and terrified, soon
perceived that all the great conclave was bent upon
being friendly. His tail came out from between his
legs and began to wag violently; he could hardly
keep his fore feet on the ground. Then, with a
bark of unrestrained delight he went bounding off
across the Elysian fields, with little Stikeen and a
romping spaniel, a disembodied spirit of pure joy,
the spirit of one who had loved and had done no
wrong, for of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.
THE MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA
THE MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA
IF Antony Spatola had gone blind all at once,
without warning, he would no doubt have been
swept into an emotional tempest and have ended his
life in some dramatic manner. As it was, he al-
lowed himself the luxury of recurrent fits of wild
terror and deepest melancholy, but they did not end
fatally. The periods between ravings and silence
were marked by irritability of temper and bitterness.
For the blindness came gradually, leaving him no
courage for self-slaughter nor any good reason for
being pleasant.
Antony had never been sweet tempered. That
was one of the reasons why he had not prospered.
When a lady takes a brooch to a jeweler to be
mended, she does not like to be scolded for buying
cheap workmanship. Antony, in fact, did not like
ladies and he took but little pains to conceal his
animosity.
Another cause for the dull progress of his com-
mercial career was an overpowering aversion for
work in the early hours of the day. This was usu-
ally dissipated by noon, but seldom before that.
75
76 MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA
Customers would come in the forenoon to inquire
for promised work only to find it unfinished and
Antony in his shirtsleeves sitting before his shop
door, his hands clasped over an unlovely rotundity
that was generally concealed by the counter. The
vision was not alluring, neither were the lowering
looks and rumbling grunts which formed his an-
swers to inquiries. Some people even went so far
as to fear Antony Spatola in this mood.
Antony blamed his ill success upon the American
inability to appreciate good workmanship.
' In one t'ousand watchmakers in this coun-
try," he would say, ' in one t'ousand watchmakers
there are four masters only. There was one other,
but he died, an old man. I knew him. There are
now three beside myself. These people do not un-
derstand. They do not know good work when they
see it. Everything of the cheapest they must have.
What will it cost? What will it cost? Ha!"
And he would raise his palms and eyes toward
Heaven.
That he was a true craftsman was not to be gain-
said, and when slowly darkness fell and he could no
longer see clearly through the little magnifying glass
thrust into his eye, his despair was deep and genu-
ine. No longer to handle watch wheels and jewelry,
delicate gold filigree and precious stones, to make
and to mend and to set right, this meant the end of
MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA 77
life for Antony Spatola. No wonder he stormed
and grieved by turns.
At least he was not left alone. In fact, Antony
was rather oversupplied with family, due largely to
the amazing vitality of the tall, ample, dark-eyed
woman to whom, after a passionate wooing long
ago, he had been married. There were twelve of
them in all or was it thirteen ? It was a mercy
that some of them had grown old enough to leave
home, for there were still plenty of young ones left
to get about under foot. Only Loretta seemed
worth while heavy- featured, witless Loretta
whom men did not desire. For in spite of her slow-
moving brain she had managed to learn enough to
help her mother with the children and the manifold
duties of the little household behind the shop, and
even to attend upon customers when the need arose.
And Loretta's heart was warm and sound.
When the blackness at last closed in upon Antony
and work could no longer be accepted from cus-
tomers, Mrs. Spatola and Loretta went carefully
over the stock and the books and came to an inevi-
table conclusion. The amount of business trans-
acted in the retailing of watches and jewelry was
quite inadequate to pay their rent, not to mention the
purchase of food for a hungry family.
Antony's capable wife did not hesitate. She
moved his chair to a sunny spot in the area outside
78 MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA
the back door, sold out the stock and fixtures to their
rival at the corner, and in five davs had converted
Antony Spatola's shop and jewelry establishment
into a fruit store.
The townsfolk gasped at the suddenness of the
transformation. The dingy gilt watch was removed
from its place over the door and from the hook was
suspended a huge bunch of red bananas. A pol-
ished copper peanut roaster whistled just outside.
In the windows appeared orderly piles of golden
oranges and rosy apples, where alarm clocks and
watch fobs and brooches had formerly been dis-
played. Within the shop crates and boxes and
barrels of berries, fruits, and nuts lined the walls,
and Mrs. Spatola donned a white apron as proprie-
tress, with Loretta as first assistant.
Antony rebelled mildly at the change, but he could
not see it and only grumbled ineffectually. Loretta
patted his shoulder and said, " We have a fine store,
papa. We shall make good money."
Next to Loretta, blind Antony's solace was Gypsy,
a wire-haired fox terrier that Izzolo the cobbler had
brought to him ten years before as a fuzzy puppy.
Gypsy's mother had been all things to Izzolo, and
when the cobbler had left for the West he brought
the puppy to his compatriot with the tears of fare-
well in his eyes, vowing eternal friendship, and they
had never heard from him again.
MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA 79
At first Gypsy had been an unmitigated nuisance
about the place, and Antony drove him into the back
rooms with hoarse roarings a dozen times a day.
But as he grew older he wriggled his absurd way
into the watchmaker's heart and found one of its
few tender spots. Now he was old, as a terriers
life is reckoned, and glad enough to spend his days
beside the blind man in the sunny spot outside the
back door. He had no more interest in the fruit
business than had his master.
" Gyp, are you there ? ' ' Antony would cry when
the darkness grew too much for him, and the little
dog would arouse himself stiffly and, stretching,
place his forepaws on his master's knee.
" Up," Antony would command, and Gypsy, the
spring gone out of him, would clamber laboriously
up, with much scratching of his hind paws for a
foothold, and compose himself as comfortably as
might be on the inadequate lap.
Then Antony would talk to him, sometimes of the
sunny fields and vineyards of Italy, or of Milan and
the old watchmaker who had taught him his trade;
but more often he would pour into the dog's sympa-
thetic ears his woes and grievances, which were
many. And Gypsy would raise his brows and look
up adoringly into the puffy face and sightless eyes.
He never knew that Antony was a misanthrope or
that he was blind; he only rejoiced that a kindly fate
80 MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA
had so disposed matters that his master was able to
spend much time with him in the sunshine now that
his legs were stiff and rheumatic and his teeth
troublesome.
Under these circumstances it is difficult to imagine
what possessed old Gypsy to stray out upon the street
during the noon hour and allow himself to be run
down by an automobile. Doubtless it was a merci-
ful death, for it was prompt and conclusive and
Gypsy's remaining days bade fair to be few at best
and full of suffering. His old ears gave him no
warning nor his old legs any chance for escape;
the great, crushing thing bore down upon him
swiftly and his loyal spirit escaped without a
struggle.
Loretta, who was in the store while the family
were at dinner, rushed out wild-eyed and gasping
and caught the poor, muddy little form to her breast.
Weeping hysterically she bore it in and laid it beside
the melons and tomatoes, moaning over it and rock-
ing back and forth upon her knees.
Mrs. Spatola's quick ear caught the unusual
sound and she hastened in.
; Hush ! ' she cried, taking in the situation at a
glance. " Do not let your father hear. He must
not know. Ah, poor little Gypsy! A curse on all
automobiles! Hush, you fool! Don't make so
much noise. We will bury him to-night, poor old
MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA 81
Gypsy. But your father must not know. He would
go mad."
But Antony had to know, of course. At least,
he had to know that no pattering feet answered his
call and no moist little nose sought his hand.
" Where is that Gyp ? ' he roared. " Have you
shut him up somewhere ? What have you done with
him ? Send him to me ! '
So they took counsel together and told him that
Gypsy had strayed away and would doubtless soon
be back.
" It 's a lie ! " shouted the blind man. " Make no
jokes with me. Some one has tied him up. He
never goes away. You are making jokes with me
because I cannot see." His voice trailed off into a
plaintive whine.
For another day they kept up the deception with
him and he rapidly became unbearable. Customers
coming into the store heard him raving and turned
inquiring eyes upon Loretta and her mother.
' It is the dog Gypsy he wants," explained Mrs.
Spatola in lowered tones. " An automobile killed
him and Antony does not know. He will go
mad."
That evening an idea came to the half-crazed mind
of Loretta. It was not a prudent idea, for Loretta
was not gifted with wisdom. It was an idea born
of desperation and the intolerable tension that un-
82 MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA
settled the Spatola household. After nightfall she
pinned a shawl about her throat and stole out.
Half a mile or more south of the center of the
town there is a fine old Colonial mansion with white
pillars along its front, standing a hundred yards
back from the road at the end of a magnificent ave-
nue of elm trees. Huge green balls of century-old
box guard the house entrance and about the grounds
there are plantings of shrubbery and evergreens.
At some distance behind are the kitchen garden and
greenhouse, the gardener's cottage and garage, the
stables, and the long, low building where dwell in
luxury the aristocratic dogs of Miss Harriet Or-
monde under the care of Bodley, the English kennel-
man.
You have doubtless seen Miss Ormonde's photo-
graph in the Sunday papers with her fluffy, choco-
late-colored Pomeranian, Frou-Frou, in her arms.
And if you follow the news of the dog fancy you
know all about her fox and Scottish terriers.
Of these the most marvelous is the wire-haired
fox terrier Champion Rodney II, known from coast
to coast, whose blue ribbons and silver trophies
would fill his comfortable kennel. On one occasion
Rodney achieved that highest of all canine honors:
he was adjudged the best of all breeds at Madison
Square Garden.
In spite of all this Rodney is no snob. At the
The wire-haired
blue ribbons and
kennel
fox terrior Champion Rodney II, whose
silver trophies would fill his comfortable
MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA 85
bench shows he is greedy of attention and will beg
for the caress of the casual visitor as eagerly as your
own Duke or Fido begs for his lump of sugar. And
in the streets of his own town he is a well known
character, riding with his mistress when she goes to
do her marketing and showing a most democratic
desire to leap out and form the acquaintance of un-
classified dogs-about-town.
Often Loretta had seen him when Miss Ormonde
came in for fruit. In her eyes he was the counter-
part of Gypsy, though show judges might have
formed a different opinion. For Gypsy was inclined
to legginess and his ears were not according to the
standard; but Loretta observed only the bright eyes
and wiry coat of Rodney and understood why Miss
Ormonde loved him.
Loretta now remembered Rodney, and the
thought of him took the form of a resolve in her
queerly ordered mind. Rodney was needed for the
peace of the Spatola household. As Rebekah had
deceived Isaac with Jacob, when the blind old man
sought hairy Esau, so would Loretta deceive her
father with the shaggy back and moist nose of Rod-
ney.
She made her way stealthily along the Ormonde
fence and into the yard, keeping in the shadows of
the trees and behind the rhododendrons and spireas.
Fortune favored Loretta, for the dogs had not yet
86 MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA
been chained for the night and Bodley was some-
where indoors. Skirting the house and service yard
she at length found herself, panting with fear and
excitement, beside the greenhouse and the long row
of kennels.
She gave a low whistle and made a little kissing
sound with her lips. Rodney, the friendliest of all
the Ormonde dogs, came trotting up expectantly, his
short tail wagging rapidly, closely followed by
waddling, solemn- faced Macbeth, the grizzled Scot-
tish terrier.
Loretta held out a trembling hand and Rodney
came up to her without hesitation. She picked him
up eagerly, saying little soft, crooning things to him,
and started back into the shadows.
At this Macbeth gave voice to a loud, deep bark
of alarm, quite out of proportion to his size, and the
other dogs, catching the tone of it, joined in a vigor-
ous chorus. Bodley, who, from long association
with dogs, knew something of their language, came
hurrying up from somewhere, anxious to learn the
cause of the commotion.
Loretta, catching sight of him in the half light of
the open space in front of the kennels, crouched
breathless behind a clump of shrubbery, hugging
Rodney desperately to her bosom. The dog, in pro-
test against the unnecessary pressure, let out a sharp
bark. His quick-eared companions answered
MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA 87
vociferously, and Bodley started toward her, peering
sharply into the darkness.
Loretta did not wait to be caught lurking there.
In a panic she started across the lawn toward the
gate, clasping more tightly her precious burden.
Again the terrier spoke and Bodley, catching sight
of her rapidly moving figure, gave chase. He
took a more direct route to the gate and headed her
off.
Loretta, finding her exit blocked, stopped in terror,
awaiting his threatening approach. She had not
prepared herself to cope with such a situation.
Bodley, seeing it was a \voman, unclenched his
fists and strode up to her.
" What are you doing with that dog?' he de-
manded.
She did not reply, nor could he wring any word
from her.
" You '11 talk later," said he, seizing her by the
arm. " Come with me. I shall telephone for a
policeman."
Loretta, her knees nearly giving way beneath her,
offered no resistance but suffered herself to be led
up to the big house. They stood outside on the
porch, Loretta still holding the dog as though her
life depended upon it, while a maid hastened to fetch
Miss Ormonde.
That lady was inclined to be severe. She ques-
88 MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA
tioned Loretta angrily, her indignation not softened
by the culprit's refusal to make answer. Suddenly
she reached out to take the now quiet Rodney into
her own arms. Loretta instinctively tightened her
hold, but Bodley seized her wrist and she was forced
to relinquish her prize. Then she sank in a grace-
less, pathetic heap on the piazza floor and burst into
loud and uncontrolled sobbing.
Miss Ormonde, annoyed and perplexed, allowed
her attention to be diverted from Rodney, and the
warm-hearted little dog leaped from her arms and
walked up to Loretta, his quick sympathies touched
by her obvious grief. Placing his forepaws on her
shoulder he tentatively licked her ear, and Loretta,
not knowing what she did, put out one hand and laid
it gently on his sturdy little back.
Miss Ormonde stooped down and tried to peer
into Loretta's face.
" You are Spatola's girl," said she.
Loretta nodded her head.
" Why did you try to steal Rodney? " asked Miss
Ormonde.
" For papa," replied Loretta chokingly. " He is
blind, and he goes mad for Gypsy."
"For Gypsy?"
Yes, he was killed by an automobile. Papa
does not know yet. We needed another dog so
that he would not know and would not go mad."
MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA 89
" Go home," said Miss Ormonde, rising. " I
know who she is," she added to Bodley. " The mat-
ter can wait till to-morrow."
Loretta rose quickly and scuffled off down the
gravel walk, her shoulders still heaving convul-
sively.
In the morning Miss Ormonde's car drew up be-
fore the fruit store and the lady alighted. Mrs.
Spatola came to the doorway, a haggard look in
her fine dark eyes.
1 Did your girl tell you what happened last
night?' inquired Miss Ormonde.
Mrs. Spatola shook her head. " I only know she
is half crazy," she said. " We shall soon be a mad-
house here."
A small Spatola came toddling out from the back
room, and stood gazing up at the lady with big,
liquid eyes from the protection of his mother's
skirts.
' Antony is blind," continued the Italian woman.
' Perhaps you knew. Now he goes mad because
Gypsy his little dog is dead and does not come to
him."
The voice of Antony Spatola could be heard mak-
ing its sonorous complaints in the rear.
' May I see him? " asked Miss Ormonde.
Mrs. Spatola hesitated, but the lady walked past
her, through the two small rooms behind the store,
90 MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA
redolent with garlic, and out where Antony sat, un-
tidy and grumbling, in his chair.
" Good morning, Mr. Spatola," said Miss Or-
monde.
Her voice was half familiar but aroused no inter-
est in him.
" Morning," said he, gruffly. His wife and Lor-
etta and one or two children stood grouped in the
doorway, looking on wonderingly.
You are waiting for Gypsy? " inquired the visi-
tor.
Antony looked up eagerly. " Yes, yes ! " he cried,
" I have called him and he does not come. I can-
not see and I do not know where they have hid him
from me."
Miss Ormonde stood thoughtfully silent for
a moment.
" Gypsy will not come any more," she said quietly.
" He is dead."
A gasping cry escaped Loretta, and Mrs. Spatola
hurriedly crossed herself. Antony half rose from
his chair, his sightless eyes staring horribly.
" Dead? Dead? " he cried. Then he sank back,
growling in his throat. ' It is a lie ! You are mak-
ing bad jokes with me."
' No, it is true," asserted Miss Ormonde quietly.
" He was killed by an automobile. He will not
come any more. It is best you should know."
MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA 91
" Dead ! ' cried Antony in despair. " Why did
they not tell me ? ' and he broke off into plaintive
Italian. Great tears formed in his blind eyes and
rolled down his puffy, unshaven cheeks. Miss Or-
monde bit her lips.
Wait a moment/' said she, and turned back into
the house.
1 He will not go mad now," she assured the
frightened wife and daughter. " He would have
had to know some time. It would have done no
good to try to deceive him with another dog, for he
could have told the difference. Rodney is livelier
than old Gypsy," she added, turning to Loretta.
1 He would have known at once. No two dogs are
alike and the blind have shrewd fingers."
Then she went back through the store to her
car, leaving them standing in silent bewilder-
ment.
Presently she returned, bearing in her arms a black
and white terrier. It was not Rodney, for Rodney
was worth a thousand dollars and was the pride of
his mistress's heart. It was Bowker, a litter brother
of Rodney's, who had developed a body too long and
a muzzle too short for the show bench, but who had
inherited from his high-born parents much of his
brother's winsomeness of character. And because
he had been such an adorable little imp of a puppy,
Miss Ormonde had kept him,
92 MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA
" Come," she said, " let us see what effect Bowker
has upon him."
They passed back through the garlic-scented
rooms again to where Antony sat in deepest gloom,
his chin sunk upon his breast. Silently Miss Or-
monde placed the terrier on the blind man's knees.
Antony's head came up with a jerk and a sudden
light came into his face. He laid his sensitive,
skilful hands upon the dog's back and head, felt of
his paws, his ears, his nose. Then a red flash of
wrath spread quickly over his countenance and he
pushed Bowker roughly off upon the ground.
" You cannot fool me ! " cried Antony in a rage.
" You cannot make jokes with me. I cannot see,
but I can tell. That is not Gypsy."
" No," responded Miss Ormonde, " that is not
Gypsy, for Gypsy is dead. But it is a dog very like
Gypsy. He could take Gypsy's place, perhaps."
But Antony would have none of it. He rumbled
out his bilingual objurgations while his visitor waited
patiently for the storm to subside.
Bowker, meanwhile, unaccustomed to such re-
pulses as he had received, sat upon his haunches and
gazed up in pained surprise at this strange, big,
frightful man, cocking his head a little at the hoarse
tones of his voice. Then, his native curiosity get-
ting the better of him, he stood up and cautiously
approached. The man did nothing except emit
MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA 93
noises. Bowker came closer and sniffed tentatively
at his trouser legs. He detected something of ab-
sorbing interest there. A man who smells of dog is
to be neither feared nor hated.
Bowker lifted his nose and sniffed higher. Then,
very gently, he raised himself on his hind legs and
placed his forepaws on Antony's knee, looking up in-
quiringly into the blind eyes.
The rumbling died out in Antony's throat.
Slowly he raised a groping hand and rested it for a
moment on the dog's paws. A little moist tongue
came out and touched it. Antony's hand sought
the hard little head and then traveled slowly, hesi-
tatingly down the shaggy neck.
Bowker gave a quick spring and landed on An-
tony's knees, sniffing eagerly at his vest. Then,
with disconcerting suddenness, he lifted his
pert little head and caught Antony under the fat
chin with his cold, bewhiskered nose. Antony drew
back his head with a grunt that was almost a chuckle,
and Bowker boldly stood up with his paws on An-
tony's shoulder and sniffed at his ear.
Not ungently the blind watchmaker took the mis-
chievous head and drew it back to a spot less tick-
lish. Bowker sank down with a contented little
sigh, and fearsome Antony wrapped his arms about
him and, forgetful of his audience, bent down and
kissed the little rascal impulsively between the eyes.
94 MADNESS OF ANTONY SPATOLA
Silently Miss Ormonde drew Loretta and her
mother within the doorway. Mrs. Spatola turned
passionately to her and seized her hand.
" God and Mary bless you! " she cried.
Miss Ormonde did not answer. She only smiled
a little tremulously and patted Loretta's shoulder,
and then hurried back through the store, fearful lest
they observe what was in her eyes.
JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK
JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK
THE doors of Madison Square Garden had
closed at the end of the first day of the big
show. Elegantly gowned women and men bearing
baskets and hampers were hurrying downstairs from
the toy dog section. Ying Tow, Mrs. Du Pout's
idol-faced Pekingese, was giving his mistress no lit-
tle concern by reason of a touch of hoarseness in his
voice. He had been protesting all day in his sharp
little falsetto bark against confinement and unwel-
come attentions. Mrs. Du Pont took him out of his
basket and carried him in her arms; whereat sixty-
four nervous Irish terriers set up a tremendous din,
and strained at their fastenings as though famished
for a taste of Chinese blood.
Here and there a solicitous owner led out his
favorite on a leash, causing vociferous envy among
his rivals. The Airedale Ortheris came within strik-
ing distance of the Irish setter O'Hara's Duke, and
created wild commotion by lunging at the glossy, red-
brown throat.
Then the lights were turned low, and there was a
lessening of the racket. The old-timers were al-
ready sound asleep on their straw and cedar shav-
97
98 JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK
ings. Champion Dolly, the pure white and much
powdered English bull, who had become quite blase
toward blue ribbons, lay snoring loudly through her
punched-in nose. Prince Rupert, the lordly Great
Dane, gave voice to one booming protest, and
thumped down in his narrow quarters.
The attendants went about with pails of water,
filling the dishes. Little Emily, the coal-black
cocker, sat stiffly erect, holding her dish in her
teeth. This was not the only trick in Emily's pack ;
but she considered it her most effective one. Patsy,
the white bull terrier, stood with his fore feet on the
back of his stall and howled miserably for his de-
parted master.
Gradually the noise diminished to the low mutter-
ings of ordinary conversation, except for an occa-
sional bark here and there, and the ill-timed insults
hurled back and forth by the impudent fox terriers,
especially the wire-haired bunch from Oak Park,
Illinois.
One of the occasional barks came from beneath
the silky ruff of young Sir Donald, a handsome sable
collie, who in four months had won eight points to-
ward the fifteen required for his championship, and
was naturally not a little set up about it. He was
promptly answered by the Laird o' Dundee, who had
been snappish and irritable all day.
" Oh, shut up ! " said the Laird.
JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK 99
" Rough-neck ! ' retorted Sir Donald in a man-
ner not at all creditable to his Brookline training.
The Laird was a bit out of coat this season, and
had n't got a smell at a ribbon. " Puppy ! ' he
growled, and curled up on his straw.
" Poor old Laird ! " laughed Sir Donald. " He '11
never see blue again."
" All the same," said pretty Lady Jane of Bryn
Mawr, Sir Donald's right-hand neighbor, " I think
the Laird is very distinguished looking. And they
say he was a great favorite at the Edinburgh show
two years ago. Perhaps our air does n't agree with
him."
' Something disagrees with him, that's sure.
They must have queer taste in Edinburgh."
" Well, he 's genuine Scotch," insisted Lady Jane.
" I love the way he burs his R's."
" Burs nothing ! ' retorted Sir Donald. " I un-
derstand he came from Glasgow, and no doubt he 's
got Lowland blood. He talks as if his mouth was
full of chicken bones. If you want to hear a genuine
bur, you ought to listen to Jock o' the Hills, a little
West Highland White they 've got at our kennels.
He 's a pleasant little old chap too ; but he says ' Gude
mor-r-rnin ' as if he was growling at the milkman."
Lady Jane laughed politely. She was proud to be
stationed next to aristocratic Sir Donald ; but she did
not wholly like him.
ioo JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK
On Sir Donald's left was the formidable entry of
the Valley Brook Kennels seven collies of royal
blood. As a whole they looked upon Sir Donald
and his somewhat vain loquacity with antagonism.
Somewhere down the line a voice was raised in
taunting challenge to the would-be sleepers. Sir
Donald answered in a tone of boisterous raillery.
Then up rose The Abbot, in the midst of the Valley
Brook group, and shook his chain.
* Look here, young feller ! " said he to Sir Donald.
' Let me give you a piece of advice. If you want to
look like a whipped mutt in the ring to-morrow, all
you 've got to do is to stay awake and keep up your
infernal yapping. And by the third day you '11 be
so on edge that you '11 be snapping at every lady that
wears furs. That will look real pretty for a blue
ribbon dandy, won't it ? :
Sir Donald subsided, a trifle abashed; but in the
face of Lady Jane he felt he must keep up his air of
bravado.
Who 's your majestic friend? " he asked of the
old tricolor at his left, who occupied the last place
on the Valley Brook bench.
Old Scotch raised his tan eyebrows a bit and
looked at Sir Donald, his nose resting on his paws.
"That's The Abbot," he replied tersely, "three
times a champion."
" And now a back number," grunted Sir Donald.
JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK 101
Old Scotch did not answer. He was a back num-
ber himself, and he knew it. But there was no wiser
dog in Madison Square Garden that night than Old
Scotch. Born in Scotland, he had been taken to
British Columbia when still a puppy and trained to
handle sheep. When only three years old he had
saved a baby from a burning cabin, and six months
later had brought his master to the aid of a stranger
who had fallen and broken his leg when shooting in
the mountains. That was why he had later come
back East with the hunter and had been given a
place of honor in the Valley Brook Kennels, where
his sagacity and advancing years had won for him
the place of a Nestor among the Valley Brook
collies.
Sir Donald knew nothing of this. He looked
upon Scotch as an amiable old scout, a bit too short
in the muzzle, too wide between the eyes, and too
heavy in the shoulders to qualify under the stand-
ard. He wondered why they should bench Old
Scotch at all.
Old Scotch had been regarding Sir Donald all
day, and though he deprecated the bumptiousness
of the novice, he could not help admiring the
fine young animal. All he needed was a little train-
ing.
Again the Laird o' Dundee lifted his voice down
the line, and again Sir Donald leaped to his feet and
102 JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK
answered. Then, at the farther end of the Valley
Brook bench, there rose a great blue merle, with a
wonderful head, and turned a pair of austere blue
eyes upon Sir Donald.
: That will do ! " said he, in a low tone that never-
theless reached Sir Donald's ears distinctly and left
him more humiliated than he had been when The
Abbot rebuked him. He slunk down and pretended
that he had decided to go to sleep. He did not look
at Lady Jane.
Presently Sir Donald turned his head a little to-
ward Old Scotch. " That was Champion Roderick
Dhu, was n't it ? " he asked.
" That was Roderick Dhu," replied Old Scotch,
just opening his eyes.
: They say he killed Rob Roy of Valley Brook
is that so? " asked Sir Donald.
' In a fair fight," returned Old Scotch loyally.
Sir Donald thrust out his head and took a good
look at Roderick. The big merle had curled up
again and was apparently fast asleep. On a card
above him was the word ' Reserve." Sir Donald
experienced an unusual feeling of respect not un-
mixed with wonder. Roderick Dhu did not look
tike a murderer.
Sir Donald drew back again and turned an in-
quiring eye upon Old Scotch.
The veteran was watching him with disconcerting
JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK 103
intentness. At length he asked, " Did you ever see
Rob Roy ? "
" No," replied Sir Donald meekly.
" Rob Roy," said Old Scotch, " was a sable, a
little heavier than you, and a little darker. He had
the head of a Prince and the heart of a wolf; but
the judges don't look for heart attributes, and so
Rob Roy got * Ch.' stuck in front of his name. He
was a fixture at the shows, and always attracted
much admiration on account of his fine head, which
he got from his mother, old Mary Queen of Scots.
His yellow streak he got from his father, Carlyle's
Tom, who was shot by a farmer in a sheep pasture.
