BILLY UNEXPECTEDLY MEETS A FRIEND
“Good-morning, friends!” baaed Billy. “Would you allow a tired traveler
to rest under the shade of your trees, and give him a drink of water?
For I am a stranger in a strange land, and have traveled far. I am an
American.”
“You an _American_?” exclaimed the dogs in chorus.
“Now we surely are glad to meet you!” barked the big Dane. “For if
there is any place on earth we dogs have longed to see, it is America.
Probably you will tell us about it?”
“Yes,” said another dog. “We have heard that every dog has his day over
there and many of them two or three.”
“We have also heard,” added a French poodle, “that all dogs are free
over there, and can go and come as they like, and that they are never
tied up, shut in a house or muzzled. Is that true?”
“Yes and no,” replied Billy. “It depends on where you live and who your
master or mistress is.”
“Why, we have heard,” piped up a little black and tan, “that any dog
can choose his own master or mistress, and that all he has to do if he
doesn’t like them or isn’t pleased with the way they treat him is to
walk off and follow the first person he sees that he thinks he would
like to live with, and that they will take him home with them and feed
and house him.”
[Illustration]
“Again you are partly right and partly wrong,” replied Billy. “It
depends on whom you run away from and whom you pick out to be your new
master or mistress. You might happen to belong to some one who was very
fond of you, though you might not be fond of them. In that case if you
ran away they would advertise and try to get you back, but if you had
proved yourself to be a good-for-nothing dog, they would let you go and
say ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish!’ and never bother their heads about
you.
“Then again you might show poor judgment in selecting a new master and
choose one who did not care for dogs, and when he found you following
him he might throw sticks and stones at you. So you see you can’t
always be sure of changing masters successfully.”
“Did you just come from America?” asked a fourth.
“Oh, no! I have been over here nearly a year now, with the army.”
“You don’t mean to tell us that you have really and truly been with the
army?”
“Surely not at the front!” added another in amazement.
“But I have!” Billy assured them. “I have crossed No-Man’s-Land many
times, and been shot at and blown up once besides. See where a piece of
my tail is gone? Well, I lost it at Verdun. A bomb exploded and threw
me up in the air and also blew off part of my tail. I consider myself
very lucky that it decided to blow a piece off that end of my body
instead of the other, for if it had been my head in place of my tail,
it would have killed me. I can’t get along without a head, but I can
without a tail.”
“Haw! Haw! Haw!” laughed the dogs.
“You surely are a funny fellow!” said one. “Come on in and we will find
something for you to eat and drink and also a place to rest. Then after
you have rested, I hope you will tell us more of your experiences at
the front. If you will do that, we will tell you our experiences in
Paris before we left there, and we will introduce you to some of our
celebrated police and Red Cross dogs who have been in the war and
been wounded or gassed. They will relate some thrilling adventures and
hairbreadth escapes. To-night will be a good time, after our keepers
have gone to bed. Then we can sneak out under the trees in the little
patch of woods behind the big stables and while you brave soldiers swap
tales of the war we who have never been near the war can listen.
“There goes one of our heroes now. See that dog crossing the lawn,
wearing a Red Cross bandage on his chest?”
Billy turned and took one long look at the dog. Then without a word
of warning he put down his head and bounded toward him, taking ten or
twelve feet at a single bound.
The dogs stood spellbound. What was the big goat going to do? Butt
their wounded hero? If so, why should he wish to butt a perfectly
harmless dog he had never seen before? But had he never seen him
before? Perhaps they had met and fought on the battlefield and were
enemies. If so, they must all run and protect their hero from the long
horns of the strange goat.
But when the dogs arrived within speaking distance they were overjoyed
to hear the goat baa out, “Hello, old chum! How in all that is
wonderful did you get here? I heard you were dead; that you had been
seen with a Red Cross ambulance which had first been gassed and then
blown up by a shell. One of your friends said he saw you with his own
eyes sitting in the back of the ambulance when the shell struck it,
and the next thing he saw was the whole ambulance flying up in the air
and then coming down in small pieces.”
[Illustration]
“What he saw all happened. I was there and sitting in the back of the
ambulance with my gas mask on, for the signal had been given for all
to put on their masks, and one of the doctors with the ambulance corps
had just stopped and strapped mine in place when a shell hit us, and I
found myself going up in the air at the rate of about a hundred miles
a minute. When I came down, my mask had been blown off my face. How it
ever was done without killing me or blowing my head off I don’t know,
but it was. I thought I was all right until I began to see red, and I
had a queer sensation in my head as if my brain were going round and
round like a cat runs after its tail. Then I could not get my breath
and I fell over, giving myself up for dead. But if you will believe it,
the next thing I knew I opened my eyes and found myself in a long room
with two rows of beds in it, all just like baby cribs. And bending
over me was a sweet-faced lady nurse. I found myself all bound up in
splints and cotton batting. You see an interne to another Red Cross
ambulance who had come to look for the wounded, if any had possibly
survived the blow-up, had found me senseless on the ground. So he
picked me up and brought me here as this hospital for dogs was on the
way to the hospital where he was stationed. This is now my fourth week
here, and I want to tell you that only angels in human form live here.
They are so good to one! They have nursed me back to life. I was only
slightly gassed and so my lungs are all healed and I am also over my
shell shock. I shall likely go back to the front in another week.”
“You don’t mean that you are going back to the fighting line, do you?”
asked a long white-haired collie that had fallen very much in love with
the brave Red Cross dog. “Oh, why do you risk your life again?”
“Why do I risk my life?” in astonishment. “To try to save some brave
soldier, whose life is a thousand times more valuable than any dog’s
ever will be. Yes, I am going back and back and back as long as I have
eyes, teeth or claws to go back with, until this cruel war is over.”
“Bully for you!” exclaimed Billy. “You make me feel like a slacker,
getting homesick and running away from the army.”
“Well, it is not too late yet to go back. I propose that you stay here
and rest until next week and then go back with me.”
“I’ll do it!” said Billy, and they rubbed noses together to seal the
bargain. “I hear a bugle. What is that call for?”
“Oh, that is our supper call,” said the Red Cross dog. “When they blow
the bugle all the dogs that are running loose are supposed to go to
the back kitchen door. There are long troughs there in which they put
our suppers. Come ahead with us, and we will give you some food. There
will be plenty for all of us and for you too, for they serve very
bountifully here,” and all the dogs and Billy too moved off in the
direction of the kitchen.