This is the first year in six no, seven that Rob
Roy has n't been on his bench at the Westminster
show ; yet you are the only one I 've heard mention
his name. Now I 'm going to tell you about Rob
Roy, and then you '11 understand why he is n't
talked about by the collies of Valley Brook."
Sir Donald settled down, and Old Scotch crept as
far over as he could, so that Lady Jane might hear.
" Rob Roy was not a dull puppy ; but he was obsti-
nate. There were some things that he would not
learn. For one thing, he would steal dinners. No
matter how much there was in his own dish, he per-
sisted in sneaking the choicest bits out of the others.
Of course that won't do in kennels like ours. We
have to have peace, and the only way to preserve it
104 JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK
is to create a feeling of confidence through mutual
respect of property rights. It took two whippings
by our kennel master, and I don't know how
many nips from the rest of us, to teach him that
lesson.
" Gradually he learned the wisdom of respecting
rules and traditions ; but the black blood of the sheep
killer was in his veins, and many of the things he
learned did not sink into his heart.
"Jealousy, of course, is a normal impulse of a
dog. You can't love as dogs do, unable to tell your
master or mistress about it; and be free from occa-
sional pangs of jealousy. But such pangs ought to
pass quickly and leave no ill effects. In Rob Roy
jealousy seemed to act like poison.
" Rob Roy and his sister Elizabeth were born at
Valley Brook, and from the time they opened their
eyes Miss Lucy, up at the big house, picked them out
and made pets of them. They were certainly a pair
of merry little rascals. As they grew up she con-
tinued to treat them as her favorites, and to take
them walking with her. The rest of us began to
take it as a matter of course.
" Rob Roy's jealousy was at first harmless enough,
and rather absurd. If Miss Lucy patted Elizabeth
or any of the other dogs, Rob Roy would come dash-
ing frantically up, yelling ' Me too, me too ! Here I
am ! ' and would nose in between Miss Lucy and the
JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK 105
other dog. Of course Miss Lucy just laughed at
him, and so did the rest of us.
" One day, however, the bad streak came out.
The Abbot saw it. I did n't believe it at the time.
Miss Lucy had been paying most of her attention to
Elizabeth, who was strutting about with a big bow
of pink ribbon at her neck. Rob Roy had no bow,
and was getting very little attention. His usual
tactics were of no avail; in fact, he was so per-
sistent that he annoyed Miss Lucy a little, and she
put her hand on his nose and gave him a vigorous
shove out of the way. Rob Roy knew she meant
it, and he was angry and resentful. He snapped at
Miss Lucy think of that! He tore her sleeve,
and I think he must have scratched her arm. He
saw at once what he had done, and pretended to be
playing, crouching and bounding off as if to attract
her attention. She was easily deceived, and she
forgave Rob Roy ; but The Abbot was n't deceived,
and marked him down for what he was.
' Miss Lucy had another pet, a little black, bounc-
ing Pomeranian named Tricksy. She was n't much
of a dog; but Miss Lucy loved anything soft and
fluffy and joyous. Rob Roy was jealous of his
sister; but his hatred of Tricksy passed all bounds.
It was a sullen, red-eyed hatred, which did n't al-
ways show on the surface.
" The Abbot said Rob Roy would kill Tricksy
io6 JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK
and he did. He watched his chance and waited with
a patience worthy of a better cause. Then he caught
the poor little thing alone down by the swamp one
day they used to let her run about a good deal
and came back with blood on his face and paws, and
the smell of the murder about him.
' Of course we all knew what had happened, and
the last shred of any good opinion any of us may
have had of Rob Roy was blown away. A couple
of hot-heads were for taking it out of his hide then
and there; but two or three of us older dogs held
them in check. The rule among dogs, if not among
men, is always to give a dog one more chance, and
Elizabeth, who really cared for her brother, pleaded
for him. So we decided to await developments.
Perhaps the men would trace the crime to the
culprit, and take such measures as were fitting.
" But they did not suspect Rob Roy. They found
poor little Tricksy, to be sure, dead and mangled;
but stray dogs had recently been seen about the farm,
and no one had observed Rob Roy going down to
the swamp or returning.
' So the time for punishment passed, and Rob
Roy went free. He began to take prizes at bench
shows, and rode on the seat of the automobile with
Miss Lucy. But he knew what we knew and what
we thought of him. No one had much to do with
him except Elizabeth.
JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK 107
" Then came a day when Rob Roy attacked his
sister. It was jealousy, of course. Something had
happened to infuriate him. Perhaps Elizabeth had
been taken riding instead of Rob Roy. Anyway, he
set upon her back of the garage. She defended her-
self as well as she could; but she was smaller than
her brother and he had the advantage of rage.
When she at last shook herself free and came run-
ning back to the kennel her neck and ear and fore-
leg were bleeding, and she was in pretty bad
shape.
" Now of course you know you must know
that Rob Roy had committed the unpardonable sin.
The last remaining vestige of honor in a mongrel's
dirty breast will prevent his attacking a female of his
species with intent to maim or kill.
" When Rob Roy returned he tried to carry the
thing off with an attitude of bravado and indiffer-
ence ; but it did n't work. We knew all we wanted
to know, and Rob Roy -knew that we knew. He
was bold and truculent enough at first, when the hot-
heads stalked slowly up to him, with their heads low
and the bad look in their eyes. They circled round
him, and one or two of them growled a little. Rob
Roy began to lose his nerve and to slink a bit.
" Then The Abbot, who was Elizabeth's elder half
brother, came trotting up from her kennel, with
dread purpose in every line of him. Straight to
(C
tf
io8 JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK
Rob Roy he came, and thrust his muzzle into the
sable's face.
' ' Coward ! ' he growled.
Rob Roy drew back and showed his teeth.
The Abbot was old enough to display a more
judicial attitude, but his blood was up, and it was
righting blood. One of the hotheads, encouraged by
The Abbot's actions, rushed in with a snarl and
nipped Rob Roy in the fore leg. The sable turned
on him savagely there was grit in him, it must
be admitted. But he was attacked from the other
side and turned again. Then The Abbot closed in,
and there was a quick grapple and break.
" Suddenly the hotheads were brushed aside and
old Roderick Dhu, calm and severe, stood between
The Abbot and Rob Roy.
This won't do,' said he. You 're not a pack
of wolves. The men will be here presently, and
there '11 be whips and hot water and no end of
trouble. Wait till to-night, and I will settle with
Rob Roy.'
" The Abbot protested ; but Roderick forced him
back, and Rob Roy slunk off to his kennel.
That night in the moonlight, after the men had
gone to bed, Roderick called Rob Roy out back of
the kennels and bade him stand up and take his pun-
ishment. Then Roderick leaped upon Rob Roy and
bowled him over, and the battle was on,
JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK 109
" It was a fair fight and no favor mark that.
Rob Roy had youth and strength and endless malice,
and we knew that old Roderick was taking his life
in his paws. The merle had size and experience and
cunning; but he was no longer young.
" At first there were the usual fierce rushes and
feints, with their tax on wind and nerve. Twice
old Roderick went over before Rob Roy's impet-
uous charges. When they stood together on their
hind legs in the struggle for a grip they looked
to be an even match. Then they came to the
clinch."
Lady Jane and Sir Donald lay quivering with the
excitement of the tale. Even Old Scotch's nostrils
betrayed agitation, and in his eyes there was the fire
of a stirring memory.
' I have seen many fights in my day," he con-
tinued, " good fights and bad, and I have had my
own taste of blood and hair and have felt the agony
of the throat grip and the laboring of the lungs, but
never have I known such a fight as that one. They
broke and clinched and broke again. Now one of
them would seem to catch the deadly hold, only to
be shaken off and fall victim to the quick return
lunge of the other. It was a fight to the death, and
they both knew it. Again and again Rob Roy's
youthful strength thwarted the well directed attack
of Roderick. Again and again the sable's powerful,
no JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK
crushing charges were checked or turned aside by
the big merle's weight and skill.
" Then Roderick Dhu suddenly went over
squarely on his back before a side lunge, and Rob
Roy leaped upon him with a murderous snarl. But
it was an old trick of Roderick's which Rob Roy had
never learned and was too blindly furious to grasp.
As he fell upon Roderick the merle parried with
both his fore paws, and Rob Roy's teeth snapped to-
gether in Roderick's ruff, just pinching the skin.
With a quick upward thrust Roderick caught Rob
Roy full in the under part of his throat in a mighty,
throttling grip, and held on.
" Rob Roy gave a great heave and lift, which
raised Roderick's shoulders clear of the ground; but
he could not shake off that firm hold.
: Then followed the part that I do not like to re-
member the death struggle of handsome young
Rob Roy. It was pitiful to watch; but we knew it
was justice. With the pain of that throat hold sap-
ping the strength from his limbs, and fighting hor-
ribly for breath, he wrenched and twisted and heaved
in a last agonized effort to break the deathly grip on
his throat. All his dash and vigor were gone. It
was pitiful! '
In the ears of Lady Jane the occasional yapping
of the fox terriers sounded trivial and irrelevant.
Sir Donald did not hear them at all.
JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK in
" Finally Rob Roy lost his footing, and slowly,
deliberately Roderick Dhu rose above him and
finished the job !
" The men found Rob Roy's body next day and
took it away. They seemed to be much puzzled.
They found the marks of battle on Roderick; but
they knew his settled temper and thought he must
have been attacked by Rob Roy. They put him off
by himself for a time, and watched the rest of us;
but nothing happened, and things drifted back into
the old groove again. I don't know how much they
ever understood."
For a time Old Scotch was silent, and Sir Donald
watched him furtively, his young heart swelling with
the martial pride of his race. But Lady Jane
bless her ! could not restrain a certain curiosity.
" Is n't Elizabeth here? " she asked.
" No," replied Old Scotch, with an indulgent
smile. "Just at present she is very busy back at
Valley Brook with five troublesome little fuzzy
babies."
Lady Jane subsided in evident embarrassment.
" But don't ever speak to her of this," Old Scotch
hastened to add, more seriously. " Rob Roy was
her twin brother, you know. She never left her bed
during the fight, and it was well for her that she
did not.
" At the Mineola show last June a nosy Old Eng-
ii2 JUSTICE AT VALLEY BROOK
lish sheep dog started to question her ; but she turned
away and made no reply."
Presently Old Scotch gave a little chuckle.
" There 's a notch in Roderick's ear and a bunch on
his neck still," said he. '* If those blind judges had
noticed them, he would n't be sleeping under that
' Reserve ' sign to-night."
Sir Donald rose and stood for a moment looking
down the row of Valley Brook collies.
" Great Spratt! " cried the obstreperous Laird o'
Dundee, leaning out from his bench. " Are n't you
fellows asleep yet ? '
But Sir Donald did not reply. He was silently
studying the sleeping form of Roderick Dhu.
ISHMAEL
ISHMAEL
IT had rained all day, and the Long Island prairie
lay dismal and water-soaked. Nearly all the
yellow leaves had been washed or blown from the
double row of wind-wracked maples ; here and there
a scrubby oak, tenacious of its red-brown leaves,
stood solemn and dripping. Save for these and for
an occasional empty wagon road and a few glacial
dunes, the lonely heath stretched flat and unbroken
from Hempstead to Westbury. The setting sun
had rent a gap in the western clouds, and its golden
beams were reflected from millions of raindrops on
coarse prairie grass and weeds, and from the glisten-
ing roofs of a few farm buildings toward the south.
A flock of crows flew cawing overhead on the
way to their North Shore home. In a tall sycamore
near Potter's farmhouse a regiment of starlings
held a noisy, whistling council. The vesper of the
song sparrow was heard in the land, and somewhere
to the east a screech owl had begun his broken,
querulous call. These would have been evident to
the casual observer; but among the weeds and
grasses there also dwelt a populous community, hid-
115
n6 ISHMAEL
den from mortal eyes, living their adventurous little
lives in accordance with the laws of the wild.
As the sun slowly sank beneath its band of clouds
a stealthy form crept out from beneath a tuft of
grass beside a little swamp. It was a small creature,
about the size of a gray squirrel, with a long, lithe
body, dark brown, nearly black, with a spot of white
on the chin. One might have taken it for a weasel,
but for its larger body, thicker tail, and catlike head.
It was Putorius, the mink.
He sat for a moment, his sharp eyes seeming to
penetrate the rank ground vegetation, and then he
vanished swiftly from sight, as though the earth had
swallowed him, only to reappear as suddenly a few
rods away.
By swift, baffling stages he made his way to the
road, and then began to run rapidly toward the
town, his body bending like a hoop, and his short
legs propelling him easily at incredible speed. Oc-
casionally he stopped, sniffed the air, and then hur-
ried on.
He passed two or three farmhouses, stopping for
only a whiff or two, and came at length to Thomas
Lange's chicken house. Stealthily he crept around
it, sniffing the wire netting. The warm smell in-
toxicated him, and his movements were hasty and
excited.
Suddenly a new and terrible scent caused him to
ISHMAEL 117
stop and turn his head. There by the side of the
barn stood the monstrous bulk of a huge black dog,
watching him intently in the gathering dusk. For a
moment they stood regarding each other, the dog
boldly, the mink furtively, and then, as the former
took a step forward, there was a slight scurry, and
Putorius completely and instantaneously disap-
peared.
In the Atwaters' living room next morning a
frightful row suddenly broke loose. Sandy, the
brown Irish terrier, leaped upon the couch by the
window, barking furiously.
"What in the world is the matter?' demanded
Mr. Atwater, hastening into the room. He glanced
out the window and saw a big black dog busy with
a bone that Sandy or one of his acquaintances had
abandoned on the front lawn.
" Be quiet, Sandy," commanded Atwater. " It 's
only Ishmael. Have n't you got used to him yet ? '
" Poor Ishmael ! ' said Mrs. Atwater, stepping
to the window. ' I wish some one would adopt
him. I suppose he is n't any particular kind of dog;
but he 's gentle and affectionate. I hate to chase
him out of the yard all the time; but if I pat him or
speak to him he wants to hang around, and we
simply can't have him here. Besides, it makes
Sandy furiously jealous."
ii8 ISHMAEL
They stood watching Ishmael. He was indeed no
particular kind of dog. He had the long, black hair
of a Newfoundland, while his noble head and a look
about the face suggested a Great Dane. His big,
thick tail, too, was a Dane's, except that it was some-
what hairy and was set on all wrong. Atwater had
christened him Ishmael because he knew no master
and every man's hand was against him.
Sandy started up his indignant and vociferous
protest again, and because it was the peaceful Sab-
bath, Atwater was forced to go out and shoo Ishmael
off.
When Robert Sammis came with the Sunday
paper Atwater said, " Your friend Ishmael has been
around here again."
" Has he? " asked Robert, with interest.
Why don't you take him home and have him
for your dog?' asked Atwater. "If he had a
home and plenty to eat, he would n't roam about so,
and he 'd make a good dog for you."
'I wish I could," replied Robert wistfully; "but
father won't let me. He says dogs kill chickens,
and he does n't like them anyway. Besides, he says
if he had any dog at all, it wouldn't be a stray
mutt." *
Meantime Ishmael, hungry both for food and for
human love, made his way by a devious route back
to the east of the town, where the garbage heaps
ISHMAEL 119
were more abundant. At Bemis's on Front Street
he went in to pass the time of day with Bob, a big
bull terrier who spent his life at the end of a chain
and was reputed to be dangerous. Bob had a
master of limited intelligence and sympathies, and
Ishmael had none; so they enjoyed stolen mo-
ments of the companionship of misery. In return
for an occasional bone or other morsel Ishmael
was able to give Bob a bit of news of the great
world.
When Ishmael again came out upon the street
his attention was attracted by the yapping of a dirty
fox terrier sitting beside his master on the seat of a
wagon. Ishmael stood and wagged his tail, and
barked deeply once or twice in reply. The little
dog's master threw something at Ishmael, and then
laughed at the big dog's hurt look as he hurried off,
glancing apprehensively over his shoulder, with his
tail drooping crookedly.
Dawson's collie threw him the usual insults from
behind his fence, and a big old hound passed him in
silence.
Ishmael sighed heavily as he stood at length be-
fore the Collingworth Kennels and watched the
antics and listened to the bickerings of the puppies
that were to become pampered and beribboned pets
of fashion dogs of the upper classes, whose lot
was so easy and whose dinner tins were always so
120 ISHMAEL
full. Ishmael shook his head perplexedly and
passed on.
*
Death, silent and mysterious, stalked o' nights
through the poultry yards of Hempstead. On the
morning of October 24 Thomas Lange found seven
of his best pullets dead in their house and yard. He
repaired his walls and fences and placed a trap be-
fore the door. The next morning it was Martin
Sammis to whose Rhode Island Reds had come the
terror by night. Within two weeks no less than
ten poultry houses, great and small, had been visited,
and chickens killed there or in the open.
At first it was thought to be the work of a skunk,
but no skunk entered the waiting traps, nor did any
leave behind him the telltale scent. Rats it might
have been ; but rats do not make a circuit of a village,
visiting now this farm and now that. Besides, the
form of death administered was unusual. Each
fowl was neatly and effectively nipped in the throat
and abandoned, apparently after the murderer had
taken his draft of warm blood.
The Hempstead papers that second week published
accounts of the mystery, and one ingenious con-
tributor decided that the work must have been done
by some fiendishly clever dog, which killed for the
joy of killing.
Thereafter two or three men sat up with guns,
ISHMAEL 121
but to no avail. Those who shot at cats or dogs
aimed widely in the dark, and death attacked the
roosts of their neighbors. Then came the evening
when Jack Walsh, returning late, hurled a futile
missile at a strange, small animal that streaked across
the road, and found four of his best Wyandottes
garroted back of his house. That gave rise to the
weasel theory which the papers exploited; but most
of the farmers still suspected the mysterious and
murderous dog.
" I believe it 's that black tramp dog," said Mar-
tin Sammis. ' If this thing don't stop pretty soon,
I '11 shoot him anyhow."
*
On a crisp November night Putorius the mink
stole out from his grassy retreat on the brown
Hempstead plains and made his swift, silent way to-
ward the scattered farms to the northeast of the
town. A frightened field mouse scurried for cover,
but Putorius did not stop. Apparently he had a
definite goal in mind. He did not turn in at Lange's
place, nor did he take notice of a black form that
rose quietly from its comfortless bed by the fence
and took up his trail.
Putorius was immediately lost to sight; but hun-
ger stimulated in black Ishmael the latent hunting
instinct inherited from some distant ancestor, and
with his nose to the ground he padded steadily along.
122 ISHMAEL
Close to the fence in front of Henderson's orchard
the trail took him, through the tall grass at the edge
of Al Barkley's meadow always where there was
cover, always out of the bright moonlight. All was
silent save the distant rumble of a train and the spas-
modic baying of poor old Bob Bemis. The ancient
village was wrapped in peace; but death awaited
some luckless brood.
In front of the Sammis place Ishmael hesitated;
then he caught the scent again and followed the
trail along the fence toward the buildings back of
the house. He moved quietly now very quietly
for such a clumsy brute. He stopped and lifted his
big head. A slight scratching sound caught his ear ;
but he could see nothing, so he dropped his nose
again to the ground, keeping his ears cocked the
while.
Suddenly a great clamor arose among the chickens
squawks of terror and squeaks of death. Ishmael
dashed forward and reached the chicken house just
in time to see a sleek, catlike little head, with bright,
beady eyes, thrust out from beneath the door of the
scratching yard, and then hastily withdrawn. Ish-
mael stood watching the place, and then sniffed cau-
tiously at it, the bristles rising at the back of his
neck.
The house door was thrown open and a bar of
yellow light shot across the yard. Martin Sammis,
ISHMAEL 123
aroused by the racket, appeared, half dressed, bear-
ing a shotgun, and followed by Robert. In
the bright moonlight big Ishmael was plainly
visible by the chicken house, his nose to the
ground.
"Holy Smoke!" cried Sammis. " It 's that
black devil. I knew it."
Bringing his gun quickly to his shoulder, he fired ;
but Ishmael was not there. His quick sense had
caught a noise at the other end of the yard, and with
incredible speed for so bulky a creature he dashed
round the corner just in time to catch sight of a
swift, lithe body disappearing in the weeds. There
was a deep, growling roar from Ishmael's throat, a
tremendous rush, a smothered cry among the bur-
docks, and then silence.
Martin Sammis came up on a run, and would
have fired his other barrel at the first movement his
eye caught; but Robert was ahead of him.
" Don't shoot, Dad ! " he cried. " There 's some-
thing else." What, he did not know; but his sharp
eyes had seen something beside Ishmael, and that
something was not a hen.
As the man and boy approached, Ishmael lifted
his head and stood his ground. Something had
been awakened in his shaggy breast that, for the
moment at least, drove all fear from him.
" You thieving, useless cur, I Ve got you now ! '
124 ISHMAEL
roared the man, eager for the final shot; but still
Robert blocked his way.
" No, Dad, no ! " he cried. " See here ! It is n't
a hen at all. It's a oh, Dad, what is it? ' He
stood wondering above the body of the strange little
animal, his hand resting unconsciously on Ishmael's
shoulder.
Wondering why Ishmael neither ran nor showed
fight, Martin Sammis joined his son and looked.
Ishmael was wondering too wondering what he
had done to provoke this latest torrent of wrath,
wondering why the blow did not fall, wondering,
with all the power of his pathetic dog's eyes, why
the little man kept his hand so comforting upon
him.
Martin Sammis lifted up the dead mink by its
tail. " Well, I '11 be darned ! " said he. " I never
saw one of these things before. I don't know what
it is ; but I guess it 's it all right."
" Dad ! " said Robert meekly.
His father was contemplating the remains of Pu-
torius in silence.
" You see Ishmael did n't kill the chickens."
" Ishmael ? What 's Ishmael ? "
" This is Ishmael," said Robert, a sort of fatherly
pride crowding up into his throat. ' May n't I
keep him now Dad ? '
Martin Sammis glanced at the pair. Ishmael was
ISHMAEL 125
sitting on his haunches, contemplating the face of
Robert with that worshipful look that only dog
lovers can know or believe in.
" Well," said he, " tie him out here by the chicken
house. He may keep other dogs away." And he
turned back to the house with his mysterious little
carcass, thinking of the tall story he would have for
his neighbors, and not noticing the boyish arms
that were thrown impulsively about the great dog's
neck, nor the curly head buried in the shaggy coat,
sobbing silently.
THE STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
THE STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
NORMALLY, when left to his own devices,
the dog tends to revert to savagery and to be-
come a selfish, treacherous, skulking, revengeful,
murderous brute. Under fair conditions he is, as
every one knows, the noblest of all God's dumb
creatures, often shaming man himself by his devo-
tion and courage.
It is human companionship that makes the differ-
ence. It is intimate human companionship with
the touch of kindness and the human voice that
calls forth the cardinal canine virtues. It
was the poacher's personal friendship that developed
the quick wits of the terrier; the fidelity of the collie
grew out of days and nights of solitude shared with
the shepherd. Hounds which hunt in packs and
dogs living in large kennels are not so likely to be
individually interesting or trustworthy.
It was constant association with John Dayton
that made Prince Otto what he was. He had many
remarkable attributes, as you shall see, but what he
might have become without Professor Miiller and
John Dayton can only be surmised. It is only a
129
130 STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
question of motive, sometimes, which separates the
hero from the fiend.
Prince Otto's parents were of noble German blood
and had been brought to America in 1910, when the
German shepherd breed first began to gain wide-
spread popularity in this country. The Prince him-
self was born late in the same year at Miiller's
Kennels in Connecticut, a fat, fuzzy puppy, full of
life and mischief.
Miiller's were not ordinary kennels. His adver-
tisement read : Training school for police dogs.
German and Belgian sheep dogs. Dogs trained for
police, military, and life-saving service, and as
watchdogs for private estates." And Professor
Miiller was no ordinary breeder, or schoolmaster
either. He had gained his experience and per-
haps his title in the outskirts of Berlin, and with
two German assistants and one or two American
helpers he founded an establishment which, with the
help of judicious advertising at the bench shows and
elsewhere, rapidly gained a unique and enviable
reputation. Visitors came from far and near to see
Miiller's star performers climb ladders, leap through
windows, execute high dives into an artificial lake,
and attack a much padded attendant who imper-
sonated an escaping criminal. And because there
were people who knew enough to admire the won-
derful agility and intelligence of Miiller's dogs,
STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR 131
the Professor found a ready sale for his youngsters
and prospered.
Miiller owed much of his success to hard-won
experience, for there are things to be learned about
dogs which only long association with them can
make clear. But the Professor possessed more than
experience; he was gifted by nature with that sym-
pathy and understanding which begets confidence
and obedience and a ready response in the canine
race. He loved his dogs, and on more than one
occasion customers observed moisture in his blue
Saxon eyes when he parted with the children of
his upbringing.
From the first Prince Otto had been one of the
quickest to learn and the best loved of all Miiller's
puppies. The master early recognized in him a
lurking strain of fearless, wolfish savagery and cun-
ning, but this only called forth the greater care in
his training, for it is such traits that go to the mak-
ing of the most efficient police dogs. Every day the
Professor made a special point of spending an hour
or two with his puppies, playing with them, talking
to them, teaching them the rudiments of obedience,
familiarizing them with human comradeship and
with the meaning of human words.
Prince Otto was lively; he was fractious. But
the Professor was wise and patient, and as the puppy
grew in stature and in strength he came to rely im-
i 3 2 STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
plicitly on the word of this being who was his
master, without losing a jot of his splendid spirit.
One clay in April, 1913, when Prince Otto was in
his third year, a distinguished personage visited the
Miiller Kennels. G. Howard Tiverton, Esq., had
bought a tract of land and two or three homesteads
on the north shore of Long Island and had con-
verted them into a great estate. On a bluff com-
manding a superb view of the Sound and the Con-
necticut shore beyond he had erected a colonial
dwelling of red brick with a white-pillared fagade
on the water side and had named it, with the mil-
lionaire's usual modesty, Tiverton Manor. Lawns
and terraces stretched down to the water front,
where both houses and a private boat landing were
hidden behind the willows, and four or five acres
about the house were transformed by a landscape
gardener into a magnificent park, with gardens, a
little lake, and great masses of flowering shrubs
among the trees, all inclosed in a nine-foot iron
fence running down to the water on each side and
broken by three or four imposing gateways of
wrought iron. Then Mr. Tiverton had moved into
the manor house and had set his gangs of Italian
workmen the task of converting the rest of the
estate into a great wooded park, with roadways and
waterways and bridle paths traversing it in every
direction.
STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR 133
Public police protection being somewhat inade-
quate in the immediate vicinity, Mr. Tiverton had
organized a little band of private watchmen, and he
now proposed to add to this force one of Profes-
sor Miiller's famous dogs. In his younger days
Mr. Tiverton had been something of an amateur
dog fancier had owned, in fact, a valuable kennel
of bird dogs in North Carolina and he was not
insensible to the points and accomplishments of
Professor Miiller's splendid Germans. It was quite
evident to him that they differed materially in char-
acter from the affectionate pointers and setters he
had known and loved, and he was a bit puzzled by
their alert aggressiveness. But softness was not
what he was looking for now, and as soon as he laid
eyes on Prince Otto he marked him for his own.
" Dot dog," said the Professor, swelling with
pride, " he is der finest of dem all yet. I haf raised
him mit my own hands and I know. If I had vished
to show him he could have beaten dem all. Look at
dose eyes, dose shoulders, Mr. Tiverton ! '
Prince Otto was indeed a superb specimen of his
breed. He was large and powerful, with the
springy muscles and tense sinews of a trained ath-
lete. His coat was harsh and a bit grizzled and his
erect, forward-pointing ears and sharp nose gave
his head a formidable, wolfish expression. But one
could not long avoid a contemplation of his eyes.
134 STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
Almost human they were in their keen intelligence
large, clear, fearless eyes, with none of the
mournful pathos of the St. Bernard's and none of
the trivial smartness of the fox terrier's.
An exclamation of sincere admiration escaped Mr.
Tiverton's lips the admiration of the connoisseur.
He laid his hand on Prince Otto's head, and the
Prince, with a glance at the Professor, submitted to
the homage with dignity but without the slightest
sign of either annoyance or pleasure, for that was
his way with men whom he did not know.
And so Professor Miiller sold Prince Otto to the
millionaire, for he got his top price and that was his
business. But when the purchase was concluded and
Mr. Tiverton had driven off in his car, the stolid
German took Prince Otto out of sight behind the
kennels and fell upon his neck and whispered things
into his ear that made the big dog lick his hand and
whimper softly.
Hans Bruno, one of Miiller's assistants, person-
ally conducted Prince Otto across the Sound on a
ferry-boat and thence by motor to Tiverton Manor.
The Prince was perplexed and unhappy, and though
not frightened was nervous and uneasy. His con-
ductor had his hands full, and people on the ferry-
boat kept at a respectful distance. One good lady
was heard to remark that there ought to be a law
prohibiting people from bringing such awful brutes
STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR 135
into public places. But the journey was made with-
out mishap and Prince Otto was formally intro-
duced at Tiverton Manor.
It was fortunate for all concerned that John Day-
ton was a born lover of dogs. No high-born collie
or cur of low degree ever approached the high iron
fence within John's range of vision that he did not
smile at and speak to. Consequently when John
was summoned to meet the newcomer, he approached
Prince Otto with the broadest of grins. Ignoring
Hans Bruno completely he addressed Prince Otto
volubly and without reserve.
' So you 're the pup, are you ? ' he bawled.
" Pup, is it? You 're a horse. We '11 hitch you to
a wagon and make you haul gravel, that 's what
we '11 do with you. You great, big beauty ! Give
us your paw."
John bent down close to Otto's terrible jaws and
held out his hand. Hans Bruno was a bit anxious
as to how the Prince would accept such familiarity
from a total stranger, but the dog merely regarded
John watchfully and did nothing.
Prince Otto had been taught many things, but
parlor tricks were not among his accomplishments.
He did not understand John Dayton's outstretched
hand, but he did understand the look in his eyes and
the tone of his voice. Dogs are remarkably quick
to recognize fear or dislike in men, and their op-
136 STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
posites. When John straightened up and laid his
hand kindly on the dog's head, Otto lifted his face
and gently returned the pressure, which, if John had
but known it, was a tremendous concession. The
result was that when they turned toward the stables,
Prince Otto, who had long known Hans without
greatly loving him, followed John.
Hans remained at Tiverton Manor for a few
days, instructing John Dayton, who was the night
watchman and was to have charge of Prince Otto.
The dog, his devotion to John growing daily, took
to his new duties readily enough. For the most
part he had only to accompany the watchman on his
tours of inspection, to come to heel when called, and
to investigate dark corners and suspicious noises.
Then, a week or two later, Professor Miiller came
with one of his helpers to visit Prince Otto. The
dog leaped upon him with joyful recognition and
then dashed back to John as though seeking to intro-
duce his two friends. It was not necessary ; German
and Long Islander met in the free masonry of dog
lovers.
After nightfall the Professor's helper donned his
mask and thick pads and hid in the orchard. As
John and Otto approached on their rounds the dog
became aware of the presence of an outsider. He
dropped into a crouching gait, with his nose low-
ered and the hair rising in a brush on his neck.
STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR 137
Suddenly he shot forward with a rumbling snarl.
Then a dull thud sounded as the pretended burglar,
caught on the low limb of an apple tree, was dragged
to earth. There sounded the short, sharp bark of
alarm and then silence.
When John Dayton arrived at the spot Prince
Otto was quietly standing guard over the man's
prostrate form, merely growling a little in warning
whenever he observed a slight movement. Sud-
denly the man leaped to his feet, and instantly Otto
had him by the padded arm. There was a swift
wrench and struggle and down they went again, the
dog on top.
Presently Professor Mu'ller came up, his face
wreathed in smiles.
" See? " he exploded. " He vill do. No doubt.
He vill do. He knows his business. Yes ? '
" I reckon he does, Professor," laughed John, as
he led the reluctant and muttering dog away.
Next day, when Professor Miiller left, he again
fell upon Otto with terms of endearment, which the
dog returned in his own way, but when the moment
of departure came he trotted back to John; he was
content.
One other friend Prince Otto had. There was at
the house a jolly, round-faced Polish girl named
Mary, her other name being an unused and unpro-
nounceable superfluity. One evening, while the
138 STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
Prince was enjoying a little freedom before the
duties of the night began, he cut his foot on a bit of
glass and came limping across the lawn, stopping
now and then to lick the bleeding paw. Warm-
hearted Mary saw him, and, forgetful of the serv-
ants' tales of the beast's ferocity, she hurried out to
him.
' Poor dog," she crooned, " what matter wid
foot ? "
Prince Otto paused and surveyed her imperson-
ally as she approached. She fell upon her knees
and he suffered her to lift his foot and wipe it with
her handkerchief.
' Oh, poor dog ! ' said she, looking compassion-
ately into his eyes.
She took him by the collar and led him to John,
who washed the cut with peroxide and bandaged the
foot with adhesive tape.
" All right now/' said Mary, patting him. Otto
touched her hand with his moist nose, and they were
friends.
Mr. Tiverton made several attempts to reach the
dog's heart, but succeeded only in establishing a sort
of distant friendliness. For the rest, the dog
learned who rightfully belonged on the place and
treated them with aloof indifference.
Prince Otto's first real adventure took place in
October. It was about two o'clock in the morning
STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR 139
and John and the dog were completing their third
tour of inspection.
" It 's a dark night, Otto," said John. He was
accustomed to make his vigils less lonely by talking
to the Prince, which is what a man should do if he
desires to make a comrade of a dog. ' It 's a dark
night, and I shouldn't be s'prised if it rained be-
fore day."
Otto drew close so that he brushed the watchman's
leg as they covered the familiar ground.
Suddenly John felt the dog's form stiffen and
heard him sniff the air. Then Otto crept stealthily
forward toward the rear of the garage. John felt
for his revolver, clutched his stick, and followed.
There was a rush, a cry of fear, and when John
came up and snapped on his flashlight, he found a
terrified man sitting on the ground, with Otto hold-
ing him by the elbow. The dog had not closed his
teeth on the arm ; he merely held the sleeve. But it
was enough, and the man quite willingly allowed
John to lock him up.
In the morning the culprit was haled before Mr.
Tiverton. He proved to be a Pole who lived in the
village not far away, and though he was unable, in
his broken English, to give a satisfactory account of
himself, he appeared to have done no damage, and
he was so thoroughly frightened that Mr. Tiverton
decided he had been sufficiently warned and punished
140 STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
and allowed him to go free. Prince Otto had won
his spurs.
One or two other such encounters thoroughly es-
tablished Otto as a trusted member of the private
police force of Tiverton Manor, and by the follow-
ing spring the master of the estate would not have
accepted a thousand dollars for him.
In April several changes were made in the or-
ganization at the Manor and Mr. Tiverton sent for
John Dayton.
" John/' said he, " I 'm making some changes
here, and I think I can let you go on days now if you
like."
John fidgeted' with his cap.
"Thank you, sir," said he, "but I think I'd
rather stay on nights, if you don't mind, sir."
" Why," said Mr. Tiverton, in surprise, " I
thought you were anxious to get the daylight job.
It 's pleasanter, of course."
" I know, sir," replied the watchman. " I did
want to go on days, and the wife wanted it, too.
It 's very kind of you, sir, but I think I 'd rather stay
on nights, if it 's all the same to you, sir."
" What 's made you change your mind,
John ? "
The watchman stammered a little and grew red
under his coat of tan.
" It 's the Prince, sir," said he. " You see a new
STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR 141
man might n't be able to manage him. Not every
one can, sir."
Mr. Tiverton stood thinking for a moment, and
then a twinkle came into his eyes.
" But I 've engaged a man who has had experience
with dogs," said he.
" The Prince is n't like other dogs," said John
hurriedly. " It might n't work, sir."
" What you mean," said Mr. Tiverton, with a
smile, " is that you would n't know what to do with-
out Otto. Isn't that it? Now be honest, John."
The watchman grew still redder and mumbled
something confusedly under his breath. Mr. Tiver-
ton laid his hand kindly on the man's shoulder.
"What if I should put you both on days?' he
asked. "You and the Prince?'
John Dayton looked up with quick gratitude and
then looked down again.
" But the dog is most needed at night, sir," said
he.
" Well," replied Mr. Tiverton, " there are more
where he came from."
And so the matter was decided. Mike Donohue,
a strapping young policeman from Brooklyn, who
had had one eye injured in service, was engaged as
night watchman. He had been on the dog squad
in Flatbush and appeared to be an ideal man for the
place. Then Hans Bruno appeared with Fritz, an-
142 STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
other of Professor Muller's powerful young German
shepherd dogs.
There was trouble at the outset, and it became
quite evident that neither Otto nor Fritz could be
let loose so long as the other was on the place. The
Prince growled and snarled and barked and whined,
tugged at his chain, and begged John Dayton to let
him get at this intruder. No one else dared to go
near him. He was fairly beside himself with rage.
The newcomer was hardly less anxious to have it
out, but the two dogs were too valuable to risk in an
encounter and Mr. Tiverton was appealed to. The
result was that Hans Bruno was sent back to Con-
necticut with the unsatisfied Fritz, and Prince Otto
was left in undisputed possession of Tiverton
Manor.
The following week Hans reappeared with
Gretchen, a female, somewhat smaller than Otto or
Fritz, but swift and sagacious, and she was intro-
duced to Donohue who at once proceeded to make
friends with her.
John Dayton was anxious, but both Hans and
Donohue assured him that no dog of breeding would
attack a female of his species unprovoked, and such
proved to be the case. John led Otto to the stables
where Gretchen was temporarily housed. Both dogs
bristled a little and appeared to be on their guard,
but there was no snarling, no rush to the attack.
STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR 143
Otto was allowed to walk slowly up to the new-
comer. He sniffed at her doubtfully, then with in-
terest, Gretchen drawing back a bit nervously.
Then Prince Otto turned away, dissatisfied but
peaceable, and Donohue and Gretchen were installed
as joint guardians of the night.
One more incident remains to be recorded before
the tragedy which upset the summer peace of Tiver-
ton Manor. Mary, the Polish girl, while returning
to the Manor through the woods one day, was ac-
costed by Tony Rampetto, one of the Italian laborers
about the place. Tony had forced his attention
upon Mary before, but she had hitherto been able
to repulse him good-naturedly. Now he had her at
a disadvantage. The spot where he met her was
secluded ; no one was about.
The Italian, with flashing eyes, barred the girl's
path and demanded that she hear him.
" I love you ! ' he cried. " You shall marry
me! You shall not get away this time. I have
you."
Mary drew back, genuinely frightened, the accus-
tomed smile fading from her lips and the color from
her cheeks. Tony approached her menacingly.
Suddenly she started as if to run, but Tony grasped
her wrist. He drew her toward him roughly and
got his arm about her waist. She struggled vali-
antly, for she was young and strong, but she was no
144 STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
match for the passionate Italian. He drew her
tighter until his dark eyes and gleaming teeth were
close to her face.
Mary drew back her head with an effort and
screamed. Tony clapped a dirty hand over her
mouth, but it was too late. A crashing sound was
heard, as of some one dashing through the woods.
Tony looked quickly over his shoulder and then
dropped Mary to the ground just in time to throw
up his arm and guard his throat against the sharp
fangs and mighty jaws of Prince Otto.
The dog knew whose cry had pierced the air; he
remembered his friend. He lost no time in inde-
cision but hurled his huge bulk straight at the Ital-
ian, snarling angrily. Across Mary's prostrate form
Tony fell with a crash, but he rose to his knees in an
instant. Otto, his teeth missing their mark, was
carried several paces beyond by his own impetus,
and before he could turn Tony had drawn a long,
wicked-looking knife.
But Otto had little knowledge of knives and no
fear of them. Again he rushed, and so quickly that
Tony had no time to strike. He was crushed back,
with one arm raised to guard his face and throat,
and the other flung out beside him, his hand still
clutching the knife.
Mary, her courage restored by the unexpected ap-
pearance of an ally, had struggled to her feet, and
STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR 145
now, catching sight of the gleaming blade, ground it
into the soft earth with her heel.
Otto, had he not been trained to restrain in the
use of his teeth, might have killed the Italian now.
As it was, Tony was fighting desperately for his life,
his eyes wild with terror and his breath coming in
painful gasps.
John Dayton, wondering why Otto had not an-
swered to his whistle, and hearing the sounds of con-
flict, came hurrying up. Seizing Otto by the collar
he commanded the dog to draw back, and the noble
animal obeyed. Tony, leaping to his feet, did not
wait for further developments but took to his heels
through the woods and did not attempt to return
next day to his work.
' I should n't have let him get away," commented
John, " but I think he will trouble you no more."
He loosed his hold on Otto's collar and the dog,
though evidently eager to give chase, restrained him-
self. John took the now hysterical Mary by the
arm and helped her back to the house, while Otto,
walking by her side, lifted his head and gazed with
troubled eyes into her face.
Whether Tony Rampetto was at the bottom of
the trouble which broke out in July is not known.
There was no good cause for it. Mr. Tiverton paid
his men regularly, and though he demanded hard,
steady work from them he was not an unreasonable
146 STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
taskmaster. Some disturbing influence got to work
among them and on July i4th they went on a strike.
It was not an ordinary strike, for the men had no
union organization or any control of affairs. They
were bound to lose in the end, and perhaps it was
their early realization of this fact that made them
particularly violent and vindictive.
There were about forty, all told, who left their
work and placed Tiverton Manor in a state of siege.
Not only the Italian laborers, but several of the
stablemen and others joined in the strike. Donohue
would not listen to them, for he was a recent comer
and most of his experience had been in opposition to
mobs. John Dayton was cajoled and threatened by
turns, and something in his nature inclined him to
sympathize with the men. But his wife said to
him, very coolly and crisply, " Don't be a fool,
John," and he thought the matter over. He thought
of Mr. Tiverton's just and generally kindly treat-
ment of him, he thought of Prince Otto, and he cast
his lot with the master.
At first Mr. Tiverton was disposed to make light
of the matter and took steps to fill the vacant places
promptly, but the men who came to take the jobs of
the strikers were roughly handled and driven off.
Grocers and butchers were not allowed to come to
the house and no one was permitted to leave.
The second night of the affair the boat landing
STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR 14?
was wrecked and the motor boat put out of com-
mission. Then when Mr. Tiverton, thoroughly
angry, undertook to telephone to the county seat for
assistance, he found that his wires had been cut.
So he locked the great gates of the estate and armed
such of his men as had remained loyal, and grimly
waited.
On the 1 8th a boat appeared offshore and hailed
the Manor. Mr. Tiverton was summoned.
"What's the trouble?" asked the man in the
boat.
Briefly Mr. Tiverton explained. One of the
strikers appeared at the water front, just outside the
fence, with a shotgun, and the boat made off. But
the news of the situation was bound to get abroad,
and the strikers knew it. Already the intercepted
tradesmen had reported the unusual state of affairs.
The sheriff would soon be notified and relief brought
up, and the men became doubly savage as they came
to realize the utter folly of their action.
On the morning of the igth a mob of some thirty
cursing, gesticulating men appeared at the main
gateway of Tiverton Manor, armed with various
weapons. They were a silly, shouting, motley
crowd, but dangerous for that very reason.
Johnson, the colored lad who sometimes acted as
chauffeur and who had had charge of the boats, was
on guard. Unable to understand the broken Eng-
148 STRIKE AT TIVERTOX MANOR
lish of the Italians, and frightened by their threat-
ening attitude, he retired to give the alarm.
One of the men. who had had some experience in
blasting, blew out the big lock with a stick of dyna-
mite, and when John Dayton and Prince Otto ap-
peared a few minutes later the men were just rush-
ing forward and were throwing wide the great iron
gates.
John drew his revolver and held his ground in the
roadway. Beside him stood the great, handsome
young dog, his majestic head held high, his clear
eyes gleaming, every muscle tense and quivering.
John knew he was no match for this fiery, reckless
mob. but he felt it his duty to do what he could.
Some of the maids had reported that they had seen
from an upper window several automobiles speed-
ing along the road from town some miles away, and
it was quite likely that help was coming.
At the sight of this determined man and his
formidable comrade the mob, cowards at heart,
paused. John, fearing more for Otto than for him-
self, ordered the dog to heel, and Otto crouched re-
luctant and muttering by his side. It was plainly
John Dayton's task to spar for time, and he opened
parley.
" What do you want? " he demanded.
A tall fellow, with his shirt open at his great,
hairy breast, stepped forward with lowering brows.
Beside him stood the great, handsome young dog,
his majestic head held high, his clear eyes gleaming,
every muscle tense and quivering
STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR 151
He was armed with a revolver and appeared to be a
sort of leader.
" We want that Tiverton," he said with an oath.
" What for ? " asked John.
" None of your business," responded the man.
" You '11 know soon enough. All you 've got to do
is to tell us where he is and shut up."
" You can't see him," said John.
" Can't, hey ? ' retorted the man with a sneer,
and the crowd edged closer. Otto's hair was stand-
ing up straight along his back and he was growling
ominously.
" First, drop that gun," commanded the man.
John, though he knew it would hardly serve the
cause if he put himself in the way of being shot,
resolved to stand his ground a little longer. He
stood still and did not reply.
The tall man took a step or two forward, scowling
angrily, and the others crowded close beside and be-
hind him.
" Drop it ! ' ordered the leader, raising his own
weapon. There were sounds of hurrying footsteps
up by the house and the resounding bark of Gretchen.
The men were becoming impatient. John's eyes
were fixed upon his chief antagonist, but his ears
were strained for the sound of approaching motors.
There was another forward movement of the mob.
John's attention was so closely engaged that he did
152 STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
not observe Prince Otto rise slowly and menacingly
beside him.
John stood in silence and still the tall man for-
bore to use his weapon. But there was a sudden
swirl in the mob and Tony Rampetto broke out in
front, cursing shrilly in Italian. His eyes were
fixed upon Prince Otto, and his face was distorted
with anger and hatred. He raised a big pistol he
carried and fired point-blank at the Prince.
The action was like setting a spark to a powder
train. With a yell the strikers started forward as
though to brush the feeble defense from the path.
John Dayton raised his arm and fired twice over
the heads of the mob. At the first shot they
wavered; at the second they halted. Then there
was a second report from the gateway and a bullet
sang by John Dayton's ear.
" At them, Otto ! ' he cried, forgetting his re-
solve to remain coolly on the defense.
The dog needed no second bidding. Instantly
his great, powerful body shot across the intervening
space as if propelled by giant springs, his fearsome
fangs bared and the snarl of battle in his throat.
The mob fell back before his fierce onslaught, the
more cowardly fighting to escape. The brawny
leader went down at the first rush, his cheek torn
open by Otto's fangs. Tony Rampetto drew his
deadly knife, but Otto seized him by the shoulder
STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR 153
and shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. Again and
again the fearless dog charged. They dared not
fire in the confusion and they were powerless against
this unleashed fury.
Tony and the leader rose and ran for the gate, and
the others followed pell-mell, Otto leaping madly on
their backs and biting their legs.
John Dayton suddenly found himself supported
by the rest of the little garrison. Mr. Tiverton came
up, shouting orders. Mike Donohue appeared, half
dressed, with Gretchen tugging wildly at her chain
and crying to be loosed. They rushed to the gate-
way and the retreat of the strikers became a
rout.
Then came the welcome sound of motors chugging
up the hill. Mr. Tiverton met the first one, contain-
ing the sheriff and part of his posse. The auto-
mobiles went off in hot pursuit of the fugitives and
the dust of battle cleared from the gateway of Tiver-
ton Manor.
But among the weeds and grass of the roadside
John Dayton was bending over a silent form. Tony
Rampetto's shot had gone home; his revenge was
complete. Prince Otto had fought his last great
fight with a bullet in his lung.
Tenderly they lifted him, Mr. Tiverton and Dono-
hue and John, and carried him up to the house.
They laid him on soft cushions on the white-pillared
154 STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR
porch and brought water to moisten his poor, fevered
tongue.
Social distinctions were all forgotten on that
porch. Mrs. Tiverton and her daughter, who had
remained in their rooms, pale and frightened, during
the shooting, came out to hear the story. Nora
the cook was there, and Charles the butler, and the
maids. Donohue stood apart with the perplexed
Gretchen and bit his lips. Johnson, the colored boy,
frankly wept in a wicker chair. Mary burst forth
and flung herself beside the dying dog with wild
lamentations, and Miss Tiverton took the girl's head
on her silken lap and comforted her. Mr. Tiverton
was on his knees with his arm about the shaking
shoulders of John Dayton, who hid his face in his
hands and said no word.
Slowly the brave dog's eyes opened for the last
time and looked about him. All were hushed; it
was like a benediction. He lifted his head slightly
with a pitiful little effort, and then fell weakly back
and breathed no more.
Peace broods over Tiverton Manor. The breeze
sighs softly in the great maples and horse chestnuts
that shade its stately porch. At the foot of the
green, velvety terraces the waters of the Sound lap
musically at the gravelly beach.
At night Mike Donohue and Gretchen make their
STRIKE AT TIVERTON MANOR 155
hourly rounds in silent companionship, and on each
tour they stop beside the great entrance gate where
a little mound is just visible in the shadow of the
rhododendrons and a white stone gleams in the
moonlight.
HERE LIES PRINCE OTTO
A GERMAN SHEPHERD DOG
JET. 3 YEARS, 8 MONTHS.
A NOBLE GENTLEMAN.
A BRAVE WARRIOR.
A FAITHFUL COMRADE.
" Greater love hath no man than this, that
a man lay down his life for his friends."
SPIDER OF THE NEWSIES
SPIDER OF THE NEWSIES
A TRUE STORY
NINE newsboys of Reading, Pa., were disport-
ing themselves in a primitive and untram-
meled fashion at their favorite swimming place, the
middle pier of the Wilmington Northern Railroad
bridge. Mike Devine, leader of the gang through
muscular rather than intellectual superiority, was
making one final attempt to sound in the deepest
hole. Skinny Pattee and Ike Levinsky had already
emerged and were laboriously untying the knots in
their clothes, with much chattering of the teeth.
Presently the whistle of an approaching locomo-
tive was heard and soon a passenger train went
thundering overhead, showering dust and cinders
upon the bathers. Its passing was the signal foil
a general exodus; in half an hour they should be in
line for their afternoon papers.
The water had been cool and exhilarating and
the boys were in high spirits, laughing and bandying
words, as they clambered to the foot-path between
the tracks on the bridge and started toward town.
Some fifty yards behind them there squatted on
160 SPIDER OF THE NEWSIES
the bridge a small dog, thin, hairy, and unbelievably
homely. Not even the sharp eyes of the newsies
had been attracted by this insignificant atom on the
right of way. Possibly the sounds of evident good
humor encouraged the pup to make a closer investi-
gation, for he arose presently and came trotting
along behind the group of boys.
When you walk on a railroad bridge you in-
stinctively look behind you every now and then,
even though you are not on the track and know that
no train is scheduled. Skinny Pattee brought up
the rear of the newsies, and this instinct (it could
not have been the soft, unobtrusive pattering behind
him) caused him to glance over his shoulder. He
stopped short and faced abruptly about.
" By cripes, fellers," he cried, " here's Jo-jo's
little brother!"
Jo- jo was a hobo acquaintance of the newsies who
was famous for a rank, tangled, and unusually wide-
spread growth of whiskers. The allusion evidently
struck Skinny's companions as apt, for they turned
in a grinning knot to observe this small phenomenon
of hirsute homeliness.
The pup stopped and drew his hind quarters under
him in a sitting posture, eyeing the group specula-
tively.
A learned person, some w r eeks later, stated with a
great show of authority that he was a " Spitz
SPIDER OF THE NEWSIES 161
poodle." As a matter of fact his classification was
no such simple matter. He was about the size of a
small fox terrier, only somewhat large-headed and
emaciated at this particular stage in his career. His
face distantly resembled that of a Pekingese spaniel,
but with an Irish touch of humor quite lacking in the
typical Peke. His coat was long, wiry, and shaggy,
and had obviously never known the ministrations of
comb and brush. His color scheme was an indeter-
minate brownish gray, exhibiting marked variations
in shade and hue. In point of fact he was a vaga-
bond pup with a pedigree that would have defied
disentanglement and would in no way have justified
the effort.
Now these newsies possessed a sense of humor of
a type especially susceptible to comicalities in the
appearance of a small, bearded dog. The pup braced
his ridiculous forelegs and cocked his head, and
Skinny Pattee doubled over in a spasm of laughter.
One by one his companions caught the infection
and their hilarity became full-lunged and unre-
strained.
The pup liked that kind of noise very much ; and
he could make a noise, too. Suddenly his hind
quarters bobbed up into the air and he gave vent to a
volley of thin, sharp, staccato barks. Bully fun,
this!
Big Mike Devine elbowed his way through the
1 62 SPIDER OF THE NEWSIES
crowd and approached the pup. The little vaga-
bond had learned to dread human approach, but he
was thrown off his guard by the merriment. Mike
grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and held him
at arm's length; his expression of surprise was very
funny. Then Mike turned him over and held him
by the tail. That was funny, too that is, pretty
funny. As Mike varied the exhibition with as much
inventiveness as his dull wits were capable of, the
merriment all went out of the little pup's breast, and
he became frightened and woe-begone again. Once
or twice Mike hurt him and a yelp escaped him. He
wished this game were over ; he did n't like it at all.
Some of the boys were getting a bit tired of it, too,
and the laughter had diminished perceptibly.
Then Mike received an inspiration. He stooped
and held the pup over the edge of the bridge. The
river ran sluggishly fifty feet below.
" Lookee, fellers," cried Mike, " I 'm goin' to
drop him over an' see if he'll swim. Where do
you s'pose he '11 come up? '
A slight form shot out from the now silent group
and Skinny Pattee seized Mike by the shoulder.
" Quit it ! ' cried Skinny, his face pale and his
voice shaking a bit, for he knew he was bearding
the lion. " He 's my dog; I saw him first."
Mike looked around at him with a slow sneer
and profanely contradicted. " He 's my dog 'cause
SPIDER OF THE NEWSIES 163
I 've got him," said Mike, " and I 'm goin' to drop
him see ? '
" If the dog goes, you go! " cried Skinny.
Mike laughed scornfully. He weighed forty
pounds more than Skinny. Who 's goin' to do
all this, kiddo? ' he asked.
" The gang," replied Skinny.
It was Skinny 's only trump and he played it. He
knew T he was no match for Mike himself, and he
knew Mike to be capable of any sort of cruelty to
the pup just to spite him. Moreover he had no as-
surance whatever that the gang would back him. It
was a long chance, but he took it.
Mike looked around at the rest, still holding the
pup over the water. An inscrutable silence held
them. Mike arose and took a threatening step to-
ward Skinny, but Skinny held his ground.
" Gimme that dog! " he demanded.
Mike's reply was a glowering oath and another
step forward. He thrust the pup roughly under his
left arm, and there was another little yelp of pain.
Swiftly Skinny sprang at him and landed a blow
squarely on the big fellow's nose. Mike saw stars
for a moment, and then lunged savagely at his slight
antagonist.
But the spell was broken. The gang spirit that
loves a hero drew the newsies quickly to Skinny's
side, and Mike found himself gazing into seven
1 64 SPIDER OF THE NEWSIES
threatening and resolute faces beside Skinny's.
Mike clumsily but promptly shifted his ground.
" What do you know about the kid's nerve
claimin' it's his dog! If it wasn't for fear of
knockin' you off the bridge I 'd punch your head
in."
"Well, it ain't your dog, anyhow," protested
Skinny, relieved but unwilling to retire.
" Whose is it then? " demanded Mike with a show
of truculence.
" It 's it 's the gang's dog," said Skinny.
" I thought you 'd back down," laughed Mike un-
pleasantly.
At the end of the bridge Mike roughly dumped
the pup upon the ground, and he stood there shrink-
ingly, looking from face to face. Skinny itched to
take him, but the unwritten constitution demanded
a compromise, and Charlie Burke took the pup.
They carried him to the center of the city where it
was high time they were selling their afternoon
papers. It occurred to some one that the pup might
be hungry; as a matter of fact his figure was sug-
gestive of extreme famine. Mugsy Waters was just
starting uptown with his bundle of papers and a
basket of big, fresh pretzels, for Mugsy had built
up a two-fold trade. He came over and viewed the
pup appraisingly and then held out one of the pret-
zels. The pup fell upon it ravenously. Skinny and
SPIDER OF THE NEWSIES 165
Charlie each bought one of the pretzels and the little
dog devoured the last crumb. Then he trotted con-
tentedly away at Skinny's heels.
He would have been glad to be Skinny's dog, and
Skinny openly desired him, but the honor of gang
law forbade this, after the settlement of the Devine-
Pattee affair. He became the gang's dog, and they
named him Spider.
In about a month Spider showed a marked change
in contour. He could never be handsome or grace-
ful, but a certain obvious embonpoint indicated that
he was living well. He developed no marked quali-
ties of courage or intelligence; his one great virtue
was a never- failing adherence to his newsboy friends
and a sublime faith in their goodness.
No one tried to steal Spider from the newsies. In
fact, among the majority of the citizens of Reading
he was not popular. He did not look like a nice
dog; he was undeniably not a clean dog. Very
likely there were germs in his tangled hair, and the
children of gentle folk were instructed not to ap-
proach him. But Spider did not mind; he had
friends enough. And what are a few germs, more
or less, to a newsy ?
Where Spider made his home no man knew, but
there were indications among the newsies of a
friendly rivalry for the favor of his nightly com-
panionship. During the afternoons he was nearly
166 SPIDER OF THE NEWSIES
always to be seen somewhere in the vicinity of Penn
and Sixth Streets, the newsboys' favorite stand.
When the cold days of winter came on he discovered
a genial warmth in the plate of the steam heating
company, on which he would sit, half dozing, so long
as one of his accredited friends was within his
limited vision.
The Philadelphia and Reading Railroad runs
along Seventh Street, through the heart of the city.
One day a train slowed up at the Franklin Street
crossing and a passenger called from his window for
a paper. The alert Skinny was on his job, and ran
up just as the train was starting on again. He
passed up the paper and ran alongside with his hand
held up for the coin. His foot slipped on a tie and
he fell under the car, and the wheels of the heavy
train passed over his mangled body.
Skinny 's was not a valuable life, and the indigna-
tion of the city was not aroused, but there was
mourning among the newsies, and there was a faith-
ful little gray-brown mongrel who went sniffing woe-
fully about among the boys at the news offices for
the scent of the friend who came no more.
With the advent of spring other tramp dogs be-
gan to appear in the streets of Reading, and certain
estimable citizens raised a protest. A license law
was passed and a dog catcher was engaged.
Spider's friends could easily have raised the license
SPIDER OF THE NEWSIES 167
fee among them, but they rebelled against this form
of aristocratic tyranny. They refused to submit to
what they considered unjust taxation. They re-
sorted, rather, to strategy to evade the law and out-
wit its hated representative. A system of alarm
signals was invented and whenever the blue wagon
of the dog catcher appeared Spider was whisked
away to one of several mysterious retreats. Once
or twice the big policeman at the corner gave a
friendly, surreptitious warning, and Spider never
saw the inside of the blue wagon. It was all a
strange but enjoyable game to him ; he had never re-
ceived such marked attention. He little guessed the
dark shadow that overhung his young life.
But one day the dog catcher, exasperated by the
taunts and gibes of his youthful enemies, came slink-
ing down Fifth Street on foot, with a rope in his
hand. He spied his quarry at his accustomed corner
and approached stealthily with a show of indifference
until he reached Sixth Street. Then Ike Levinsky
saw him and, dropping his papers in the street, made
a desperate dash for Spider. The startled pup, not
comprehending this sudden movement, leaped back
from Ike's outstretched hands. Then the angry dog
catcher came rushing down upon him and Spider
took to his heels in terror. Up Main Street he sped,
his eyes big with fright and his tail tucked in. Be-
hind him he heard the shouts of his baffled friends
1 68 SPIDER OF THE NEWSIES
and the thunderous pounding of his enemy's feet.
Mad with panic he dashed straight in front of a lo-
comotive. There was a roar, a red flash before his
eyes, an instant's agony, and all was over for the
little ragged dog of the newsies.
Skinny's friends raised money for a stone to mark
his orphan grave, but the heartless authorities robbed
them of the torn remains of Spider. He was carted
ignominiously away and, as in the case of Moses, no
man knoweth of his sepulcher unto this day.
It may be that his humble spirit and Skinny's are
together in some happier city where there are no
dog catchers nor any murderous grade crossings. I
do not pretend to know. I only know that Spider
had won the only thing a dog lives for the love
of human kind.
THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS
THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS
; T DON'T want to hurt your feelings, Kather-
A ine," said Girard Thaxton, " but I can't make
a Russian wolfhound seem like anything but a freak
animal. They don't know anything and can't do
anything you want a dog to do. I really can't see
what they 're good for, except to appear in photo-
graphs with fashionable ladies, along with their hats,
panniers, and other bizarre adjuncts."
Mrs. Thaxton bit her lip. Diplomacy required
that she withhold her retort. She wanted very
much to keep the Grand Duke Vladimir.
" And I believe they 're treacherous," continued
Girard. " They look it." Wherein he was guilty
of prejudice and unfairness, for no man should pass
judgment on a dog without a trial.
But he was quite sincere. A Borzoi did n't look
like a dog to Thaxton, whose taste ran wholly in the
direction of hunting dogs, with a moderate fond-
ness for English bulls. His present fancy was a
pack of beagles, and his ideal of canine intelligence
was a female English setter he had known and
loved and shot over in North Carolina in 1902.
Mrs. Thaxton threw her arm across Vladimir's
171
172 THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS
strong shoulders and stroked his wonderful white
coat. He waved his tail slowly and turned his head ;
his face was level with hers as she sat in her low
chair. He just brushed her cheek with the tip of
his clean, aristocratic muzzle.
" At least, he 's handsome," said she.
Her husband surveyed the dog critically the
drooping tail, the long, powerful flanks, the sloping
hips, the wasp-like waist, the muscular shoulders
and neck, and the absurdly small head, with its low
forehead, its narrow jaws, and its un-doglike
eyes.
" I can't see it," he replied. " His coat is good,
but his perspective is away off."
Mrs. Thaxton was wise enough to let him have
the last word, and the interview ended in an empty
victory for the man, since Vladimir remained at
Thaxtonia in the Wheatley Hills. She was forced
to admit to herself that Girard was more than half
right. She herself had been able to discover no real
usefulness in the hound. She knew that she de-
sired him chiefly for his ornamental and fashionable
qualities, for she had never discovered anything
not even a brown and gold limousine with chauffeur
and footman in brown and gold livery that so
contributed to the aristocratic aspect of her imme-
diate environment as did the stately Grand Duke
Vladimir. Moreover she wanted to bench him at
Her husband surveyed the dog critically the drooping tail,
the long, powerful flanks, the sloping hips, the wasp-like waist,
the muscular shoulders and neck, and the absurdly small head
THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS 175
the Ladies' Kennel Association Show at Mineola in
June (there was too much danger of distemper at the
New York show), for the prospect of a blue ribbon
and its attendant publicity, literary and pictorial,
fitted in nicely with her social purposes.
But there was something more than these motives
in her championship of the Borzoi. During her
autumn walks and drives she had become fond of
him, and she had discovered in him evidences of an
unmistakable affection for her. It was not the
demonstrative, skirt-muddying affection of the ter-
rier, nor the slobbery, mournful-eyed St. Bernard
kind. In fact, it was not obvious at all. It had
come slowly with the passing of the days, and ex-
pressed itself in momentary glances, little pressures
of the body, and, in strict privacy, the voluntary rest-
ing of his head upon her knee. To her this af-
fection seemed peculiarly valuable because of its
subtlety, restraint, chivalry, and rare good breed-
ing. It was as though she were loved at a distance
by a prince of the royal blood; and such loves are
not to be lightly cast aside.
To Vladimir this beautiful woman, with her soft
voice and caressing hands, appeared to be the one
person in the world whom it was worth while to try
to please. John Burns, who fed and combed him,
he treated with a certain mild condescension that
passed for liking, but from all the other creatures
1 76 THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS
on the estate, whether quadruped or biped, he held
himself haughtily aloof. On that account he gained
a reputation for stubbornness and stupidity. The
spoken word had but little effect on him save when
uttered by his mistress.
But Vladimir had other vices than those of ex-
clusiveness or at least they seemed vices to the
uncomprehending humans. He was not trusted at
large, and when not in the company of his mistress
he spent most of his time on a plebeian trolley. A
wire cable was stretched from his kennel to a tree
twenty yards distant, and Vladimir's chain was at-
tached to a ring encircling this cable, so that he could
run up and down if he chose. But he seldom chose;
Vladimir was not playful.
This restriction of his liberties irked him, and for
long hours he brooded sullenly in his kennel. Some-
times a mighty impulse would seize him to be off
and away. Though kennel bred, the blood in his
veins called aloud for long, swift, bounding runs
across limitless steppes.
Now Vladimir's neck was thicker than his head,
and one day he discovered something. With a twist
and a tug he slipped off his offensive collar, and was
off across the grounds. John Burns saw him and
started out of the garage on a run, but a score of
long, graceful leaps took the dog out of sight among
the cedars.
THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS 177
The intoxication of freedom lent wings to the
wolfhound's feet, and when he reached the Hemp-
stead Plains it seemed to him that he had found
again his native heath. Something within him called
for speed and yet more speed. Then he settled
down to a steady, undulating lope that ate up the
miles, as light and billowy as the flight of the
meadow lark.
Half an hour from the time he broke loose, an ac-
quaintance telephoned to Girard Thaxton that his
dog had been seen in Westbury, but he had hardly
cranked his motor and started in pursuit when sim-
ilar tidings came from Hicksville. Thaxton re-
turned baffled.
At nightfall Vladimir appeared at Thaxtonia of
his own accord and allowed himself to be ignomin-
iously shut up. He was panting and thirsty, but
apparently unwearied, though John Burns estimated
that he must have covered all of forty miles.
The ineffectiveness of the collar being apparent, a
stout harness was made for Vladimir and strapped
securely about his body. He stood this just a week
and then one day the roving impulse took posses-
sion of him again. Starting at his kennel he ran at
full speed the length of his wire and then hurled
himself forward like the bolt of a catapult. Some-
thing had to give way. It chanced to be the snap
that attached his chain to his harness, and Vladimir
178 THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS
disappeared down the road like a long, wavy, white
streak.
Again Vladimir returned after he had run himself
into a state of comparative calm, but this time wrath
followed in his wake, for he had wrought havoc in
an East Williston poultry yard. It was then that
Girard Thaxton rebelled. But his lady kept her
temper and Vladimir remained, albeit reduced to the
ignominy of a short chain strong enough to restrain
an elephant.
Mrs. Thaxton was rather silly to want to take
Vladimir to town with her. To be sure, he was as
docile as an old setter when with her, but there
seemed to be something incongruous in the idea of
introducing the wide-ranging Borzoi to the city of
narrowness and height. Thaxton had a dread of
what might happen along the sidewalks of Broad-
way in case Vladimir should choose to take a little
run, say from Union Square to Van Cortland Park,
and back by way of the Bronx. Besides, most
apartment hotels fail to provide adequate accommo-
dations for jaguas or eagles or Russian wolfhounds.
However, Mrs. Thaxton assumed all responsi-
bility and a compromise was effected. Vladimir
might spend part of his time in the city if his mis-
tress would make all the arrangements; the rest of
the time John Burns would be accountable for him
at Thaxtonia. The way was paved for him at the
THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS 179
hotel by means of a well lined purse and honeyed
words, and Vladimir was given quarters in the nether
regions and was cared for by an Irish porter who
was passionately fond of dogs, " even whin they 're
snakes like this wan."
It was with inward trepidation but with a brave
outer aspect of unconcern that Mrs. Thaxton first
took Vladimir out for a walk in the city. She had
him on a short leash, the end of which was wrapped
many times about the hand which she kept inside her
muff. She knew she could not hold the great dog
for a moment if he should set his heart on getting
away, but she purposed to nip such an impulse in the
bud if possible.
Much to her relief Vladimir behaved like a per-
fect gentleman. The crowds on the avenue and the
noise of traffic apparently had no effect upon his
nerves, but seemed rather to steady him and give
him poise. As a matter of fact, these sights and
sounds awoke a vague memory in Vladimir's queer
little brain. He forgot the hunt and the dash across
the steppes, and recalled darkly the pomp and glit-
ter of Russian nobility and the companionship of
proud lords and ladies.
Vladimir strode along by his mistress's side with
the dignity of a prince, swerving neither to right nor
to left, setting down his feet with all the daintiness
of a cat on a frosty morning. He held his head
i8o THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS
high, seemingly conscious of the long, graceful,
flowing curve of his neck, back, flanks, and tail.
Mrs. Thaxton was keenly alive to the impression
she and Vladimir were creating between them. Her
feeling of apprehension gave place to a glow of in-
tense satisfaction. Vladimir w r as splendid!
In accordance with the terms of Mrs. Thaxton's
agreement with Girard, Vladimir spent two thirds
of his time in durance vile at Thaxtonia, but every
day during his brief visits in the metropolis she
took him out for an afternoon walk. Sometimes
Central Park called them, but as a rule the crowded
avenue proved a more potent lure. On pleasant
days they would occasionally extend their prome-
nade as far south as Madison Square, returning by
way of Madison Avenue.
Vladimir never seemed nervous or restless, never
tugged at his leash or attempted to run, never barked
or appeared to notice any other four-footed crea-
ture save once only. They were passing through
a cross street one mild day in February when a dirty,
half-starved black-and-white cat, hardly more than
a kitten, trotted hastily across the street fifty yards
ahead of them. Vladimir had never displayed any
tendency to chase cats ; Cobwebs, the gray stable cat
at Thaxtonia, he had utterly and disdainfully ig-
nored. But something in the sudden appearance of
this forlorn animal awoke the madness that always
THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS 181
lurked within him, and he snatched the leash out of
Mrs. Thaxton's hand and was off like the wind.
He was upon the cat almost instantly it seemed, be-
fore she could think of escape, and together they
slid for a rod or more along the wet, slippery side-
walk.
Mrs. Thaxton hurried forward, and was joined
by two or three men, but Vladimir was not to be
coaxed or driven off until he was through. He had
changed in an instant from the gentlest of animals
to a growling, bloodthirsty fiend.
Mortified beyond words, Mrs. Thaxton led him
home by the least conspicuous route, his head and
tail drooping, his haunches muddy, his jaws stained
with innocent blood. But when a month had passed,
and a new costume needed to be displayed on the
avenue, she forgave him. Vladimir seemed quite to
have forgotten his disgraceful lapse, and held his
head as high and trod as daintily as ever. Ah, those
Russians !
It was April in Madison Square. The air was
still a bit raw, damp, and chilly, and a bit discourag-
ing to those who longed for spring. Nevertheless a
certain springlike tempering of the breeze was no-
ticeable after noon and each of the park benches fur-
nished a resting place for its quota of nature
lovers from the ragged ranks of leisure. In the
182 THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS
newly groomed flower beds green spears of tulip
and daffodil poked their sharp points above ground
in promise of gorgeous bloom to come, and there was
a hint of green across the lawns. Over on Twenty-
third Street the little shops were hopefully display-
ing spring raiment.
As the afternoon wore on there was a little more
loitering along the paths and all the benches filled.
The twitter of sparrows became audible above the
strident rumble of trolley cars. Near the center of
the park an old man sat with a stolid bulldog be-
tween his knees, and a nondescript brown dog was
sniffing about the nearby tree trunks.
Presently the walks began to fill with a crowd of
men, women, and children, pouring out of Madison
Square Garden, for it was circus week. On the
sidewalk opposite the Garden an agent of the Society
for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals was feed-
ing the pigeons, which swooped down in all direc-
tions with a whistling of wings and a glimmering
of irised necks, literally covering their benefactor,
much to the delight of the passing children.
Emerging from Fifth Avenue, at the northwestern
corner of the Square, appeared a fine lady, clad in a
costume of black velvet, relieved here and there with
a foamy outcropping of white. On her hands were
white gloves, and a bunch of white narcissus was
pinned at her waist. A huge salmon colored plume
THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS 183
burst like a flame from her black velvet hat. By her
side there stepped with majestic mien a tall, shapely
Russian wolfhound, milk white, with a huge bow of
salmon colored satin at his throat.
Suddenly, over by the Garden, a shrill scream rent
the air, followed by a terrified babel of human voices
among the thinning crowd at the doors. There was
a hesitating, panicky rush in several directions at
once. Parents seized their children and looked fear-
fully about for the cause of the alarm. A big police-
man ran heavily across the square, blowing his
whistle.
Then there appeared from somewhere about the
Garden the terrible, lank form of a big Siberian
wolf, his red tongue showing and his white fangs
gleaming wickedly.
He paused for a moment in the street, confused by
the sights and sounds that assailed him. He was a
huge, hairy creature, dark in coloring, with bristling
neck and big, bushy tail hanging gracefully between
his hocks. Tremendous muscular power was evi-
dent in every line and motion of him.
As he stood there, with one forefoot raised, his
small furtive eyes shifted constantly like those of a
thief. His nostrils quivered nervously; his upper
lip was raised slightly in an habitual snarl. A big,
dangerous brute he was, equipped for deadly battle,
yet the picture of fear and the treachery of fear.
1 84 THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS
Some primal instinct had sent the snowy pigeons
in flight to the roofs; not one remained in sight.
For a block or more every sign of life disappeared
from the street save the great, gaunt beast standing
in the deserted thoroughfare like the figure of famine
come to the great city for its toll of lives.
Presently the open space ahead attracted him
and he came trotting into the park with a crouching,
level gait, his head held low and his eyes glowing
with evil.
The trot changed to a sort of gliding, cantering
lope, slow yet suggestive of great speed, as though
the swelling muscles of shoulder and hip were eager
for intenser action. After long months of hateful
incarceration this spirit of hungry defiance was free
again free to range and run, to tear and mangle,
to kill and drink blood. A bit of wild, lawless
Siberia had been suddenly loosed in the midst of the
city of asphalt and stone, to set at naught the organ-
ized regularity of its civilization.
For a few minutes the fleeing or stupefied people,
their screams and hoarse shouts, distracted the wolf,
and he ran this way and that in undirected frenzy.
The policeman drew his revolver but dared not shoot
at the swift-moving beast because of the people.
At the western edge of the Square the cab horses
were snorting and rearing in an agony of fear of the
dread unknown. The bulldog cowered between the
THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS 185
feet of his old master, who was too dazed to flee.
A young man in a gray suit made a quick but ill
considered sortie from cover to rescue a parcel he
had left on one of the benches. The movement
caught the wolf's eye, and the young man swung
himself into the branches of a small tree just in time
to escape the vicious snap of those dripping jaws.
The wolf tore the parcel to shreds and leaped, snarl-
ing and biting, at the tree trunk.
The brown mongrel, brave but idiotic, stood yap-
ping and prancing at what he doubtless supposed to
be a safe distance. The wolf turned, and in half
a dozen long, swift strides, fell upon the little dog
and reduced him instantly to a mangled, bloody car-
cass. Then, with a sullen glance around, he began
his disgusting feast.
There were those who remained to witness it,
fascinated by horror or fear or reckless curiosity.
Before the eyes of these, suddenly and without warn-
ing, there shot across the square a swift, voiceless,
white object with a flash of salmon pink.
In the breast of the sedate, beautiful Grand Duke
Vladimir the sight and scent of the hereditary enemy
of his clan had aroused the mad blood of his fathers.
It went coursing hotly through his veins and sent
him speeding across the greening turf and over two
rows of park benches, in leaps thirty feet long, his
body doubling and extending like a steel spring.
i86 THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS
There was a sharp, bewildering collision and the
surprised wolf went rolling over and over on the
ground. But Vladimir's rush had been too im-
petuous. He missed the mark his white teeth had
chosen and sped onward twenty yards before he
could check himself. Then he turned and gathered
his wonderful legs beneath him to spring.
The wolf had scrambled to his feet, and stood
with lowered head and half open jaws jaws for
which Vladimir's slender, pointed muzzle seemed no
possible match. Indeed, the Borzoi, who had ap-
peared so lithe and tall by the side of his mistress,
looked pitifully small and ineffective now as he faced
his heavier, more powerful enemy.
But though he had never seen a wolf before in his
life, instinct or inherited experience told
Vladimir exactly what to do. Two long, strong
bounds brought him within striking distance and
then he shot forward like a white, feathery arrow.
The wolf crouched, braced himself, and prepared
to receive his assailant with a quick, powerful grip
of the jaws. But Vladimir was too lightning-quick.
He leaped clean over the wolf's back, and as he did
so he caught the beast just back of the ear, with a
quick, twisting snap, into which he put all the
strength of his sinewy neck. In spite of his weight
and crouch the wolf was again thrown off his feet.
Before he could recover, before he could even pre-
THE BLOOD OF HIS FATHERS 187
sent his horrid front to his opponent's bewildering
attack, Vladimir was at him again and seized him
deftly by the back of his neck. Trusting not to any
fancied strength in his narrow, delicate jaws,
Vladimir threw all the power of flanks, body, shoul-
ders, and neck into one mighty wrench. There was
a blood-curdling cry, a snapping of vertebrae, and
the great, dark animal lay still.
The policeman ran up and put a bullet into the
wolf's body for luck, and then the circus attendants
arrived and the crowd closed in, forcing Vladimir
back from his kill.
Mrs. Thaxton was scarcely noticed as she came up,
somewhat pale and trembling, and took again the
leash that Vladimir had snatched from her hand.
But the dog saw her coming and stood with drooping
head and tail until the caressing hand and broken
words of praise reassured him.
When at length the crowd thought to look about
for its deliverer, it saw and cheered the sight a
tall, aristocratic-looking lady in a black velvet suit,
with a salmon-pink plume in her black velvet hat, re-
treating toward Fifth Avenue, and at her side a
slender white wolfhound, treading as softly and
daintily as a princess, proudly unconscious of the
salmon-pink ribbon dragging in the dust at his feet.
THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY
THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY
DR. BLAKE had been scolding Mrs. Borden a
little, and there were tears in that good
woman's eyes and a weary, tremulous look about her
mouth. But perhaps she deserved it. Dr. Blake
had left some medicine for Timmy's cough, and
Timmy had refused to touch the nasty stuff.
When Timmy refused to do something that he
ought to do, or insisted on doing something that he
ought not to do, he generally had his way. That
was the skeleton in the Borden closet. Obedience
was not in Timmy. He was fully aware of his
mother's inability to coerce him and knew well how
to take advantage of his father's preoccupation and
escape most of the harsher forms of punishment.
He was an insurgent in the Borden household, and
he knew the weakness of the de jure government.
" Timmy is a spoiled child," said the exasperated
doctor. ' He is never made to do anything and he
knows he never will be. If he ignores an order long
enough he knows it will not be enforced. I have
been acquainted with Timmy since the day he was
born, you remember, and I know just what 's the
191
192 THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY
matter with him. If he were my boy he would take
that medicine before he got another thing to eat.
That would bring him around, I '11 wager."
Mrs. Borden shook her head sadly.
" He would find some way out of it," she said.
" You don't know Timmy."
It was then that the tears rose to her eyes. It
is n't an encouraging thing to be told that you have
spoiled your child when you have loved him very
dearly and sacrificed yourself for him day after
day.
' Oh, Doctor," she cried, " you don't know how
much this all means to me. After his brother and
sister died, and I saw what a delicate baby Timmy
was, I could n't bear the thought of losing him,
too. So I suppose I have indulged him too much.
I suppose I 'm not a very wise mother. I "
Her voice broke and she lapsed into silence. Dr.
Blake's eyes softened as he watched her, sitting in
her low rocker with her work-roughened hands lying
clasped in her lap, and her head, where the white
hairs were beginning to show, bowed a little.
There, there," he said, kindly, going over to her
and patting her shoulder. " Forgive a crusty old
bachelor. I 've no doubt he will outgrow it and live
to be your mainstay and comfort. Such things have
happened before."
" Do you really think so, Doctor ? " she asked,
THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY 193
brightening a little. "Of course, I hope so, and I
like to think so, but it is often discouraging. I think
I should be more hopeful," she added in a burst of
confidence, " if it were not for one or two unfortu-
nate traits in Timmy."
" For instance? '
" Well, Timmy is cruel to animals."
Dr. Blake shook his head gravely, but did not let
Mrs. Borden see his face.
" Perhaps he will outgrow that, too," said he.
When the doctor had gone, Mrs. Borden went in
search of Timmy. It was a warm May morning
and he was most likely to be found in the back yard
with one of the many ingenious if somewhat incom-
prehensible contrivances he had fashioned for his
amusement. She stepped to the kitchen window,
wondering, in her troubled heart, what new tactics
might be employed to induce the child to take his
cough medicine.
She caught the glint of the sunlight on his flaxen
curls out by the apple tree, and the blue of his linen
sailor suit. He was small for his seven years, and
though he had long since rebelled against " girls'
clothes," she had managed, with a mother's dread
of seeing her baby grow up, to preserve his silken
locks. His face, so deceivingly sweet and cherubic
at times, so often disfigured by pouts and frowns,
was for the moment turned from her. Her arms
194 THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY
yearned to clasp him to her bosom and make him
love her, and she sighed. Then, as she took note of
his occupation, she caught her breath.
For Timmy, with that ingenuity in matters of
mischief which was his predominating talent, had
devised a new amusement of doubtful morality. On
the grass before him lay a piece of sticky fly paper,
and upon the fly paper stood, angry and astonished,
the old black cat that lived next door.
Timmy shifted to a more comfortable position
and displayed a face lighted with glee. Poor old
Thomas, finding himself unable to walk off, began
to mew piteously and tried to shake himself free.
But the strange thing held him fast. Timmy
prodded him in the ribs with a small forefinger, and
the cat, in a panic, lay over on its side and began to
kick furiously. The torn fly paper wrapped itself
about his legs and clung to his fur, and Timmy's
shrill laugh of elation and merriment reached his
mother's ears.
Mrs. Borden hurried out of the door and across
the lawn.
: Timmy ! " she cried. " You naughty boy, what
are you doing to that poor cat ? '
But Timmy only laughed aloud.
" Silly old Thomas ! " he cried. " He can't get
away."
Mrs. Borden knelt on the ground and began to pull
THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY 195
the sticky paper from the now frantic animal.
" Here, don't do that," commanded Timmy, lay-
ing a protesting hand on his mother's arm.
But she persisted, in spite of the menace of
Thomas's sharp claws, until at last he was able to free
himself and run, with backward turned ears, across
the yard and through the fence.
" Gee," said Timmy, his face dark with resent-
ment, " you spoil ever'thing."
" Timmy Borden," she said, taking his arm, " that
was a naughty thing to do, and you know it. How
many times must you be told not to plague Thomas
or any other animal? It is naughty and cowardly,
and I shall have to tell your father about it when he
comes home."
Then, feeling that she had at least reproved him
and offered him a promise of punishment, she arose
and went into the house. The matter of the medi-
cine was forgotten, and Timmy went and sulked in
his swing until dinner-time.
Mr. Borden came home each noon for his midday
meal, but he \vas so hurried on this day that his wife
forbore to trouble him with an account of his son's
misdemeanors. After supper that evening, how-
ever, the matter resting heavily upon her conscience,
she told him, though unconsciously she softened
somewhat the grievousness of Timmy 's offense.
" Well," said Mr. Borden, " I suppose I can whip
196 THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY
him if you say so, but it never seems to do any
good."
Mrs. Borden, who was not an advocate of cor-
poral punishment where Timmy was concerned, only
shook her head.
* Really, Ruth," said her husband, " it would be
better if you could deal with these things when they
happen. He 's doubtless concocting new mischief by
this time."
He sat down to his evening paper without further
comment, and Mrs. Borden bent over her darning
with swimming eyes.
During the days that followed, the tired mother
did try to deal with these things when they hap-
pened, but there was no genuine sternness in her
gentle heart and Timmy had no lasting fear of her
threats nor much concern for her mild penalties.
He only sulked when his childish will was crossed;
he was not becoming a better boy. It seemed to
Mrs. Borden as though her prayers for greater
strength and wisdom were not heard.
What troubled her most was Timmy's perversely
cruel attitude toward animals. She herself had
never been unkind to any living creature, and she
could not understand this tendency in her offspring.
Timmy took a lively interest in every sort of animal,
but only as a source of amusement to himself. The
spirit of sympathy, of comradeship with them had
THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY 197
not yet been awakened in him, if it ever would be.
He would tease any cat he could get his hands on
and worry any dog not large enough or wise enough
to avoid him. He would pull the wings from flies
in order to observe their subsequent struggles, and
he invented other tortures which it would not be
pleasant to recount.
Mr. Borden always seemed too tired or too busy
to be bothered with these things, and Mrs. Borden
confided her troubles to the gruff but friendly old
doctor. He, however, could only offer his sympathy
and counsel patience ; he was not an authority on the
problems of child discipline.
One afternoon in June, just before vacation,
Timmy returned from school leading a small, non-
descript brown dog at the end of a piece of twine.
It was not much of a dog to look at, being little more
than half grown and giving but slight evidence of
maturing beauty. It was thin and very dusty, with
a sagging back and an ungainly tail. On one side
an irregular bare spot told of some early misfor-
tune.
" Oh, Timmy ! ' cried his harassed mother.
" Where did you get that dog? '
1 He came into the school yard," explained
Timmy, with his most angelic smile. " We had
lots of fun with him and then I bringed him home."
The dog sat up on his bony haunches and looked
198 THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY
up at Mrs. Borden with big, questioning brown eyes.
The eyes, at least, were not without the beauty of
pathos. Mrs. Borden could not resist the impulse
to bend down and pat the dirty little head, whereat
the dog rapped loudly on the floor with his tail.
" But what are you going to do with him? ' she
asked.
" Keep him," announced Timmy with an air of
finality, and tied the end of his string to the knob of
the open door.
Mrs. Borden shook her head but went into the
pantry for some bread and a bit of meat. ' At least
we can't let him go hungry," she said. " He does n't
look as if he 'd had a square meal for weeks."
The child amused himself till supper-time by with-
drawing the dog's dish just beyond his reach when-
ever he had begun to eat heartily.
Timmy said nothing about his new possession at
supper, but after the meal he appeared in the sitting-
room leading the mongrel. His father looked
quickly up.
" What in the world have you got there ? " he de-
manded.
' It 's my dog," said Timmy.
" Dog! " scoffed Mr. Borden. " It looks like the
last run of shad."
That was a comical thing to say and Timmy gig-
gled, but his father was not joking.
THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY 199
* Put him out at once," said he. We can't have
the dirty mutt around the house."
Timmy pleaded, wept, and stormed, but in vain;
his father was obdurate. In the end he was sent off
to bed with dire threats of punishment if he did not
stop his noise, and Mrs. Borden sorrowfully cut the
dog's string from his neck and turned him out.
Through the window she could see him sitting, a
woeful, hunched-up little object, on the back steps,
and surreptitiously she threw a bone out into the
yard.
The first thing Timmy did the next morning was
to open the back door and look out. There lay the
little brown dog, waiting patiently on the top step.
He raised his ears and wagged his tail in welcome.
" Hello, Shad," said Timmy, using a name that
had stuck in his mind since the night before.
Shad arose, stretched, yawned, and approached ex-
pectantly. Timmy quietly tied him to the porch rail.
When Timmy left for school, Shad whined and
strained to follow, and Timmy smiled back at him
and waved his hand, but Mrs. Borden had received
strict instructions on no condition to release him.
During the morning she fed him again and gave him
a bath, much to his surprise, but to the improvement
of his general appearance.
Mr. Borden was allowed to learn gradually that
the dog was still about, but since Shad was not
200 THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY
forced upon his attention he forgot his previous
commands and raised no further objection. Timmy
spent most of his play time with his new companion,
some of the time petting him and conversing with
him, but more often devising some form of torment.
He discovered, for example, that a card tucked be-
tween Shad's sensitive toes annoyed the dog greatly,
and this entertained Timmy.
Mrs. Borden watched these proceedings with mis-
giving, and when at length she caught the child
whipping the dog she protested.
" But he 's been naughty and he has to be
whipped," asserted Timmy, and let his mother un-
derstand that she must not interfere.
Strangely enough, the dog's devotion to Timmy
appeared to increase daily, in spite of all ill treat-
ment. He was never quite happy when the boy was
away and always welcomed him with a glad little
bark and many bodily contortions. But Mrs. Bor-
den was troubled, and she consulted Dr. Blake about
it the next time he called.
" Don't you think it might be wiser to get rid of
the dog? " she asked. " I 'm afraid he will only be
a continued temptation to Timmy, especially after
the novelty of having him wears off."
Dr. Blake considered for a while in silence. Then
he said, slowly : " No, I believe I 'd keep him, for
awhile anyway. It may prove to be the saving of
THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY 201
Timmy. A boy and a pup make a wonderful com-
bination, sometimes."
Mrs. Borden did not quite understand, but she
took heart.
When vacation time came, Timmy took to stroll-
ing off up the street with Shad close at his heels.
He was inordinately proud of his little brown
shadow and liked to parade him before other chil-
dren of the neighborhood. One day he came in
crying loudly, with Shad trotting sympathetically
at his side. His clothes were dirty and his lip was
bleeding.
Mrs. Borden, frightened at his appearance,
hugged him close.
"Why, what is the matter, dear?' she asked.
" Tell mama all about it."
"A another b-boy," sobbed Timmy, brokenly,
" wanted to t-tie a c-can to Shad's tail. I t-tried to
1-lick him, but he was too b-big."
So far as she knew, ft had been Timmy's first
fight, and the thought struck terror to her soft
heart. But she could not bear to chide him now.
He needed comforting, and to have his bruises
healed. Besides, there was something about the
affair that gave her an undefined hope. When she
had washed him and brushed him and dried his
tears, she kissed him again and sent him out in the
yard to play with Shad, and never told his father.
202 THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY
But she did tell Dr. Blake. That puzzling gentle-
man only chuckled and rubbed his hands and gave
Timmy a dime.
Shad, meanwhile, was gradually developing a
character, and like most characters it had its lights
and shadows. He was an affectionate little crea-
ture with many heart-winning wiles, so that not
even Mr. Borden remained entirely insensible of the
attractiveness of his personality. There was al-
ways a look of wistful inquiry in his eyes and an
appealing air about him that seemed to beg for af-
fection and in most cases won it. The tradesmen
smiled at him and called him " Sport ' when they
called at the back door, and Mrs. Borden found
herself growing very fond of him. As for Timmy,
there was certainly an abatement of the hectoring,
though reform did not come easy to Timmy. He
became the dog's staunch champion and friend if
not always the gentlest of playmates.
But Shad could not overcome his lack of breed-
ing. He was a gutter pup, after all, of doubtful
ancestry, quick-witted enough and loving, but lack-
ing that inborn refinement, nobility, and stability
that should characterize the well bred canine gentle-
man. It was for his very weaknesses, perhaps, that
Timmy loved him ; there was that bond of sympathy
between them.
Shad was obviously devoted to Timmy and was
THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY 203
ready to do anything to please him, but the funda-
mental principle of obedience he did not compre-
hend. If no stronger motive summoned him than
the spoken word he came not, and when left to his
own devices he displayed a discouraging predilection
for destructiveness. Nor was cleanliness a part of
his strange, pagan creed.
Moreover, there was the taint of vagabondage
in his blood, and he showed a marked taste for gip-
sying. At irregular intervals he would unaccount-
ably disappear, generally to return the next day,
dirty and disreputable, and smelling obnoxiously of
fish or stable. Then Mrs. Borden was obliged to
wash him before he could be admitted to the house
or to the close companionship of Timmy.
On the occasion of the first of these disappear-
ances Timmy was inconsolable in the belief that
Shad had deserted him or had been stolen. The
unlikelihood of the latter theory did not strike
Timmy. He counted himself bereaved and wept
loudly and unrestrainedly. When Shad returned
from his wanderings, Timmy fell upon him with
wild demonstrations of joy, to the detriment of a
clean shirt-waist. But as Shad's lapses from grace
recurred, Timmy came to take them more as a mat-
ter of course, though he did not conceal his childish
annoyance when the dog failed to respond to his
whistle.
204 THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY
Then came a time in mid- August when Shad pro-
longed his absence over two nights. Even Mrs.
Borden grew worried and cast frequent glances
out of the window for the returning prodigal, the
fatted calf being ready in the form of a dish of dry
bread and gravy and a large bone from the pre-
vious Sunday's leg of lamb. All through the long
forenoon of the third day Timmy sat in his swing
or on the back steps and moped or pestered his
mother with questions as to Shad's possible fate.
He had heard, for one thing, that little dogs were
sometimes ground up into sausage meat, and he re-
solved vociferously never to eat another Frank-
furter as long as he lived.
Then, shortly after dinner, Shad reappeared.
But what a Shad! If anything, he was a sorrier
looking specimen than when Timmy had first led
him home. He was as dusty as a barn window, his
tail was tucked closely between his legs, and there
was a dull look in his usually bright eyes. As he
dragged himself laboriously through the gate and
up the walk he whimpered a little, and gave every
evidence of pain and suffering.
Timmy rushed eagerly down to meet him, for-
getting his intention of giving the dog a sound
thrashing. But no glad little bark greeted him, no
ecstatic wriggling of a lithe body, no furious wag-
ging of an absurdly long tail. He only crawled to
THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY 205
Timmy's feet, licked the chubby hand, and then
rolled over on his side, panting painfully.
Timmy picked him up as best he could and partly
carried, partly dragged him to his soap-box bed on
the back porch. Very gently he smoothed the dirty
little head, crooning soft, baby-talk things to him.
Then, becoming frightened at the dull, glazed look
in Shad's eyes, he loudly called his mother.
Mrs. Borden's first impulse was to snatch her
precious Timmy away.
' He may be going mad," she said.
But Timmy would have none of that.
" No, no," he protested. " He 's sick; he's very
sick."
Mrs. Borden, conquering her fears, knelt down
and examined the dog, who was moaning softly with
each hard-drawn breath.
' I 'm afraid he 's been poisoned," she said.
Timmy, in a frenzy of apprehension, rushed into
the house and presently reappeared bearing his bottle
of cough medicine.
' Here, mama, give him some medicine," he cried.
" We must get him well."
Mrs. Borden took the bottle.
1 No, dear," she said, " this would n't do him any
good. But I '11 try to give him some castor oil.
Perhaps that will help him."
Castor oil seemed like undeserved punishment
206 THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY
to Timmy, but he fetched the bottle and watched
anxiously while his mother struggled to force a dose
of the sticky stuff down Shad's throat. Shad licked
his besmeared nose weakly and fell to moaning
again.
But the castor oil seemed to bring no relief, and
Mrs. Borden tried white of egg with equally barren
results. Shad lapped up a little cool water grate-
fully, but appeared too weak to fight against the
poison that was burning in his blood.
" Oh, please, mama, send for Dr. Blake," cried
Timmy. But his mother only shook her head
sadly.
" He 's not a dog doctor, Timmy," she said.
1 1 'm afraid he could n't do anything more.
Come away, dear, and led Shad alone for awhile.
He may get over it himself."
But Timmy would n't let Shad alone. All the
afternoon he sat beside him, trying to ease the pain,
his little heart wrung by the sound of Shad's gasping
breath and his low, piteous, continuous whining.
When Mr. Borden came home he made Timmy
come into the house.
" You must have your supper now," he said.
" I '11 look at the dog afterward. I fancy he 'U
have to be shot."
Timmy turned pale at the horrible suggestion and
gazed mutely at his father, his eyes wide with ter-
THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY 207
ror. He could eat nothing and the meal seemed
endless. How could his father remain so uncon-
cerned? Mrs. Borden, too, found something
strangely amiss with her appetite.
But there was no need to shoot poor Shad.
When Mr. Borden led the way out to the back
porch after supper the dog was not in his box.
Timmy caught sight of him first, running aimlessly
about in a corner of the yard on very wabbly legs.
" Stay here," commanded Mr. Borden. " He 's
having a fit, a convulsion."
In terrified silence they watched the sick dog
stagger blindly into the fence and then topple over,
kicking spasmodically. Gradually the struggles les-
sened and finally ceased, and the gaunt little brown
body straightened out, stiff and still. Then they
went down to look at him, Timmy clinging desper-
ately to his mother's hand.
Mr. Borden touched the lifeless form with his
foot, and then, stooping down, lifted his foreleg and
felt of his breast.
' He 's dead," he announced briefly, and went
for a spade.
They buried him deep in a corner of the garden.
No word of grief or eulogy was spoken, though
Mrs. Borden did not refrain from dropping a tear
into the little grave. Then Timmy, because he
knew nothing of the burial service, knelt beside the
208 THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY
gravelly mound and lifted to high Heaven his in-
articulate wails. There have been mourners less
sincere.
It was a strange, subdued Timmy that went
quietly about the house during the days immediately
following. His face seemed so pale and his eyes
so big and sorrowful that his mother grew worried
about him and sent for Dr. Blake.
" What 's the matter ? ' he asked a little testily.
" Has Timmy scratched his thumb?'
She told him the story of Shad's demise and the
doctor listened with growing interest and sympathy.
" Poor little pup," he said at length. " But don't
worry about Timmy, Mrs. Borden. He '11 get over
it ; youth is elastic. And I 'm not sure that it is n't
the best thing that ever happened to him.''
"Why, Doctor!" she exclaimed, thinking of the
child's white face and silent mood. " What do you
mean ? '
" A few months ago," he said, " you were anx-
ious about Timmy because he was unruly and cruel
to animals. I think he will begin to be different
now, if you will have patience. This thing has
naturally made a profound impression on him and
he will never forget it. His heart has been touched
at last, and that is where the trouble lay. Where
is he now? Let 's have a look at the boy."
" He 's probably out in the back yard," she re-
THE REGENERATION OF TIMMY 209
plied, and led the doctor through the dining-room
into the kitchen. Together they peered through the
window. On the grass beneath the apple tree sat
Timmy, his big blue eyes staring into mysterious
vacancy, his right hand idly stroking a scrawny
gray kitten which lay stretched beside him, the pic-
ture of utter content.
' I told you so," said Dr. Blake gruffly, and has-
tened off with his little black bag.
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE
MILD, gray-haired Professor Hewitt appeared
in the doorway of the living-room with an
open letter in his hand.
" Doctor Niles wants us to take Wotan this sum-
mer," said he.
" Wants us to take Wotan ? ' echoed his
wife. " What is that some kind of patent medi-
cine ? "
' No," replied the professor, without the sus-
picion of a smile, " it 's his dog. He and his family
are going to Europe and they don't know of a
good place to board him."
Mrs. Hewitt pursed her lips dubiously, but Har-
riet, their pretty, tango-mad daughter, laughed
merrily. " Oh, let 's take him," she cried. " He '11
keep us company till college opens again. I 've
wanted a dog ever since poor old Bobby died."
" What kind of a dog is it? " inquired her mother.
' He does n't say," replied the professor, adjust-
ing his spectacles and consulting the letter.
" It 's probably one of those awful, chunky bull-
dogs, with a face like a Chinese idol," said Mrs.
Hewitt, who was seldom optimistic.
213
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE
" Perhaps it 's a dear, fluffy little Pom.," sug-
gested the more sanguine Harriet. " Anyway, let 's
take him."
" I would like to oblige Bert," said Professor
Hewitt gently. * He 's done us so many kindnesses.
And it is n't as though we lived in the city. Of
course, it would be out of the question in the city."
Mrs. Hewitt was not convinced, but the more
Harriet thought about it the more she felt she wanted
Wotan, and in the end, as was usual, she had her
way.
Dr. Niles expressed his great appreciation in his
next letter, but seemed a bit perplexed as to the best
method of sending on the dog. So Professor Hew-
itt, who found it necessary to go to New York on
business anyway, offered to run out to Garden City
and get him.
A week later a taxicab stopped at the Grand Cen-
tral Station and a somewhat nervous-looking pro-
fessor of biology stepped out with a small valise in
one hand and the end of a dog chain in the other.
A quiet word and a tug on the chain produced no
effect. The professor placed his valise on the curb
and hauled at the chain with both hands.
" Come, Wotan," he called, with as much of stern
authority as he could command.
A little knot of the curious gathered about him
(a large proportion of New York's population are
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE 215
professional spectators) and a man of the John
Bunny type suggested that the chain might be caught
on something.
The professor knew exactly what it was caught
on, and bracing a small foot against the taxi pro-
ceeded to heave convulsively.
Presently the chain began to draw out a little,
and at length a great, brindle, crop-eared head ap-
peared.
" By Jove," exploded a dapper, chiropodist-look-
ing little man, " it 's a pony ! '
" Huh," responded a wise newsboy, scornfully,
" if it was a pony, he 'd ride 'im. It 's a pup."
A long, muscular foreleg, as big as the pro-
fessor's arm, followed the head, and with a mighty
effort that threatened the taxi's springs, Wotan
drew his ponderous Teutonic bulk out upon the
sidewalk. The John Bunny man stepped out of the
way with a boyish agility that nearly ruined the dap-
per gentleman, and picking up his valise Professor
Hewitt led his stately charge into the station.
They proceeded to the information desk where
the professor wished to inquire how one went about
getting a dog into a baggage car. He was obliged
to wait while the more or less patient clerks
explained time tables to a row of anxious and un-
comprehending females. Wotan posed majesti-
cally, his head on a level with the professor's elbow,
216 WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE
and another little group of tired business men and
cosmopolitans formed a circle about them.
" What kind of a, now, dog is he? ' inquired a
son of Judea in a green felt hat.
"A Great Dane," replied Professor Hewitt,
whose calling was to impart information.
"What is he for? That is, what does he do?"
asked another onlooker, with the air of one who
made a careful study of things, his question sug-
gesting that these animals might be used for piling
teak at Mandalay.
" I don't know what he does - - yet," replied the
professor.
There was a slight drawing away on the part of
the crowd, and a young man was heard to remark
to a lady with him that the Belgians used them for
hauling field guns in the war.
The professor was becoming a trifle annoyed by
this attention.
" It is a carnivorous species," he said, maliciously,
and there was a retiring movement on the part of
the commuters.
The professor was told by a sprightly and intelli-
gent clerk that live stock was handled by freight,
but he insisted that Wotan was a zoological speci-
men that would need to be handled with care be-
cause intended for microscopic purposes. At last
he found a sympathetic Irishman from the baggage
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE 217
department who seemed to know what to do with
Wotan.
During the homeward journey the professor was
able to concentrate his mind on other matters and
leave the problems of transportation to the railroad
company. Even at Springfield he refused to be
worried and extracted a certain apprehensive pleas-
ure from the spectacle of four trainmen inducing
Wotan to change cars, while the news spread about
among the youth of the city that a circus was being
detrained in the passenger station.
The details of Professor Hewitt's journey with
Wotan from the Atwater station to his home on
Sabbath Hill are enlivening though monotonous.
With the help of a dusky giant who had once
traveled with an Uncle Tom's Cabin outfit, he
managed to get the dog hoisted into the single dusty
hack that was waiting. But Wotan had become
weary of vehicular travel and was a bit restless in an
elephantine fashion. Also he was disposed to be af-
fectionate upon rejoining his new master, and he
expressed his emotions by persistent though inef-
fectual attempts to curl up in the professor's lap,
detaching a vest button in the process, crushing two
perfectly good cigars, interfering with the pro-
fessor's pulmonary functions, and variously damag-
ing his appearance and upsetting his equanimity.
When the hack stopped at the professor's gate the
2i8 WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE
idea of home and food was in some way suddenly
suggested to Wotan's unburdened intelligence. He
leaped to the ground with unexpected alacrity, jerk-
ing the annoyed savant after him in a parabolic
exit. The professor applied his slender brakes, but
the approach to the house was executed in whirl-
wind fashion. Wotan, seeing a hospitable doorway
before him, opened wide his cavernous mouth, with
its horrific armament of gleaming fangs, and emit-
ted a shattering roar of canine delight. Where-
upon Mrs. Hewitt promptly swooned on the thresh-
old.
Wotan paused for a moment in wonder to sniff
at her prostrate form, but before the professor
could gather his scattered wits together, Wotan
snatched the chain from his relaxed grasp, and
dashed joyfully into the house.
By this time Harriet had come breathlessly to
the rescue, narrowly escaping a head-on collision
with the invader. Dragging her mother's limp
form to one side she closed the front door, with the
half- formed idea that the fury were better con-
fined. Whereat the hackman drove regretfully
away.
Wotan, confused by the unfamiliar labyrinth of
rooms, slackened his headlong rush and proceeded
to investigate. To his benighted mind the possi-
bility of discovering food seemed as likely to exist
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE 219
in one place as another. He sniffed about the cor-
ners, nosed Mrs. Hewitt's workbasket into an un-
recognizable tangle, sneezed a peck of fine ashes
out of the fireplace, and tested the flavor of a giant
horseshoe crab, long defunct and very brittle. Dur-
ing this exploration he was continuously and dis-
astrously wagging his monstrous tail. A rocking-
chair was sent into violent oscillation, the glass
doors of the bookcase resounded under a terrific
thwack, the potted begonia went sailing off its
tabouret to destruction, and the not uncourageous
professor received a disabling blow some inches be-
low the chest.
It was the butter balls that suggested the solution.
Maggie, the maid, deposited them precipitately on
the dining-room floor upon her first encounter with
Wotan. This fact probably saved the leg of lamb,
for Maggie retreated rapidly into the kitchen and
banged the door shut, while Wotan paused to de-
vour, with a moist, soughing sound, the delicious
golden globules.
By this time Mrs. Hewitt had partially revived,
and Harriet assisted her to a couch in the living-
room, where she continued to give vent to weak lit-
tle screams every time Wotan's tail came into con-
tact with the furniture. With a resourcefulness
born of desperation the professor baited Wotan
with a cracker, and taking another, hurried out of
220 WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE
the front door, with Wotan threatening to upset him
at every step. It was only when the Great Dane
was safely housed for the night in a box stall in
the unused barn, in company with the remains of
yesterday's roast, a loaf of stale bread, and a bucket
of water, that peace descended at last upon the
Hewitt household.
It took some little time to get used to Wotan.
When he had become calmer and more accustomed
to his surroundings he was allowed inside the house
again. But, though he did not repeat his intro-
ductory performance, one had to be constantly on
the lookout for him. He always wagged his tail
when pleased, and it was necessary to manceuver
toward the front to avoid the danger of a lame hand
or black-and-blue thigh. Apparently this tail,
which possessed several of the qualities of an ele-
phant's trunk, was insensible to pain, or he would
have learned to restrain its violence. When all
breakables had been removed to mantel or plate-rail
or broken Wotan's posterior activities aroused
less apprehension.
Then there was the perennial surprise of his di-
mensions. His chief indoor sport, next to eating
and wagging, was to lie at full length on the living-
room floor and snore. When in this posture he
occupied practically all the available floor-space.
If one attempted to enter the room through the
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE 221
dining-room door, one encountered a great head and
shoulders which constituted an obstacle well-nigh in-
surmountable for a scant-skirted person. If one
made a wide detour and attempted to gain an en-
trance by way of the front hall, one usually found
that approach blocked by Wotan's hind quarters.
It was possible, by means of a well directed French
heel, to arouse him to wake fulness or at least a shift-
ing of position, but this was usually accompanied by
so perilous an upheaval that the method was gener-
ally abandoned.
While dozing in this extensive fashion, Wotan's
snores were whole-souled and unrestrained. He
was delightfully na'ive about this, quite lacking in
self-consciousness. These snores, aside from their
effectiveness in expressing an elemental emotion,
possessed a carrying power out of all proportion to
their harmoniousness.
I mentioned his eating. If you take the appetite
of a small gray kitten, and multiply it by the differ-
ence between its weight and Wotan's, you will have
a reasonably accurate estimate of the dog's alimen-
tary demands. At first they fed him daintily three
times a day with the residual miscellany from the
family table. But Wotan's disapproval of this sys-
tem was unmistakable. Then a belated letter came
from Dr. Niles advising one meal a day, adminis-
tered at night, the salient characteristic of which
222 WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE
should be bulk. Detailed suggestions followed, and
Wotan's dinner thereafter consisted of two quarts
of skim milk and a couple of loaves, aggregating
about five pounds, whose chief ingredients were corn
meal, raw beef scraps, and the greater portion of
those by-products and remnants of the commissary
department which previously found lodgment in the
galvanized iron pail. Dessert usually consisted of
a bovine thigh bone with such shreds of suet and
sinew as might still cling thereto.
Wotan did not consume all of these bones.
When through with them, after the manner of his
kind, he buried them. Most dogs, following the in-
stinct of the wild, bury their bones surreptitiously.
A terrier will take his bone down toward the cur-
rant bushes, and then, with many backward castings
of the eye, he will sneak around to the other side
of the house. Here he will scent out a likely spot
in the geranium bed, and with a fury born of the
fear of pursuit, he will develop a hole of ample
proportions in about forty seconds. Herein he
places his precious bone, tamps it down, and pushes
the earth back in with his nose. When all is over
he returns to the kitchen steps by way of the back
hedge, sublimely unconscious that any deductions
can be drawn from a soil-caked nose and a broken
geranium.
It was not so with Wotan. When the marrow
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE 225
had been extracted from his bone and the outside
polished to his satisfaction, he would take it boldly
in his teeth, unsuspicious of man or beast, lay it
tenderly on a row of lettuce in the garden, and pro-
ceed to undermine the barn. It seemed important
to Wotan that his holes should be ample in area
and that his bones should be deposited well below
frost line, but his solicitude appeared to depart
after the first few spoonfuls of earth had been
pushed back in, and it was generally necessary for
some one to go down with a spade and restore the
grade.
There were one or two little habits of Wotan's
which I hesitate to mention through fear of indeli-
cacy. One was a prospensity to shed his coat dur-
ing the summer months. Everywhere he went he
deposited innumerable short, sharp hairs which
seemed able to travel on their own responsibility,
when once set free, and which displayed a depraved
ingenuity in getting into places and substances where
they were not wanted. One day Wotan, escaping
observation, lumbered upstairs and found a pleasant
resting place on Professor Hewitt's bed. It was
autumn before the professor ceased doing penance
for his family's lapse in watchfulness.
Another unfortunate characteristic was a moist
looseness about the sides of Wotan's mouth which
made him unsafe in the presence of a silk skirt and
226 WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE
not always pleasing to visitors who did not under-
stand his little ways.
But Wotan was dignified, he was majestic, he
was physically superb. He was a perfect foil for
Harriet's slender prettiness and she was fully aware
of the fact. She took him walking through the
village nearly every day, and though there was a
paucity of desirable young men along the line of
march in whom she cared to arouse sentiments of
admiration, it gave her a feeling of satisfaction to
know that she attracted attention and perhaps envy.
And Wotan always behaved perfectly. If he left
something to be desired in the way of high spirits,
he at least never disgraced her by mad rushes in the
direction of unwary cats or undesirable canine citi-
zens. Her chief delight was to waylay acquaint-
ances who were evidently afraid of Wotan.
One afternoon in early September she returned
alone from a call to find something unusual going
forward in the front yard. Her father and mother,
she knew, were both out, and Wotan had been left
to guard the premises. Instead of bounding toward
her in his usual stiff-legged way he remained, ap-
parently preoccupied, beneath the maple tree by the
front porch. Beside him she discerned a Panama
hat which he had apparently nosed and moistened a
trifle but had left otherwise uninjured.
Harriet's eyes, as she approached, were drawn up-
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE 227
ward to the branches of the tree. Dangling his ox-
fords from a lower limb sat a man, on the safe side
of thirty, dressed in light flannel trousers and a blue
serge coat. He was somewhat bald and wore round,
tortoise-shell spectacles ; otherwise he was quite good
looking.
Harriet paused and regarded him with amuse-
ment.
" You can come down now," she said. " Wotan,
come here."
The Great Dane arose clumsily and stalked up to
her with a puzzled expression of inquiry. The
young man, after a moment's hesitation, swung
himself from the branch and dropped to the ground.
Picking up his hat gingerly, he said :
" This is Miss Hewitt, I suppose? '
Harriet nodded.
" I am Winter, the new laboratory assistant," he
volunteered.
Harriet advanced a step and held out a gracious,
white-gloved hand.
" I 'm pleased to meet you, I 'm sure," she said
with a polite smile.
" I just arrived in Atwater this morning," con-
tinued Winter, " and thought I 'd run up and pay
my respects to your father. I was met at this point
by your honest watch-dog, and not having been pre-
viously introduced to him I thought it prudent not
228 WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE
to force my acquaintance upon him. Perhaps I did
him an injustice."
" Oh, Wotan would n't harm anything," said
Harriet.
Winter overlooked the unflattering impersonality
of the remark.
" I believe you," said he, placing a hand tenta-
tively on Wotan's head, " and I am relieved."
" Father should be back very soon," said Har-
riet. " Won't you come up on the porch and wait
for him?"
So they seated themselves in the rocking-chairs,
Wotan thumped down between them, and the three
proceeded to become acquainted.
It was about a month later that the burglar came.
It was Maggie's Thursday out, Harriet and Wotan
were alone in the house, and the burglar rang the
front doorbell. He was a genial, prosperous-look-
ing burglar, and very polite.
" You need not be alarmed," said he, stepping in-
side. ' I shall not try to sell you a vacuum cleaner
or a war manual. I have merely come for the silver
and jewelry and any loose change."
Harriet gasped.
'Are you a burglar?' she asked breathlessly.
" You are clever," he replied admiringly. " I
am.'
Harriet stepped back hastily.
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE 229
" Wotan, come here ! " she cried.
The Great Dane ponderously approached from the
rear of the living-room, and sniffed inquiringly
about the burglar's trousers. The man patted him
heartily on the shoulder, whereat Wotan flopped
down on the floor to continue his nap.
" I shall not hurt him," said the burglar. " I
have seen him so often about town with you that I
feel that I know him quite well. I like dogs."
Harriet clutched at her breast in desperation.
" What are you going to do? " she demanded.
The burglar displayed a suit case which he had
brought.
" I am merely going to fill this with a few trinkets
for the children," said he, " and then I shall have to
go. My time is valuable and I 'm afraid I can't
stop for much of a call."
He ler> the way into the dining-room, and opening
the drawers of the sideboard began methodically to
pack up the family silver. Harriet slipped quietly
back into the hall and took down the telephone re-
ceiver.
" You need n't bother," said the burglar, proceed-
ing with his work. " I took the precaution of cut-
ting the wires. And I would n't scream or anything,
either. The Hathaways are all out and no one
would hear. I am sure we shall be able to finish this
without any excitement or confusion."
230 WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE
In a panic Harriet seized Wotan by the collar
and tried to prod him into a state of activity, but in
vain. He remained the picture of aloof dignity.
" Now," said the burglar, appearing in the door-
way, " if you will accompany me to the chambers
we will see if we can find a few things to fill in the
crannies with."
He was a large man of commanding personality
in spite of his pleasant w r ays, and he wafted Harriet
ahead of him up the stairs. When the little job
there was completed he went to the back of the
house, locked the doors, and put the keys in his
pocket.
" I thank you for your courtesy," said he, re-
turning. " I am very glad to say that it has been
unnecessary to disarrange anything. I will now bid
you good afternoon."
He paused with the door partly opened, and his
gaze fell upon Wotan.
" That is a valuable dog," he observed. " I be-
lieve I shall have to take him along with me. I like
dogs."
Taking Wotan's leash from the hat rack he
snapped it into the collar, and with a deft tug in-
duced W'otan to rise. Harriet threw her arms
about the dog's neck, but the man was too quick for
her, and Wotan, sensing the prospect of an after-
noon walk, stalked out, leaving Harriet in despair
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE 231
upon her knees. The door banged shut, the key
was turned in the lock on the outside, and Harriet
heard the man's retreating footsteps on the front
walk.
Forgetting the dignity of her twenty-two years,
she ran upstairs, opened the bathroom window, and
clambered out upon the roof of the bay window. A
dozen years of young ladyhood had not obliterated
this avenue of egress from her mind. Careless of
the extensive exposure of white silk stockings she
made her way along the stout limb of the old Bald-
win tree and thence, by a well remembered route,
to the ground.
Scarcely pausing to adjust her attire or give
thought to her hair, she ran down to the gate and
almost into the arms of Winter, who had just dis-
mounted from his bicycle.
" Did you see him ? ' she cried, on the verge of
hysterics. " Which way did he go? '
"Who? The professor?' asked Winter in
amazement, taking advantage of her distraction to
hold her soft arm.
" No, a burglar ! No one was home but me. He
came right in and got all the silver and things, and
when he went off he took Wotan with him. Oh,
you must have seen him. He only just left."
" He must have gone out to the back road. I
came up the other way," said Winter. " You hurry
232 WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE
down to Professor Small's and get them to tele-
phone to the sheriff. I '11 overtake the man on my
wheel and see if I can detain him. Tell the sheriff
to drive up the back road."
He was off in a moment and Harriet hurried
tearfully down the hill to do his bidding.
Around the bend by Turner's farm Winter caught
sight of the man with the suitcase and the big dog a
quarter of a mile ahead. Wotan, as usual, was be-
having beautifully. The burglar was walking rap-
idly and was about to turn into an unused woods
road when Winter overtook him.
The instructor rode a few paces ahead of him and
then turned and dismounted.
"The jig is up," said Winter. "You'd better
give me that bag and dog at once if you hope to get
away."
The burglar smiled sardonically.
' How so, young man? " he inquired.
Winter, as a matter of fact, did not know just
how, but he placed his slight but determined figure
in the other's pathway. An ugly look took the place
of the smile on the face of the burglar.
" I could knock you out in about two seconds,"
said he, convincingly.
Winter, realizing his ineffectiveness if left in a
prostrate and insensible condition, drew aside a step
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE 233
as the burglar menacingly advanced. Then an idea
struck him.
1 Lie down, Wotan ! ' ' he commanded.
Wotan, nothing loath, and recognizing a familiar
voice, promptly and weightily obeyed.
" Get up, Wotan! " growled the burglar, tugging
at the leash.
Wotan lifted his head doubtfully.
" Lie down, Wotan ! ' repeated Winter, and the
dog, with a sigh, settled comfortably.
The burglar set down his suitcase and seized the
leash in both hands. He hauled and jerked desper-
ately, but to no avail. He might as well have tugged
at the Sphinx. His geniality entirely disappeared
and he uttered a number of very ungentlemanly fig-
ures of speech, referring in unflattering terms to
Wotan's hitherto unimpeachable pedigree. Winter
withdrew a few steps, thrust his hands into his
pockets, and grinned.
' Stubborn, is n't he? " he remarked.
The burglar gave Wotan a resounding kick in the
ribs. Wotan grunted. Then he gave him another,
and Wotan made an unaccustomed little noise in his
throat and drew back his upper lip.
" I would n't do that," warned Winter. " You
never can tell."
The man glanced at Wotan's big tusks and the
234 WOTAX, THE TERRIBLE
swelling muscles of his jaws, and applied himself
again to the leash.
Perhaps a glimpse of Winter's grin infuriated the
burglar, for he wound the leash about his hands and
threw his whole weight against it. Down by the
snap it gave way. and the burglar fell back heavily
over his suitcase. Winter burst into ill-considered
merriment, and the burglar, leaping to his feet,
started to annihilate him. But Winter was agile if
not burly, and deeming it the proper moment for
temporary retreat, sped down the road. The burg-
lar, already half winded by his exertions, ran a few
yards in pursuit, and then, seeing nothing to be
gained by a handicap foot race, returned to Wotan.
Winter promptly turned back to his post of observa-
tion.
The burglar now seized the dog's collar with the
idea that a combination of choking and lifting might
do the trick, but Wotan merely rolled over.
After five or ten minutes more of struggle, in
which the burglar aroused Winter's admiration by
his display of ingenuity and strength, the man sat
down on his suitcase and mopped his streaming brow.
" I 'm d d if I '11 leave you now," he said ear-
nestly to the immovable Wotan, whereat the dog
stretched his head out upon his forepaws and closed
his eyes.
Suddenly the sound of approaching carriage
WOTAN, THE TERRIBLE 235
wheels caused Winter to turn and the burglar to leap
to his feet. A running horse came around the bend
in the road, followed by a buggy in which sat the
bearded sheriff and another man, with Harriet
wedged between them.
The burglar, giving Wotan a parting kick on
the flank, picked up the suitcase and made for the
woods. But Winter was prepared for this, and was
close on the fugitive's heels. Reaching forward he
caught the handle of the suitcase and nearly
wrenched it from the burglar's grasp. The latter,
his flight suddenly checked, turned and swung his
clenched fist viciously. Winter ducked. Then the
burglar, alarmed by the rapid approach of the
buggy, abandoned hope of all save personal escape,
relaxed his hold on the suitcase, and plunged into
the thicket.
As soon as the buggy drew up, the sheriff and his
assistant leaped out and started in hot pursuit, leav-
ing Winter to assist Harriet to the ground. Falling
on her knees in the dust of the roadside, she placed
one arm about the suitcase and the other about
Wotan's neck, and pressing her face to his, sobbed
convulsively into his left ear.
Winter, a little perplexed as to what should be
done in the circumstances, stooped down and patted
her shoulder sympathetically.
And that 's how the affair commenced.
THE HOUND OF MY LADY BLANCHE
THE HOUND OF MY LADY BLANCHE
ONCE upon a time there dwelt in ancient Bra-
bant a rich old Baron. His castle stood upon
a hill overlooking a busy town and miles of farm
land and forest over which he held sway. During
the wars he had fought valiantly for the reigning
Duke and he was honored in the land and beloved of
his people.
But the years rested heavily on the Baron's white
head and he grieved because he had no son to in-
herit his name and barony when he died. His only
child was a young daughter named Blanche, upon
whom he showered every indulgence.
Lady Blanche was tall and stately and as fair as
the dawn. To see her walk was like listening to
music. Her brow was like lilies, her lips like pop-
pies, and her yellow hair, bound about her head
with a golden circlet, hung in two thick braids far
down her back.
Five maids-in-waiting and a beloved old nurse at-
tended upon her, but her favorite companion was a
tall greyhound named Vite which had been brought
from Venice. Vite was beautiful, he was swift, he
239
240 HOUND OF MY LADY BLANCHE
was strong and brave, and he loved My Lady
Blanche better than his life.
Now there was a young Chevalier of the next bar-
ony who had looked upon Lady Blanche and desired
her for his wife. He came to the castle with his
retinue and sued for her hand. The old Baron,
fearing his neighbors in his age, and seeing the wis-
dom of joining the two baronies under one banner,
consented; but his fair daughter would have none
of it. The Chevalier was too black and rough, she
said. The Baron loved her too well to force the
marriage and she, being an only child, was wilful.
And so the Chevalier rode stormily away.
But the picture of My Lady's golden hair and
sweet face was imprinted on his heart, so that he
soon returned, pretending to hunt in the Baron's
woods, and seeking daily for a glimpse of his lady
love. He was so persistent and sent such beautiful
gifts to the Lady's tapestried chamber in the tower,
that her heart began to soften toward him.
But one day, when he was in a tempestuous mood,
he drove off the greyhound Vite with a stone. My
Lady saw him and her heart turned to flint in her
breast. She shut herself away with her hound and
sent back his gifts, nor would she vouchsafe him
one little glimpse of her in the casement.
Thereupon the Chevalier, so the good folks say,
became like a man demented. Sometimes he would
HOUND OF MY LADY BLANCHE 241
go crashing through the forest on his black stallion,
pursuing nothing at all. Sometimes he would sit,
black and glowering, by the moat, so that his own
men-at-arms dared not approach him. Sometimes
he would steal under her window in the moonlight
and sigh until the ivy leaves rustled.
One day he caught poor half-witted Hans in the
forest, and the lad fell on his knees and began to
weep loudly.
" Spare me," he cried, " and I will show you how
to win My Lady Blanche."
The Chevalier gave heed and Hans led him past
the huts of the charcoal burners to a slimy tarn be-
side which dwelt a wrinkled witch. The Chevalier
poured silver into her lap and begged her to tell him
how he might win the hand of Lady Blanche.
The old witch arose and prepared a horrid brew
in an iron cauldron. I cannot attempt to say what
went into it. She made weird passes over it with
her thorny stick and spoke strange words. At
length, when it was well boiled down, she poured it
into an earthen bottle and gave it to the Chevalier.
"If My Lady drinks but a drop of this," quoth
she, "she will fall in love with the first man she
looks upon, be he knight or knave. Your own wits
must perform the rest."
The Chevalier took the philter and with four
pieces of gold bribed one of My Lady's maids-in-
242 HOUND OF MY LADY BLANCHE
waiting to administer it to her. Then he sent all
his retainers into the forest and took his place be-
neath her window.
Now the Lady Blanche could brook no wine, so
the maid poured the potion into the spring water
which she brought in with the cakes. My Lady was
listless and at first cared for neither food nor drink.
Then she began nibbling one of the cakes.
At that moment the greyhound Vite came trot-
ting into the chamber, hot and panting from a run
with his keeper. My Lady stroked his beautiful
head and fed him sweetmeats. Then, noticing his
dripping tongue, she took up her beaker of water and
poured it into Vite's silver dish on the hearth. The
hound drank eagerly.
The Chevalier, waiting outside, became impatient,
and blew a blast on his hunting horn to attract My
Lady's attention. She stepped to the casement and
drew back the draperies. The sight of her lover
failed to warm her breast. But Vite, by her side,
felt a sudden great devotion for the Chevalier and
whined to be let out. My Lady tried to calm him
and at length he slunk mournfully off to his cushion.
By nightfall the Chevalier, weary with waiting,
strode away, cursing the witch and her impotent
philter.
On the morrow Vite, spying the Chevalier, dashed
out of the house and came fawning up to him. And
HOUND OF MY LADY BLANCHE 243
thereafter, whenever he gained the opportunity, the
dog followed him, nor resented the rebuffs he re-
ceived.
Then one day the Chevalier, the black mood being
on him, went hunting alone in the forest. At noon
he dismounted and sat him down beside a brook to
ponder his misfortune in love.
About this time Vite, led forth by his keeper for
exercise, broke loose, and, scenting the trail of the
man for whom he had conceived so extraordinary a
devotion, went loping off into the forest.
The birds were twittering in the tree tops and
the forest breezes were cooling. The Chevalier,
who had slept little for seven nights, fell into a doze,
stretching himself on the mossy bank.
In the midst of a dream of his lady love, he awoke
with a start to see a huge wild boar, the blood drip-
ping from a wound in his side, come dashing through
the shrubbery. The boar, mad from being hunted,
bared his great tusks and came charging headlong.
The Chevalier had just time to roll out of the
path of this wild rush and then struggled to his
knees. The angry boar turned and came plunging
back.
The Chevalier's lance was lying just beyond his
reach and he had only the short dirk which he drew
hastily from his girdle. He was strong and brave
and he met the boar's charge with his gleaming
244 HOUND OF MY LADY BLANCHE
blade. The brute swerved, but returned to the at-
tack, and the fear of death stole into the Chevalier's
heart. Valiantly he fought the desperate, unequal
battle, alone in the forest, but his right arm began to
weaken and his lungs to fail him. He knew that
he must fall at length and be rent to pieces.
At that moment a lithe, swift form flashed out of
the forest shadows and Vite, with a low snarl, flew
at the thick throat of the great beast. The boar,
his attention diverted, turned upon the hound.
The nimble Vite might easily have kept out of
harm's way, but his great love for the Chevalier
drove him in close to the horrible tusks and danger-
ous hoofs, and before the Chevalier could seize his
lance and plunge it deep into the wild boar's heart,
the greyhound lay bleeding on the ground.
The Chevalier stood for a moment, breathing
heavily. Then, leaving his lance in the quivering
flesh of the boar, he picked poor Vite up tenderly in
his arms, mounted his trembling steed, and drove
slowly back to the castle.
My Lady was beside herself with grief and could
only sob over her poor, mangled favorite. The
Chevalier dressed the greyhound's wounds with his
own hands, while Vite looked up at him with great,
loving eyes, and the young Chevalier was hard put
to it to restrain his tears.
The noble dog did not long survive his injuries
HOUND OF MY LADY BLANCHE 245
and they buried him out under the great sycamore
tree, where every day My Lady Blanche placed
flowers on his grave. But her heart had been
touched by the Chevalier's tenderness toward the
dying dog, and little by little she allowed him to
comfort her.
And so at length she succumbed to his wooing.
Their marriage was celebrated by a great feast in
the old gray castle, and they lived happily ever
after.
But when a famous minstrel was asked to sing a
song of the bravest deed ever done in Brabant, he
sang not of battles or of tourneys, but of the passing
of Vite, the greyhound of My Lady Blanche.
LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE
LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE
HER kennel name was Champion Lorna Doone
of Cragmore and her registry number was
A. K. C. 61,008. It was nature that had given her
the black eye in the first place and the judges and
kennel men had done the rest.
Her pedigree had saved her in the beginning, for
she was a daughter of Ch. Douglas of Cragmore
out of Highland Shepherdess, and her perfect form
had promised much. But her wonderful sable and
white were marred by the patch of blue-gray shad-
ing to black around her left eye, the outcropping of
some unwise breeding in generations past, and this
blemish grew more and more conspicuous as she
emerged from puppyhood.
The collie Standard states that color is imma-
terial, but it was a courageous and independent
judge who dared to award the blue to Lorna, in spite
of her superb head and perfect coat, over a more
acceptably marked competitor who was anywhere
near her equal. Lorna's bench-show career, there-
fore, was marked by a series of disappointments,
and when she had at last achieved her hard-won
249
250 LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE
championship she was retired by James Thurston,
her master, and established at Cragmore as a matron.
For some reason, or for many, not easily ex-
plained, Lorna was not popular. The judges dis-
liked her because she had so often added difficulty
to their decisions. Mr. Thurston was disappointed
in her and could not help showing it. The kennel
men found her too mild and lacking in spirit to suit
their ideals and even condemned her as stupid. In
short, from the fancier's point of view, Lorna Doone
was a failure. She was a dog with a black eye.
Worst of all, Hugh Benedict did not like her. I
say worst of all, for Lorna had taken a decided
fancy to the young man who came so often to the
kennels and appeared to be so fond of collies.
Hugh liked military aspect in a dog. He liked a
dog to recognize a gentleman when he saw one, to
stand at attention when one approached, with ears
cocked forward and head lifted with that regal bear-
ing which is the mark of aristocracy in a high-born
collie. Lorna would sidle up to him with tucked-in
tail and drooping quarters, and fawn upon him ab-
jectly, licking his hand and begging the boon of his
caress. Hugh should have remembered the gentle-
ness of her sex and should have been properly flat-
tered by these attentions. Unaccountably they rilled
him with a feeling that would have approached dis-
gust had it not been for his loyal esteem for all dog
But her wonderful sable and white were marred by the patch
of blue-gray shading to black around her left eye
LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE 253
flesh and the honesty which made him admire her
fine mane and thickly feathered tail in spite of him-
self.
"What's the matter with that bitch, Jim?" he
asked as Lorna slunk away before the advance of
her noble sire.
Jim Eyre, let it be said, was the distinguished in-
dividual that Mr. Thurston had once called " the
only kennel man in the United States who is at once
industrious, honest, reliable, sober, gifted with com-
mon sense, and kind hearted." Jim shook his
head.
" I don't know, sir," said he. " By all the rules
o' breedin' she should be a queen. But she 's come
by a yeller streak somehow. She won't stand up
like she should. I think she 'd run from a fox ter-
rier. No spirit and precious little sense. Mr.
Thurston thinks we should get good puppies from
her, but I don't know. May be it 's the black eye,
sir.'
Lorna had, indeed, failed to come up to expecta-
tion in the matter of puppies. The first litter in-
cluded some good ones to sell, but nothing worth
keeping for the honor of Cragmore. Still, she was
young and Mr. Thurston was disposed to give her
a chance.
It was while nursing her first family that Lorna
had displayed almost her only flash of spirit. Big
254 LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE
David o' Cragmore had come meddling around one
day and, with the natural ferocity of the young
mother, she had flown to the attack and put him to
flight, but in so doing she had nipped his off hind
leg so severely that he was kept out of most of the
summer shows that year, which scarcely served to
enhance Lorna's popularity.
The second litter never was. Mike Donohue,
who was the assistant kennel man of the moment,
had, while in liquor, committed the unforgivable
sin for which many honorable men believe there
should be capital punishment. He had kicked a
matron in whelp. No one knew this but Lorna, and
she could not explain, nor could she understand the
lack of sympathy she received when the five poor,
blind, motionless little puppies were still born. So
much more seemed to be expected of her than she
could perform.
When, the day after Mike's inevitable discharge,
he reappeared at Cragmore, thoroughly intoxicated,
and threatened Jim Eyre with an ax, Lorna, thrilled
by the horror of a vivid recollection, had cast one
frightened glance over her shoulder and disappeared,
leaving big David to act the hero and save Jim
Eyre's life. A yellow streak, in Cragmore opinion,
was worse even than a black eye.
Lorna did not resent Hugh Benedict's coldness to-
ward her. Resentment was not one of her failings
LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE 255
and she had become accustomed to coldness on the
part of mankind. So she would lie in the grass
and follow him with her pathetic eyes as he strode
about the kennels with a kind word for this dog and
a caress for that, and perhaps a brief round of spar-
ring with the agile David. Some people and some
dogs are apparently born to be spectators.
There were several things that attracted Hugh
Benedict at Cragmore. In the first place he was
himself the owner of three fine collies of the Crag-
more strain, including Champion James Fitz-James,
a brilliant son of Douglas. Furthermore, he could
never get enough collies about him and he would
rather spend any afternoon with the twenty-odd dogs
of Cragmore than with the less nobly bred humans
that infested the Country Club.
Finally, there was Catherine Thurston. Cath-
erine, he told himself and once, behind the wis-
taria on the porch, he had told her, too was a
thoroughbred, like his Irish hunter Kerry King and
his Champion James Fitz-James. She had the
points. Hers was the perfection of figure, the poise
of head, the silkiness of hair, the liquid softness of
eye, the ease of action, the queenliness of expression
and bearing that would have won the blue from any
judge that could have qualified for a bench show of
womanhood. She fulfilled all the requirements of
Hugh Benedict's Standard of Perfection, and Hugh
256 LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE
claimed to be something of a connoisseur. Her
only faults, if she could be admitted to have any,
were faults of judgment, for she was moved to
take Hugh to task for his lack of civility toward
Lorna Doone.
Catherine's love-me-love-my-dog attitude puzzled
Hugh. Like most people with a superabundance of
youth and vitality he was inclined toward over-con-
fidence and self-sufficiency and he forgot to turn the
tables on himself. It did not occur to him that
Catherine might have seemed less adorable to him if
she had not been, like him, a lover of dogs and an
admirer of collie perfection if, like some young
ladies of his acquaintance, she had shrunk from the
sometimes insistent attentions of James Fitz-James.
" But you know, Catherine, Lorna lacks char-
acter," he said. " She she is n't all there."
Catherine smiled in a baffling manner.
" Hugh," she said, " you don't understand dogs."
At which he puckered his brows in perplexity.
Apparently she was denying an axiom.
For Catherine loved Lorna Doone. At first it
was pity for a weaker sister that drew her to the
cringing little lady that had been given a black eye.
There followed a better understanding and a devo-
tion on the part of Lorna that would have been
beautiful to see had not the world been blind a
devotion that is worth more in the final accounting
LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE 257
than all the points in the Standard. For the love of
a true dog is a sort of worship which must of neces-
sity inspire something of divinity in the recipient.
Catherine no longer felt it necessary to make ex-
cuses for Lorna, and Lorna remained at Cragmore.
On an August afternoon, when the roadsides were
gay with young goldenrod and wild carrot, Hugh
Benedict came cantering up to Cragmore on Kerry
King. The man at the stable touched his hat and
grinned, for he heartily approved of the young
man's dislike for automobiles. Hugh was popular
at Cragmore.
With a parting slap on Kerry King's flank he
turned toward the kennels. He wanted to inquire
about Cragmore Duncan's indigestion ; he wanted to
discuss a new r dog soap with Jim Eyre; he wanted
to feel the hard heads and soft coats of a score of
collies crowding about him. Up they came like a
flock of chickens at feeding time, with big David
shouldering his way to the front. Only Lorna
Doone remained behind to gaze wistfully upon fes-
tivities in which she could have no part.
After he had had his fill of collie intercourse
Hugh sought Catherine on the vine-shaded porch.
That young lady was pleased to be capricious.
" All through with the dogs ? ' she asked.
" All through for the present," he replied, unsus-
pectingly.
258 LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE
' And so," she continued, " you are ready now to
devote a little attention to me."
Hugh smiled apologetically. ' I did n't know
you were waiting," said he.
" I 'm not; I 'm just leaving."
" For where ? "
" Just for a walk."
"May I come along?" asked Hugh hopefully.
She shook her head. " You would n't like the
company."
Hugh protested. He was always at a disad-
vantage in banter of this sort.
' No," she continued, ' I have an appointment
with Lorna Doone, and you don't like Lorna."
" Yes, I do," he asserted.
' No, you don't. She is as sensitive as any
woman to a man's rudeness, and I shall not subject
her to it."
Hugh's pleadings were in vain. She laughed
mischievously at his discomfiture though she was
more than half serious and started to find Lorna.
He watched her disconsolately as she entered the
gate in the high wire fence that surrounded the ken-
nel yards and gave a low, musical little whistle. He
saw several of the dogs turn and regard her hesi-
tatingly and then Lorna appeared, bounding along
joyously, her ears forward and her tail waving, and
the glad light in her eyes that were so often dully
LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE 259
pathetic. He heard the low, whining little bark that
is a dog's earnest effort to speak, and watched them
as they started off across the meadow and down
toward the brook, Lorna bounding beside her mis-
tress, the embodiment of unconscious grace. But
it was not Lorna that filled the young man's eyes.
When they had disappeared from view he kicked a
pebble with a vigor that suggested petulance, and
sauntered off to amuse himself as best he might until
it should be her pleasure to return.
Down by the brook in the lower meadow, where
the Joe-Pye-weed grew, and here and there a car-
dinal flower flamed among the alders, Lorna Doone
was tasting heavenly delights. All her dullness, all
her cringing obsequiousness had fallen from her
like a blanket. Head, eyes, ears, and tail were all
eloquent of joyous animation. She dashed up and
down the bank and among the thickets, her wonder-
ful coat scarcely rippling above the energetic move-
ments of her lithe body; or she walked proudly be-
side Miss Thurston, thrilling at the touch of the
light hand, her head uplifted and her eyes gazing
with adoration into the beautiful face of her god-
dess. The devotion of a true and queenly heart re-
sponded so quickly, out there away from the eyes of
men, to the sympathy that was needed to call it
forth. Only Miss Catherine, of all the world, un-
derstood, but that was enough. All a true dog asks
2 6o LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE
of life is some human being to love and the recipro-
cating confidence of a single mortal.
Catherine, on her part, was inclined to be a little
pensive and silent and Lorna, sensitive to her mood,
soon restrained her exuberance and walked quietly
by her side.
The path by the brook became damp and tangled,
and presently they left it and climbed a little hill
from which they could see the cool greenery of Hen-
derson's woods, a favorite haunt of theirs. Lorna
trotted a little way ahead and turned back, as though
to say, " Come, Miss Catherine, the sweet shade lies
just over yonder, and the cool spring by the great
oak tree."
Between them and the woods lay the inclosure of
Henderson's twenty-acre pasture. To the left was
the difficult brook path ; off to the right lay the hot,
dusty road. In the pasture there were usually cows
Henderson's famous, sleek herd of Holsteins
and Catherine had instincts not uncommon among
her sex. She hesitated at the fence, while Lorna
stood watching her expectantly. Then, lifting her
skirts to her knees, she stooped and slipped between
the bars. Lorna trotted back a few paces and came
sailing over the top rail like a bird.
The cows were apparently not in the pasture, or
they were on the other side of the hill, for none were
visible, and Catherine started bravely across to-
LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE 261
wards the woods, with Lorna running eagerly
ahead.
Suddenly the collie stopped and stood motionless,
her head turned toward the rising ground at their
right, and the hair on the back of her neck began to
rise slightly. To Catherine's senses there had come
no hint of danger.
" What is it, Lorna? " she asked.
As if in answer to her question there appeared
from behind a thicket of shrubbery on the crest of
the hill the massive head and shoulders of Siegfried
II, the mighty chief of the Henderson herd.
Catherine gasped and her hands flew to her breast.
All her woman's fear of a bull arose within her and
held her rooted to the spot where she stood. She
wanted to scream, she wanted to flee, but terror for
the moment held her paralyzed. And it was not
entirely a foolish fear, for Siegfried II had but
recently been released from close confinement and
he had a wicked reputation.
For what seemed to Catherine like an eternity the
great black and white creature stood motionless as
though in haughty disapproval of this invasion of
his domain. Then he stepped slowly out into full
view, lashing his tail angrily and giving his royal
head a toss or two. Standing there on the crest of
the low hill, silhouetted against the western sky, he
appeared elephantine in his proportions. Lorna,
262 LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE
like her mistress, stood transfixed in terrified aston-
ishment.
With a low, ominous bellow the bull began to ad-
vance, slowly at first, his small eyes gleaming
wickedly. The power to act suddenly returned to
Miss Thurston. She turned swiftly, and quickly
gaging the shortest distance to the fence, she
started to run at the top of her speed, her face
deathly pale and her eyes big with fright.
The bull started down the hill at a trot and then,
maddened by the sight of a fleeing quarry, broke into
a wild gallop which rapidly diminished the distance
between him and his victim.
Then descended the spirit of her ancestors upon
Lorna Doone, the coward of Cragmore. She had
never known cattle, but there is an hereditary instinct
in a collie which kennel breeding cannot entirely
destroy.
Suddenly the plunging bull was startled by a slight
form flashing across his path beneath his very nose,
and in amazement he slightly checked his speed.
Then again it came, the swift annoyance, and he
shook his head and bellowed at it. Lorna, cleverly
avoiding his flying hoofs, leaped, barking, about his
head. He changed his course and charged at her,
but she jumped nimbly beyond his reach.
Siegfried shook himself as though to get rid of
this dancing torment and rushed on again toward
LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE 263
the now stumbling Catherine. Lorna, gathering
speed, followed in pursuit, and leaped at his hocks.
The bull turned again, beside himself with fury,
and charged full at the collie. Again she dodged,
and, closing in, nipped him in the leg.
Lorna was panting now; the unaccustomed exer-
tion was beginning to tell. The bull followed one
plunging rush with another, and she was hard put
to it to avoid his flashing hoofs and menacing horns.
Catherine, her heart thumping as though it would
burst and her breath coming in great sobs, fell
against the fence, too exhausted to clamber through.
Her own life had been saved by the diversion cre-
ated by the collie, and now the girl was too weak to
offer any assistance to the harried dog. She could
only stand in horror and watch what promised to be
a tragedy.
But the bellowings of Siegfried and the barking
of Lorna had attracted the attention of one who had
been wandering disconsolate by the brookside.
There was a sound of running footsteps and pres-
ently a pair of strong arms lifted Catherine over the
fence and placed her gently in the grass on the other
side.
" Are you hurt, dear? " inquired Hugh Benedict,
anxiously.
For a moment Catherine could not speak. The
world swam before her eyes in a blurred twilight
264 LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE
and her limbs felt strangely not a part of her.
Then, with an effort, she overcame her faintness and
sat up.
11 No," she said, between gasps, "not hurt but
Lorna "
Hugh glanced into the pasture. The bull had
evidently forgotten all about the young woman and
was devoting all his energies to the annihilation of
the collie. Poor Lorna apparently did not realize
that her mistress was safe, for she continued, with
increasing signs of weakness, to worry her huge
antagonist. The bull, with no apparent diminution
of energy, repeated his plunging charges. Her cir-
clings became narrower and narrower; the battle
had become for her a struggle for life against odds.
"Oh, Lorna!" cried Catherine, grasping Hugh's
arm convulsively, as the collie lost her footing.
For a moment it looked to the spectators as though
she were lost, but she managed to scramble up just
in time. A blueberry bush, caught on the bull's
horns, went sailing, with its clod of earth, high into
the air as the great Siegfried recovered from the
charge.
Without a word Hugh Benedict unclasped Cath-
erine's ringers from his arm and vaulted lightly into
the pasture. Wrenching a rail from the fence he
advanced at a run toward the battle.
Again Lorna's weakening legs gave way as she
LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE 265
made a sharp turn in dodging, and again she barely
succeeded in rolling aside from the murderous horns.
But she was too late to avoid the flying hoofs.
There was a sharp thud as the bull's forefoot caught
her in the shoulder. She rolled over and over and,
after one frantic effort to rise, fell back and lay
quite still.
The bull turned again and came pounding back
with the obvious intention of tearing his helpless
enemy to shreds, when suddenly, with a blinding
crash, the heavy fence rail caught him across the
eyes. He slowed down, shook his head, and turned
to take the measure of this new antagonist. Again
the rail descended, and this time, more accurately
aimed, struck him full on his sensitive, velvet
nose.
Siegfried, roaring with pain and rage, gathered
himself for the attack, but he was met by the end of
the rail thrust vigorously against his windpipe.
The bull paused, snorting, and pawed the earth.
He was not unacquainted with men armed with rods
and clubs; he hesitated.
Hugh, following up his advantage, rained blow
after blow upon the nose of the baffled bull, who
began turning his head from side to side to avoid
them.
The young man was strong, he was angry, and the
fire of battle had entered his soul. He did not de-
266 LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE
sist until the great bull, half blind and with the fight
dying out within him, turned sullenly away. A
vicious jab in the ribs started him on the retreat, and
a well-aimed stone, catching him behind the ear, sent
him on a gallop back over the ridge.
Hugh let his fence rail fall from his trembling
grasp and stood for a moment, breathing hard, but
with the light of conquest in his eye, and watched the
retiring enemy until he disappeared. Then he
turned and walked over to where Lorna lay motion-
less in the grass.
Very gently he lifted her head to his knee and be-
gan feeling of her legs and ribs. She opened her
eyes once and made a feeble attempt to lick his hand,
and then closed them again wearily.
He picked her up in his arms and bore her back
to where her mistress stood anxiously waiting on the
other side of the fence. Reaching through the bars
he laid the collie on the ground and then climbed
over.
Catherine took his hand in both hers, and there
were tears in her eyes.
" Oh, Hugh," she said. That was all, but it was
enough because of the look that went with the trem-
ulous words.
" Is she badly hurt? " she inquired, kneeling down
beside the collie.
I think not," said Hugh. " There seem to be
(C
LORNA OF THE BLACK EYE 267
no bones broken. She had the wind knocked clean
out of her, I guess. She '11 be all right."
With one hand Catherine stroked the beautiful
head of the now reviving collie, and with the other
she found Hugh's hand and pressed it to her burning
cheek. And Hugh, instead of doing the obvious
and quite desirable thing, knelt down and kissed the
despised black eye of Lorna Doone.
TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES
TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES
<*
AS you enter the third floor of the New York
Public Library from the elevator, and turn
to the right into the corridor, I can tell in a minute
whether you are a dog lover or not. If you are, the
first thing you notice will be Sir Edwin Landseer's
" Dog in a Stable " hanging on the opposite wall of
the picture gallery directly ahead of you.
He is not one of Landseer's superb collies or high-
born spaniels. He is quite definitely the dog of a
British hostler, with a patch over one eye and a
muscular chest and shoulders quite out of proportion
to his alert and entirely adorable little head. (You
can almost feel the velvet hardness of it in the cup
of your hand.)
Just such a dog was Tom Sawyer. He had the
pointed nose and bright eyes of a fox terrier, the
sturdy body of an English bull terrier, and one or
two elusive variations in conformation and markings
that suggested a casual disregard for consequences
in his choice of forebears. From the point of view
of the fancier he was woefully lacking in class, and
unlike more highly bred animals he seemed to be
quite unsensitive to ridicule. But you could see
271
272 TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES
with half an eye that he was all dog bone, brawn,
heart, and brain.
He never could learn the proper relation between
clean dresses and muddy paws, and he acquired an
insatiable appetite for cheese and mischief. He was
not what you could rightly call a dignified dog. But
if I should attempt to tell you all that Tom Sawyer
knew you would never believe me. Having no
desire to be classed as a nature faker I will confine
myself to a few incidents that may be easily verified,
and leave you to draw your own conclusions.
I first saw Tom Sawyer sitting on a damask sofa
in a big moving picture studio in Chicago, hunting
desperately for a flea real or imaginary that
appeared to have sought refuge on an inaccessible
portion of his back. A property man, coming up
with an armful of draperies for a parlor scene that
was being set up in the studio, brushed him off the
sofa with an agile foot, and Tom addressed the man
vigorously in canine Billingsgate.
I had gone to the big movie workshop to see how
the reels are made, but I found myself devoting most
of my attention to Tom Sawyer. He was the most
nervously active individual in a very busy place. At
times he would pause long enough to receive the
gushing attentions of some actress with very red
lips and very black eyebrows, but for the most part
he was constantly on the move, Once, in an excess
TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES 273
of enthusiasm at recognizing an actor friend in an
unusual make-up, he dashed into a kitchen scene
from one of George Ade's fables, and the operator
had to stop his clicking machine and make a note to
cut out a yard or two of film, while Tom Sawyer
was led protestingly away. Later, in the outdoor
studio back of the building, he broke up a garden
party scene by chasing a property rooster under a
table laden with lemonade glasses. And yet no one
pursued Tom Sawyer with murderous intent.
I got into conversation with Harry McAllister,
who takes juvenile parts and is particularly good in
erring son scenes, and he told me about Tom Saw-
yer. It seems that Tom, wet and dirty, had
wandered into a movie theater in Racine the pre-
vious April and had sat in the aisle during the entire
evening, watching the screen with the absorption of
an habitue. Where he had come from no one knew,
and when the show was over he showed no inten-
tion of going out again into the rain.
When Jack Searle, the operator, came down from
his eyrie, he gave Tom a piece of chewing gum,
which Tom promptly swallowed and sat up for
more. He followed Jack out and Jack bought him
a bun and went home. Next day Tom was on hand
at the theater with the rest of the fans.
A week or two later Jack had to go to Chicago to
get fixed up at headquarters, and he brought Tom
274 TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES
with him and presented him to the assembled multi-
tude. This Tom accepted philosophically and pro-
ceeded to make himself at home. Why he was not
kicked into the street during the first week I do not
know, for the misdemeanors recorded against him
are too numerous and shocking to print. He was
chastised, but continued incorrigible. The fact re-
mains that his life was spared long enough for him
to wriggle his unregenerate way into the heart of
every human being in the establishment, from the
businesslike general manager to the red-headed boy
who assisted the property men in return for the
honor of conversing occasionally with Sam Davis,
the mad motorist of the company.
It was Sam, by the way, who first conceived the
idea of making -use of Tom Sawyer. Three or four
months later, when I again visited the movie fac-
tory, I saw Sam pulling out of the alley in his low-
backed car with Torn Sawyer sitting soberly up-
right on the radiator, with a small derby hat on his
head and a big briar pipe in his mouth. For a dog
who could never be taught ordinary obedience, he
had taken with astonishing aptitude to such tricks
as seemed to him a bit waggish or unconventional.
The following winter, in Springfield, Mass., my
eye was caught by a poster in front of a moving-pic-
ture theater announcing a photo-comedy entitled
" The Day of the Dog." I am not a movie fan, gen-
TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES 275
erally speaking, but I always take in a picture play
that has a dog in it. I have never yet been disap-
pointed. The moment the figures of one or two of
my Chicago actor acquaintances appeared on the
screen I had a swift premonition of what was to
follow and I was not surprised, though highly de-
lighted, to observe my old friend Tom Sawyer pres-
ently enter the picture hanging tenaciously to the seat
of Billy Smith's trousers. From that point the film
was a scream. Tom Sawyer treed a pair of lovers,
upset a butler with a tray full of tea things, dug a big
hole in a newly made geranium bed, and finally tore
down a pair of blazing curtains and so rescued a
real baby (no pun intended) from a horrible fate.
My sophisticated eye caught indications now and
then of a cut-out, due, I had no doubt, to certain
irregularities and the insertion of unscheduled busi-
ness in Tom's acting, but on the whole he took his
part with accuracy and zest, and I feel sure the pro-
ducer had felt no call to urge him to " put more pep
into it." He was unquestionably the star of the per-
formance.
Now the rest of this story I learned from eye-
witnesses, including Miss Fanny Mortimer herself,
though I should have believed it, knowing Tom
Sawyer, even if I had read it in a newspaper.
Of course you have a fourth-row acquaintance
with Fanny Mortimer, known from Fresno to Prov-
276 TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES
incetown as the Queen of the Movies. No doubt
you have often been drawn moth-like to the arc-
lighted lure of a Fanny Mortimer night. It is she
whose pretty, girlish features appear on the dress-
ing-table of your idolizing niece (or maybe your
nephew) . It is she who can circumvent bediamonded
villains behind closed doors, who can shoot down
mountain sides on skis, and ride unsaddled
bronchos across the chaparral to the nearest doctor,
and rescue struggling athletes from drow r ning, or
rake hay adorably in a Maud Muller role. It was
Fanny Mortimer who at length adopted Tom Saw-
yer.
Twenty-five miles out from New York on the
Hempstead Plains, where it is possible to find a
stretch of country that looks in a picture exactly
like a Dakota prairie, Miss Mortimer and her cor-
tege put in three solid and exasperating weeks
training Tom Sawyer to his part in the great three-
reel American photo-drama, " Sweet Sally of the
Bad Lands." I have seen the play since, and it is a
wonder. The climax comes in the third reel when
Peter, a lamb of a horse that looks a raw-boned devil,
having had a burr inserted beneath his tail by the
jealous rival, runs away with Sweet Sally across a
treacherous, marshy alkali flat to the imminent peril
of her neck. At the psychological moment her little
dog Tricksy, whom the rival has previously at-
TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES 277
tempted to poison, appears providentially from a
thicket, leaps at Peter's head, catches the bridle in
his teeth, and hangs on until Sally regains control
of her maddened steed.
My inquiries as to the details of Tom Sawyer's
training for this thrilling role have brought me no
very definite information, but I gather that there was
some profanity used on the Hempstead Plains last
April. Apparently he and Peter invented a little
game of their own that did not fit in with the pur-
poses of the drama, and the price of seven rattan
whips and two pounds of strong cheese was added to
the bill of expenses before it seemed to dawn upon
Tom Sawyer that he was expected to restrict his
energies to a single course of action. Having once
learned, however, it proved difficult to restrain him
from seeking a pendant ride from Peter's bridle
whenever the horse broke out of a walk.
When finally, after a prodigious expenditure of
films and temper, the great scene had been perma-
nently recorded for the future delectation of the
American public, Miss Mortimer took rooms in an
uptown hotel in New York in order to devote a week
or two to dressmaking and recuperation.
It was on the first day of May that the adventure
befell to which I have been so laboriously leading
up. At ten o'clock in the morning Miss Mortimer
had her favorite horse saddled and brought around
278 TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES
to the hotel not the rough, roistering Peter, but
her glossy, black Mazeppa. She appeared in a sil-
ver-gray corduroy riding habit, with knickerbockers
and patent-leather boots, that made three bell-boys,
two clerks, and the man at the cigar stand cease op-
erations and stare. Beside her trotted Tom Sawyer
with a new tan collar about his thick, plebeian neck.
It was a perfect Spring day in Central Park. The
sun shone warmly through the little red leaves of the
maples and the filmy green of the birches. Nurse-
maids with perambulators were out in full force, and
the heart of Fanny Mortimer was glad likewise
that of Torn Sawyer, who promptly stole a stick of
taffy from the chubby hand of a surprised young
heiress and headed for cover.
A gruff voice caught Miss Mortimer's ear, and she
beheld a stalwart and not unattractive policeman
pointing to a very obvious sign which stated that
the park ordinances forbade all persons to allow
dogs to run at large.
Tom Sawyer was most certainly at large. His
joyous bark was heard once or twice, but he did not
reappear. Miss Mortimer favored the policeman
with a winning smile and promised to hale the dog
forth from the forbidden ground; but the promise
was more easily made than kept. Tom Sawyer had
apparently set out upon some quest of his own de-
vising, and his mistress was troubled with a fore-
TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES 279
boding that her morning's pleasure was to be marred.
She made her way at length into the bridle path,
in the hope that the sound of Mazeppa's canter would
draw Tom Sawyer forth from his retreat. It would
be rather disgraceful to have him arrested.
The broncho-busting Sally of the Bad Lands
had been transformed into a charming park eques-
trienne, and many were the admiring glances that
were turned upon her; but she observed them not.
Her eyes and ears were strained to catch sight or
sound of a little law-breaking terrier.
As she approached a drive that crossed the bridle
path she was suddenly aroused from her preoccupa-
tion by a shrill scream and the wild galloping of a
horse. From the left, around a turn in the drive,
there rushed into view a foam-flecked runaway
horse, dragging a swaying trap, in which were seated
a man and a woman, the latter pale and wide-eyed
with terror and the former leaning forward, clutch-
ing the dashboard, and calling loudly on the horse
to " whoa." The runaway, with dilated nostrils
and dragging reins, came dashing along at top
speed. A hundred yards behind and gaining but
slowly, pounded a mounted policeman in hot pur-
suit.
To her right, around another bend, Miss Morti-
mer caught a glimpse of careless strollers and the
white frocks of children.
280 TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES
She dug her heels into Mazeppa's glossy sides and
he leapt into the driveway, turning sharply to the
right just as the runaway shot by. Gathering full
speed Mazeppa took up the chase, but the runaway
had a flying start and Miss Mortimer found herself
only a few lengths ahead of the policeman, who
shouted to her an unheeded warning.
It was a stern chase, with the chances in favor of
a tragedy somewhere around the bend, and Miss
Mortimer's heart sank as she took in the situation.
Then, as though prearranged by some resourceful
producer, a swift, animated bolt shot out from the
shrubbery, across the road, and straight at the head
of the runaway.
It was Tom Sawyer, performing his hard-learned
trick. Oh, why was there no clicking machine near
by to record the most gallant exploit of Tom's career
on a ribbon of imperishable film?
He caught the right-hand rein four inches from
the bit and closed his young jaws upon it. The
horse, suddenly conscious of a new terror, veered
sharply to the left, nearly upsetting the trap, and then
plunged on again. This was old Peter's cue to slow
down and come rearing to a standstill, but the run-
away, a powerful chestnut gelding, only felt the in-
explicable dead weight of Tom Sawyer's solid bulk
tugging at his mouth and strove with frenzied vio-
lence to shake it loose.
TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES 281
Poor Tom was in a perilous plight, now swung
far out to the right, now crashing back against the
runaway's heaving chest. It was doubtless some
hideous trick they were playing on him, but he only
closed his eyes and hung on. It was fortunate for
him that the shaft of the stylish trap was curved
down at the end, or he must have been impaled upon
its brass ferule.
But no horse can keep up a 2.20 clip with forty-
eight pounds of tenacious dog hanging from his bit,
and though the chestnut's mighty tossings were dan-
gerous to the equilibrium of the light trap, his speed
perceptibly diminished and Miss Mortimer and the
policeman began to close up the gap.
The harness was new and strong and held fast,
and the trap still managed to keep right side up ; its
occupants were thus far uninjured. A scream or
two had sent men, women, and children scurrying to
the sides of the road and none had been hurt. But
ahead there was another and sharper turn in the
drive and one knew not what lay beyond it. With
a little cry of desperation Miss Mortimer applied her
quirt to the now reeking Mazeppa.
Then, with the bend a rod ahead, the runaway, in
an access of exasperation and fright, broke into a
series of short, mad leaps, rearing and straining his
powerful neck in a last violent effort to rid himself
of his incubus, and Tom Sawyer was hurled into the
282 TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES
rhododendrons with a bit of leather still clamped be-
tween his teeth.
In an instant Miss Mortimer was reaching for the
runaway's head, and in another the policeman had
him on the other side, and the race was over.
Handing Mazeppa's bridle to a bystander, the
actress petulantly waved aside proffered congratula-
tions and the stammering thanks of the man in the
trap, and ran back to where Tom Sawyer lay quietly
upon his side where he had fallen.
Fanny Mortimer, save in her professional ca-
pacity, was not an emotional person, but her eyes
were streaming and her hands trembling as she knelt
in the dusty grass beside the still form of her terrier.
" I knew he was dead and I loved him so ! " she
cried to me afterward, forgetting her smiling reserve
in the telling of this tale.
She lifted the sturdy, naughty little head to her
knee, smoothing the velvet forehead very gently
with her fingers and choking back the sobs. Then
something happened that made her catch her breath.
A swelling appeared in Tom Sawyer's throat, and a
struggling, painful effort to swallow. Then a half
perceptible little gasp and a slight relaxing of the set
jaws. Miss Mortimer's hand flew down to the soft,
warm place between his forelegs and felt a little
irregular flutter there. She bent her lovely lips to
his notched right ear and whispered his name.
TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES 283
There was a movement of his lips and brows, and
for a brief moment he opened his eyes and looked
bravely up at her.
Just then Phil Harris pushed through the small
circle of silent spectators and knelt by Miss Morti-
mer's side. He had recognized her and he had heard
about Tom Sawyer from me.
" I have sent for a taxicab, Miss Mortimer," said
he, " and we '11 get him back to your hotel. Tell
me which one it is and we '11 have a veterinarian up
there in twenty minutes."
She looked up at him gratefully. She did n't no-
tice the cynical lines about his world-weary mouth,
but only the moisture in his eyes, for Phil Harris
had owned an Airedale once that but this is Tom
Sawyer's story.
Very tenderly they lifted him to the seat of the
taxi, and very slowly they drove back to Miss Morti-
mer's hotel in the bright May sunshine, leaving the
mounted policeman to fulfil his promise to look
after Mazeppa.
At the entrance of the Park a sudden whim seized
the Queen of the Movies. Stopping the taxi she
leaned out and beckoned to the policeman who had
warned her about allowing Tom Sawyer in the Park.
" See," she said, " I have brought him out as I
said I would." Then she burst into tears and the
taxicab rolled on, leaving the policeman standing in
284 TOM SAWYER OF THE MOVIES
the middle of the drive open-mouthed with amaze-
ment.
Tom Sawyer recovered ; that is the one joyous fact
remaining to be told. I called at the hotel with Phil
a week or so later and found the spoiled creature eat-
ing cheese on a sofa cushion. The doctor found no
broken bones, but only a severe nervous shock, from
which dogs as well as women can suffer, and a sad
disarrangement of internal works which, owing to
Tom Sawyer's native vitality, gradually righted
themselves. His left hind leg was partially para-
lyzed, when I saw him, but was improving.
Once more did I see Tom Sawyer. Miss Morti-
mer had been called to British Columbia for some
strenuous movie acting, and had left her protege
with his friends at the big Chicago studio. He
knew me and promptly sat up and begged for a piece
of cheese, of which I had providentially a small sup-
ply. If I expected to find a subdued and dignified
Tom Sawyer I was doomed to disappointment.
The last I saw of him he was dashing out into the
yard with a silk hat in his mouth, hotly and pro-
fanely pursued by fat and famous John Morrow
himself.
Some dogs are simply hopeless.
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
FULLY realizing how dull biographical details
may be, I yet venture to review briefly the
chief occurrences in the career, or odyssey, of notch-
eared Don, otherwise known as Champion Stony
Hills Adonis, if only to prove how little certain
humanly important matters have to do with the in-
ner life history of a dog, except to divert it from its
normal course.
He was an Airedale terrier of royal blood,
whelped in Connecticut in 1907, sired by Ch. Stony
Hills Archer out of Birchwood Mollie, and at the
time was excessively round as to stomach and wabbly
as to legs. James Hutchins, his owner and breeder,
had chosen Stony Hills as the cognomen of his ken-
nels, and, being a man of moderate imagination, he
followed a custom common with the fancy and se-
lected for his dogs baptismal names beginning with a
single letter. Thus, the five fuzzy and sooty-nosed
individuals of Birchwood Mollie's litter were duly
registered as Advocate, Alfonso, Adonis, Arabella,
and Alice, all with the prefix Stony Hills.
The hungry little rascal that rejoiced in the singu-
larly inappropriate name of Adonis, was the middle-
287
288 THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
sized pup of the three males, and, by a combination
of prescience, experience, and superstition, was early
picked as a future winner by James Hutchins and
his dog-wise friends.
Whatever amusing or disgraceful events may have
occurred during the infancy and adolescence of
Adonis must remain unrecorded, for such details
form no part of the annals of well regulated ken-
nels.
He made his debut at Mineola at the age of eleven
months, and carried off the blue ribbon in the puppy
class. The judges pronounced him a youngster of
rare promise, well marked, spirited in manner, with
well sprung ribs, forelegs as straight as rulers, and a
perfect head. That interested Howard Towsley,
who gave Hutchins a check for $150 on the spot and
had Don's crate shipped to Huntington, Long Is-
land.
Adonis duplicated his performance at Southamp-
ton and one or two smaller shows, and the following
February he captured the blue among the American-
bred Airedales at the big show of the Westminster
Kennel Club in New York.
During the summer of 1909, Mr. Towsley, weary-
ing of the sport of exhibiting dogs, sold Adonis for
$300 to Ned Buxton, who was more of a speculator
than a fancier. Buxton, a few weeks later, sold him
for $500 to Thornton Rogers of Metuchen, N. J.,
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION 289
who loved dogs no more than he loved real estate,
but whose skill at playing politics had won him a
wide if not wholly desirable following in the fancy.
It was during the Rogers regime that Adonis
achieved the last of the fifteen points necessary for
his championship title. He was now full grown, a
splendid specimen of his breed, trained down to
forty-six pounds and groomed to a hair a proud
young aristocrat of dogdom. His picture was pub-
lished in the leading kennel papers and fame sat
upon his black saddle. Incidentally his money value
had increased tremendously.
In June, 1910, Ch. Stony Hills Adonis romped
away with the premier trophy at the Ladies' Kennel
Association show at Mineola, being adjudged the
best dog of any breed exhibited, and two weeks later
Field and Fancy announced that he had been sold
for $1200 to Carlton Endicott, the millionaire
fancier of Bryn Mawr.
Mr. Endicott's kennel man took Adonis in hand
and groomed him for the Airedale specialty show in
New York the following December. Adonis man-
aged to get his digestion upset at just the wrong mo-
ment, but for all that he took reserve in the winners
class against over a hundred competitors of his own
breed.
Mr. Endicott had high hopes for winning extraor-
dinary honors with Adonis at the 1911 New York
290 THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
and Philadelphia shows, and was quoted as saying
that he would not take $2,000 for his champion. It
is not known that he received any offers, but Adonis
became known as a $2,000 dog.
Then came his downfall. It may be that too
much handling and too little loving had developed in
him a petulant disposition; such things are not un-
common among show dogs. At any rate, he became
involved in a lively altercation with a brindle bull
terrier of doubtful lineage in the streets of Bryn
Mawr, and emerged therefrom with a permanent
limp in his left foreleg and a very noticeable notch
in his right ear.
In a twinkling he fell from the proud estate of a
prize winner and became notch-eared Don with no
more chance in the show-ring than the plebeian bull
terrier that had whipped him. Mr. Endicott was
disgusted, but the kennel man, Joe Hodder, feeling
no little responsibility in the matter, counseled pa-
tience. Don's record was intact, Joe said, and he
would be immensely valuable at stud. But Mr.
Endicott had no taste for breeding, and so Joe
negotiated the final sale of Adonis to the Oak
View Kennels at Hempstead, Long Island, for
$900.
Thus ended the public career of Ch. Stony Hills
Adonis. But what has that to do with the life of a
dog? Adonis, I maintain, for all his native intelli-
He was now full-grown, a splendid specimen of his breed,
trained down to forty-six pounds and groomed to a hair a
proud young aristocrat of dogdom
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION 293
gence, did not know a blue ribbon from a yellow
one. He only knew that it was his fate to fall
periodically into the hands of a new master and to
be shipped about the country in a stuffy crate to
strange quarters or to the maddening inferno of a
dog show. In what way did all this nonsense con-
cern him?
On that sunny morning at Stony Hills, when the
puppy first found himself groping blindly in a
strange world, the angel that watches over the birth
of dogs implanted in his absurd little breast the
hereditary love for mankind. Now the Airedale
terrier is primarily a one-man dog. Of all the hu-
man beings on this planet he selects one upon whom
to lavish the wealth of his devotion. For others he
may show some affection, some spirit of protection,
but always there is one whom he chooses to be his
man. Normally, this is his master, the one who
feeds and educates him; sometimes he is capricious
in his choice and his master is not his man. But
when once he has placed his affections, he is faith-
ful to the death.
Don's life was artificial, abnormal, but the blood
of his fathers flowed in his veins, the instinct of at-
tachment was bred in his heart. In the course of his
many migrations, then, did he find his man? Was
there one master, handler, kennel man whom he
recognized above all others as his personal deity, the
294 THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
memory of whom lingered in his queer little canine
brain ? Was it James Hutchins, Howard Towsley,
Ned Buxton, Thornton Rogers, Carlton Endicott,
Joe Hodder? As a matter of fact it was none of
these. It was plain, red-haired Mary Shea who
cooked for the Towsleys during the year that Adonis
sojourned in Huntington.
The first year of Don's life had been spent in
kennels, where he had ample opportunity to learn the
give-and-take principles of dog democracy. Ken-
nel men had come and gone, and he had learned to
obey and respect them, receiving at their hands such
chastisement and such favors as they had seen fit to
bestow. But his heart had warmed toward none of
them; in fact, he had been scarcely conscious of any
yearning for closer human association.
But with his removal to Huntington, all was
changed. He missed the daily companionship of his
brothers and sisters. There were but four other
dogs at Mr. Towsley's, and their ways were strange
to him. They were a reserved, self-sufficient lot
who, through the vicissitudes of their lives, had
learned not to expose their hearts to the possible
perils of change or neglect.
Adonis, in short, was lonely. Mr. Towsley was
gentle with his dogs, but his kindness had more of
the pride of ownership in it than genuine affection.
Adonis was neither disappointed nor hurt by this,
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION 295
but there grew in his heart a troubled, unsatisfied
longing for something more.
Naturally of a nervous temperament he became
restless, and his restlessness led him into a number
of misdemeanors. He was banished from the house
and spent his days dismally at the end of a chain
which was fastened to a ring that ran on a wire
cable reaching from the tree beside his kennel to the
garage.
Adonis was too well bred a dog to lament vocifer-
ously, but he would lie for hours beneath his tree
expressing his woe with long sighs and a little,
plaintive whistling noise in his throat.
It was this sound that found its way to the warm
Irish heart of Mary Shea.
The poor little dog," she said, standing in her
kitchen door and gazing out compassionately upon
the black and tan form crouching, chin on fore-
paws, in the grass. " I can't a-bear them whines."
In the intervals of her work she was drawn irre-
sistibly to the door, to find him lying in the same
spot, his beautiful brown eyes searching the mystery
of the universe for he knew not what.
Then, finding a chop bone, she impulsively pushed
open the screen door and went out to him. She held
out the bone enticingly and Adonis arose rather
heartlessly and approached her. He sniffed at the
bone, took it, gnawed tentatively at it for a few mo-
296 THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
ments, and then, leaving it on the ground, turned and
went back with lowered tail to his place in the shade.
Mary stood with her hands on her hips, regard-
ing him.
" Well, you 're a strange beast," she said.
" What 's wrong with ye, anyway? Are ye sick? '
Adonis fixed his upturned eyes upon her, the
whites showing at the corners, giving him a most
mournful expression. She bent over and knelt be-
fore him, caressing his hard little head.
" Now what 's the trouble ? ' she crooned.
" Could n't ye tell me?"
Adonis only rolled his eyes and never moved a
muscle.
Mary laughed and seizing him by the scruff of the
neck gave him a little shake, to which he submitted
imperturbably.
" Come, come! " she cried. " Wake up, ye silly.
Don't be so low spirited."
Adonis blinked stolidly.
She grasped him by the shoulders and made him
sit up, but he only hunched his back and hung his
head. Then, with sudden impulsiveness, she hugged
him to her blue gingham bosom and arose.
" Ye 're just sulkin'," she said. " Ye '11 feel bet-
ter after a bit. Don't forget your bone." And
with that she left him sitting immovably, gazing after
her, the embodiment of dejection.
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION 297
As the summer wore on Mary Shea persisted in
her attempts to fan the slumbering spark in Don's
unapproachable breast, and gradually he began to
show signs of interest in her brief visits. One day
in August he arose suddenly and gave her a moist
and ticklish kiss below the ear, and by September he
was dashing to the end of his chain at her approach,
standing on his hind legs and pawing the air, with
open mouth and whining invitation.
Then came an autumn day when something called
to the spirit of his ancestors and it awoke within
him. A tramp, whose shabby clothes at once
aroused Don's inbred suspicions, knocked at the
kitchen door. He was not a very dangerous tramp ;
he asked only for food and the traditional car-
fare; and Mary Shea was well acquainted with
his kind and fully capable of taking care of him.
But the tramp's voice was gruff and unpleas-
antly insistent, and Adonis tugged at his chain in
his eagerness to have a hand in expelling the in-
truder.
The tramp, refusing to be repulsed, started to
open the screen door. Mary jerked it from his
hand and hooked it. The sudden movement and the
sharp slam of the door aroused Adonis to a fury.
A swift rush snapped the trolley wire at the tree,
where it had been worn half through by the dog's
constant activities, and the ring slipped off. Drag-
298 THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
ging his chain, he dashed headlong to the porch, with
bared fangs and flashing eyes.
The man backed quickly into the corner, throwing
up his arm to protect his throat. But Mary saw
Don coming, and desiring no bloodshed, sprang
hastily out and intercepted his mad rush. She laid
hold of his collar and the dog, still straining to get
at her supposed assailant, nevertheless obeyed the
restraint of her hand.
" Lie down, Don/' she commanded.
Instantly, though not without a muttered protest,
he complied, and crouched tensely at her feet, watch-
ing the tramp's slightest movement.
' Now you begone," she said to the man.
He needed no second invitation and hurriedly
made his exit, while Don lay obediently passive but
observant.
Mary stooped and petted him.
1 Good boy, Don," she said, patting his neck.
" It 's a fine watch dog ye are. But it 's all right
now. Good dog."
Don stood up, wagging his short tail rapidly with
pleasure at her words of commendation. Then he
leaned gently against her, raising his muzzle toward
her face, and his eyes said : " I will protect you.
Of all humanity I have chosen you to be my special
care. I shall be your dog, till death us do part."
That is the creed and religion of a true-hearted
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION 299
dog, but Adonis, alas, was not the arbiter of his own
destiny. Like the kings and princes of the earth
he was doomed by the very nobility of his breeding
to be the victim of circumstances. He could choose
neither master nor mate, but his goings and
comings must ever be under the control of beings
whose purposes he could neither resist nor compre-
hend.
When Adonis was again sold in slavery to Ned
Buxton it was fortunate for him that he had no
presentiment of his fate. He was disconsolate be-
cause he thought that another journey in a crate and
another of those nerve-racking bench shows were
before him. But it did not occur to him that he had
seen the last of his comfortable kennel in the shade
of the maple tree, where Mary Shea was wont to
come on pleasant afternoons and roll him over and
pull his ears and speak soft-sounding words that
were so very pleasant to hear.
But Mary knew, and her heart was heavy within
her. She would have bought him for herself if his
market value had not increased so absurdly beyond
her means. Personal entreaties, she knew, would
be useless and out of place. So she was obliged to
hide a grief which, among the humans of the
Towsley household, would have been considered
silly.
For months Don had been her best loved and most
300 THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
loving comrade. On Sundays she had been per-
mitted to take him for a walk out along the country
roads where she feared nothing with him to protect
her, and where he threw off all the conventional re-
serve that he had acquired and became just a normal,
healthy, high-spirited dog, rejoicing in his freedom,
in the innumerable possibilities of adventure in this
glad world, in the strength and speed of his own
sturdy legs, and in the companionship of his adored
one. For her alone he reserved those little caresses,
those little expressions of emotion whose language
she had come to understand.
It did not help her much to know that he was un-
conscious of his impending fate. Every little yelp
of greeting, those last few days, was like a stab in
her tender heart, though she forced herself to be
jolly to the end.
But when the day of parting came at last, and she
heard his protesting "Woof! Woof!' from the
motor car that bore him away to the station, she shut
herself in her room, foolish girl, and wept as though
her heart would break.
In his new quarters, as the hope of immediate re-
turn grew dimmer, Adonis, like many another be-
trayed gentleman, shut his heart away from the
world and hid his true feelings behind an exterior
of indifference or haughty reserve or, it must be
said, ill temper. And so he became just a show dog,
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION 301
not very amiable and not greatly loved, valued only
for the honors he could bring to feed the pride of
his owner. It was said in the fancy that he was
nobly fulfilling the promise of his youth, but the
true destiny of a dog in the world of men, fore-
ordained from the beginning, was for him not ful-
filled at all.
The events of those years need scarcely concern
us. Save for the disgraceful fight in Bryn Mawr
they are written in the official annals of the Ameri-
can Kennel Club. But at the Oak View Kennels
in West Hempstead a new life began for Champion
Adonis. It was not a happy life. The professional
kennel man who is at once efficient and tender
hearted is a rarity, and the prevailing opinion at Oak
View was that Adonis, though valuable for com-
mercial purposes, was an ill-natured, snappish brute
who might easily become unmanageable if not ruled
with a heavy hand.
On a hot, muggy, fly-infested day in August
Adonis did become unmanageable, or at least his
spirit flashed up in a brief tempest of revolt. His
keeper, annoyed by the heat and the general ir-
ritability or listlessness of the dogs, yanked at Don's
collar with uncalled-for vigor. Adonis bared his
teeth and snarled.
" Oh, you would, would you ! " cried the man, and
cuffed Adonis smartly on the side of the head.
302 THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
Whereat Adonis, reckless of consequences, snapped
at the keeper's hand and drew blood.
The keeper jumped back with a cry of pain
and anger and kicked the dog savagely. Adonis,
the rebellious impulse having passed as quickly
as it came, cowered, whimpering. Then the man
dragged him out back of the kennels, fastened him
by a four- foot leash to a post, and left him to repent
of his sins.
The sun was burning hot and an Airedale is a
cold-weather dog. Occasionally Don gave voice to
a long, hound-like howl of distress, and the man
would come and kick him again or strike him with
a stick and bid him shut up.
The short chain was cruel, the beating was cruel,
the intense heat of the sun on his head was more
cruel, but worst of all was the lack of water. For
hours in the broiling sunshine he was deprived of
this necessity. His throat was parched and his
tongue, hanging far out of his mouth, was as dry
as old leather.
Late in the afternoon the heat and the drought
burned their way in to his brain and the frenzy of
madness came upon him. He leaped to his feet
with staring eyes. He sprang wildly against the
restraining collar till he was nearly strangled.
Then suddenly something snapped and he was free.
The sense of liberty lent strength to his trembling
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION 303
limbs and he dashed across the grounds and around
the house, leaping the four-foot hedge that
bounded the lawn. A keeper saw him and gave the
alarm.
Adonis did not know where he was going. He
was only conscious of the shouts and hurrying foot-
steps behind him, and he bent all his efforts toward
the sole end of getting away away to some place
where he might find a moment's peace and a drink
of water.
He was a fleet runner and he soon left behind him
the sounds of pursuit, but in his frantic desire to
escape he continued at top speed, his eyes rolling
backward, his tail between his legs.
As it chanced, he was headed east, and he soon
found himself in the village streets. Men and
horses and automobiles and all sorts of obstructions
seemed to be conspiring to head him off. In his
terror he dashed this way and that, crazed with
thirst, seeking blindly for some opening to freedom.
It is one of the firmly rooted superstitions of man-
kind that any dog that acts wildly is a victim of
rabies and a horrible menace to human life. There
is always a fool ready to shout fire at the first puff
of smoke in a crowded hall, and there is always a
fool to cry mad dog on the first imagined provoca-
tion. There was such a fool in Hempstead that day,
and his cry was promptly taken up by other fools.
3 o 4 THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
Most of the people in the streets sought shelter as
quickly as possible in shops and doorways, the
screams of children and their mothers adding to the
general confusion. The more valiant laid hold of
such weapons as they could find and started in mur-
derous pursuit. The din of it gathered intensity
behind him as Don, meeting opposition in Main
Street, continued his agonizing race down Ful-
ton.
At the fire house the Dalmatian mascot Maggie,
who would have attacked a lion if she had puppies
within, ran barking into the road. A man scrambled
close after her, seized her by the collar, and dragged
her back to safety. This unexpected diversion
turned the course of the Airedale's flight and he
wheeled swiftly to the right and plunged into an
opening between two buildings.
Hastily, with a heart-breaking effort, he checked
his speed. The way ahead narrowed to a passage a
few feet wide, from which two men bore down upon
him, yelling and brandishing cudgels. Escape lay
not there.
Adonis turned again. Three men blocked the
way by which he had entered, and the faces of others
peered around the corner of the building.
Cornered, cowering in the very abandonment of
terror, a pitiful caricature of his once proud self, the
champion stood at bay.
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION 305
Some one threw a stone which struck sharply the
wall behind him. There was something cowardly
about stone throwing that had always made him
furious. With a snarl he started forward. There
was a slight rearward movement at the corner of the
building which drew Adonis on. Then he rushed,
madly, blindly, in a last instinctive effort to live.
The human barrier, seen through a red mist, ap-
peared to waver, but two forms stood in his path,
menacing, determined. He dashed full at the
smaller of the two. The man turned white but held
his ground, holding his weapon ready for the crucial
moment.
The man, sucking in his breath loudly, swung, but
the dog, springing from directly before him, leaped
clean over his crouching form. Ah, it was well Joe
Hodder had taught him that trick. He landed
rather heavily, darted among the legs of the be-
wildered crowd, crossed the street, and sought safety
in the open of the park.
Sticks and stones rattled about him, a few of
them hitting him. One stone, striking him full on
the flank, caused him sharp pain. A policeman, ap-
pearing at last, sought to uphold the majesty of the
law by using his revolver. Three shots went wild ;
the fourth by some strange chance, grazed the Aire-
dale's ribs.
He kept straight on across the park. Winded
306 THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
and spent as he was, weakened by effort and fright
and thirst, he called upon the last reserves of energy
that were bred in his blood and nerve and sinew.
Though he almost staggered in his stride, he knew
that none behind him was his match in straight-
away speed. He urged himself through the park,
around the clump of shrubbery and into the back
street, and disappeared from view, leaving poor,
panic-stricken Hempstead to regain its composure
as best it might.
The fate, or the guardian angel, that led Adonis
out of the village in a northeasterly direction soon
showed him the open country and he sought for
freedom there. His burst of speed had left him
weakened and dispirited. The limp in his foreleg
bothered him and the scratch on his side smarted, but
a breeze swept across the Plains and the heat of the
sun, sinking toward the west, was tempered by the
mist of the horizon. He trotted stolidly on, over
the sun-burnt grass and rye stubble, his head held
low, sniffing for water.
Out beyond the Polo Grounds he found it, in the
little stream called Meadow Brook. He plunged
into the cooling water, lapping eagerly. Then he
crawled out, shook himself, and lay for a time be-
side the brook, recovering his strength through utter
relaxation.
As the evening shadows filled the little hollow of
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION 307
the brook he took another long, satisfying drink and
started on again, he knew not whither.
He was a free dog now, slave to no master, and
for several days he roamed the Plains, for the most
part invisible to mankind, seeking food and drink
and rest. But his strength was slow in returning.
The nervous strain through which he had passed had
sapped his energy. Untrammeled and unrestrained
though he was, he felt none of the old-time buoyancy
and elasticity.
He was no longer the handsome champion of the
show ring. His notched ear flopped dolefully over
one eye and his unkempt coat became shaggy and
dusty. He forgot his military bearing and fell into
a slouching, hound-like gait, and there was ever a
hunted look in his eyes. Accustomed, as he had
been, to careful, regular feeding, he took little pleas-
ure in the refuse which now constituted his diet, and
he began to feel sick and miserable.
He was sick at heart, too. Liberty, it appeared,
was not the sole end of life, and a great loneliness
took possession of him. And yet he did not long
for the life of the kennels, the voices of other dogs
and the passing to and fro of men, but for something
else that lurked in the dim alcoves of his memory.
It would be difficult to say when first the homing
instinct laid hold on him. Avoiding the villages in
his woe-begone pilgrimage, he had wandered far,
3o8 THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
skirting Westbury, Hicksville, Syosset, Northport,
till one morning in early September found him at
Cold Spring Harbor, a sick, homeless, friendless
dog, but with his nose pointed east and a new im-
pulse directing his feet.
He did not know where he was ; he but dimly felt
whither he was bound; but something called him
eastward, and he went.
I have often been foolish enough to harrow my
soul with fancying the sorry tragedy that might
have marked the return of the champion. I have
pictured him, dragging his poor, feverish body back
home, only to find the Towsleys decamped for the
summer and the house tight closed. I have
imagined him whining piteously, sniffing about the
kitchen door for some sign of Mary Shea, now long
since married to Tim Daly, the iceman, and living
in a little house down by the Harbor. She might
as well have been in China for all the good it would
have done him. I have fancied him hanging, dis-
consolate and starving, about the neighborhood until
he was driven forth by impatient folk to die alone
in the woods, or turned over to the authorities to
have his wretched existence ended in a more ex-
peditious manner.
But, glory be to the source of it, luck stood by the
champion. It was Tim Daly himself who espied
Adonis wandering aimlessly about on the West Hills
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION 309
Road, and Tim had a kind heart in his breast, else he
would never have won Mary Shea. He stopped his
horses and approached the cringing dog, that had
never a spark of resistance left in him.
' Are ye lost ? : asked Tim, bending over him.
" Where do ye belong ? '
Don looked up at him helplessly, not fully trusting
the kindly voice. Tim placed his hand gently on the
dog's head and then let it slide down his gaunt
body.
" Thin as a rail ! ' ejaculated Tim. " Ye 're
hungry, I 've no doubt. Sick, too. Better come
along with me, boy, and I '11 give ye a bite to eat
and see what ails ye."
Don staggered to his feet. With no definite pur-
pose he started to follow and Tim, seeing how weak
he was, picked him up bodily and deposited him in
the empty wagon.
In the little house down by the Harbor, Mary
Daly was getting dinner. There was a strong scent
of onions in the air and Mary was making a cheerful
clatter about the range and a cheerful sound with
her singing
" I 've a sweetheart, my boys, in old Ireland,
A lad that would make you all smile "
The door opened suddenly and Tim tramped in,
bearing a burden,
3 io THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION
" What in the name of common sense have ye
there, Tim Daly? " she demanded.
" A little puppy for the baby," said Tim with a
twinkle in his eye.
" A cross old dog that '11 bite him," retorted Mary,
but she followed her husband to the corner of the
kitchen and watched with interest as he laid Adonis
on an old coat.
"Have you a little soup for him?' asked Tim.
"He's starvin', I think."
" Oh, the poor dog ! ' exclaimed Mary, her
sympathy at once aroused, and she knelt down be-
side him and lifted up his head.
Adonis sniffed at her hand. Then he sat up and
sniffed again. Then suddenly, without warning, he
fell upon her, nearly upsetting her, his whole frame
vibrant with almost too deep a joy, and kissed her in
the old, ticklish way beneath the ear.
" It 's Don ! " cried Mary in a choking voice, peer-
ing into his face and then straining him to her bosom.
" It 's my old Don come back to me."
" What ! " exclaimed Tim, " Mr. Towsley's prize
Airedale ? "
" Oh, Don ! Don ! ' murmured Mary, her face
buried in his dusty coat.
" Then he 's a young dog yet," said Tim. " He '11
come around all right."
" Oh, I hope he will. He must. I don't know
THE RETURN OF THE CHAMPION 311
where he came from, or where he 's been, but he 's
come to me now, and I '11 never let him go again.
Oh, Don ! Don ! Ye 're my dog now, ye 're my
dog."
But Don could only rest his bowed head against
her arm and whimper softly in a sort of grief that
no power had been granted him to express more
eloquently his undying love.
PRAYER FOR A PUP
PRAYER FOR A PUP
GREAT GOD OF DOGS :
Seated on thy regal throne in the high heavens,
where ruddy Sirius flames; with all thy angel pack
about thee, running to do thy bidding St. Ber-
nards and all the other canine saints, collies, setters,
mastiffs, and Great Danes, dogs who gained heaven
through much loving and profound devotion, a noble
brood, heroes of flame and flood
Great God of Dogs, look down and hear my
humble prayer.
Outside thy portals this gray morn a little
stranger waits, an Airedale terrier, nine months old,
big-footed, awkward-limbed, rough-coated, with
stubby tail held upright, wagging rapidly, ears
cocked, and brown eyes full of innocent inquiry and
pained surprise at his strange plight, pleading
humbly for admittance.
That 's Dusty Rhodes. He died last night in un-
deserved pain. His little spirit passed beyond our
ken. No more our door is opened to his plaintive
whine. Great God of Dogs, I pray thee, let him in.
And if he cannot read his title clear to kennels in
315
316 PRAYER FOR A PUP
the skies, I pray thee grant him mercy. If in his
record thou dost read much mischief and some dis-
obedience, forget not his unsullied heart, his sweet
and gentle disposition : no trace of viciousness did
darken his young life, no evil mood, nor any least
resentment. He teased our cat, but it was only
play; he would have loved him like a brother if he
could. And if on such and such a day he misbe-
haved and heeded not the bidding of his mistress, on
that same day he licked the chastising hand, and all
was soon forgiven and forgot.
There be no deeds of valor to record; but he was
young. He came of noble lineage; his little heart
was true. Be merciful, I pray, and let him in.
His little collar hangs upon a nail, and e'en the
little whip, the sight of which chastises us to-day.
He has no home. We cannot bear that he should
wander there in outer darkness, unpatted and un-
loved. Is there no place in all wide heaven for him ?
Is there no loving hand to take his proffered paw?
I pray thee, let him in.
And if there be an angel child or two whose time
may well be spared, some cherub who can under-
stand a dog, who loves to play, I pray thee to en-
trust him to his keeping. He will repay the care.
Across the Elysian fields he '11 romp and run ; and
if some angel stops and smiles and speaks his name,
as neighbors did on earth, then there will sound the
PRAYER FOR A PUP 317
bark of pure delight that we shall hear no more, no
more; and heaven will hear a joyful noise that day.
Great God of Dogs, outside thy pearly gates this
little stranger stands and begs the simplest boon.
He only asks for some one he may love. Great God
of Dogs, wilt thou not take him in?
CENTRAL CIRCULATION
CHILDREN'S ROOM
THE END
