"It _did_ happen with every other one you ever had," Florence urged
plaintively. "He chased 'em every last one off the place, and they never
came back. You know perfectly well, Aunt Julia, grandpa's just bound to
hate this dog, and you know just exactly how he'll act about him."
"No, I don't," said Julia. "Not just _exactly_."
"Well, anyway, you know he'll behave awful."
"It's probable," the aunt admitted.
"He always does," Florence continued. "He behaves awful about everything
I ever heard about. He----"
"I'll go pretty far with you, Florence," Julia interposed, "but we'd
better leave him a loophole. You know he's a constant attendant at
church and contributes liberally to many good causes."
"Oh, you know what I mean! I mean he always acts horrable about
anything pleasant. Of course I know he's a _good_ man, and everything; I
just mean the way he behaves is perfeckly disgusting. So what's the use
your not givin' me this dog? You won't have him yourself as soon as
grandpa comes home to lunch in an hour or so."
"Oh, yes, I will!"
"Grandpa hasn't already seen him, has he?"
"No."
"Then what makes you say----"
"He isn't coming home to lunch. He won't be home till five o'clock this
afternoon."
"Well, then, about six you won't have any dog, and poor little
Gammire'll get run over by an automobile some time this very evening!"
Florence's voice became anguished in the stress of her appeal. "Aunt
Julia, _won't_ you give me this dog?"
Julia shook her head.
"Won't you, _please_?"
"No, dear."
"Aunt Julia, if it was Noble Dill gave you this dog----"
"Florence!" her aunt exclaimed. "What in the world makes you imagine
such absurd things? Poor Mr. Dill!"
"Well, if it was, I think you ought to give Gammire to me because I
_like_ Noble Dill, and I----"
But here her aunt laughed again and looked at her with some curiosity.
"You still do?" she asked. "What for?"
"Well," said Florence, swallowing, "he may be rather smallish for a man,
but he's very uncouth and distingrished-looking, and I think he doesn't
get to enjoy himself much. Grandpa talks about him so torrably
and--and----" Here, such was the unexpected depth of her feeling that
she choked, whereupon her aunt, overcome with laughter, but nevertheless
somewhat touched, sprang up and threw two pretty arms about her
charmingly.
"You _funny_ Florence!" she cried.
"Then will you give me Gammire?" Florence asked instantly.
"No. We'll bring him in the house now, and you can stay for lunch."
Florence was imperfectly consoled, but she had a thought that brightened
her a little.
"Well, there'll be an awful time when grandpa comes home this
afternoon--but it certainly will be inter'sting!"
She proved a true prophet, at least to the extent that when Mr. Atwater
opened his front gate that afternoon he was already in the presence of a
deeply interested audience whose observation was unknown to him. Through
the interstices of the lace curtains at an open window, the gaze of
Julia and Florence was concentrated upon him in a manner that might have
disquieted even so opinionated and peculiar a man as Mr. Atwater, had he
been aware of it; and Herbert likewise watched him fixedly from an
unseen outpost. Herbert had shown some recklessness, declaring loudly
that he intended to lounge in full view; but when the well-known form of
the ancestor was actually identified, coming up the street out of the
distance, the descendant changed his mind. The good green earth ceased
to seem secure; and Herbert climbed a tree. He surrounded himself with
the deepest foliage; and beneath him some outlying foothills of Kitty
Silver were visible, where she endeavoured to lurk in the concealment of
a lilac bush.
Gammire was the only person in view. He sat just in the middle of the
top step of the veranda, and his air was that of an endowed and settled
institution. What passing traffic there was interested him but vaguely,
not affecting the world to which he belonged--that world being this
house and yard, of which he felt himself now, beyond all question, the
official dog.
It had been a rather hard-working afternoon, for he had done everything
suggested to him as well as a great many other things that he thought of
himself. He had also made it clear that he had taken a fancy to
everybody, but recognized Julia to be the head of the house and of his
own universe; and though he was at the disposal of all her family and
friends, he was at her disposal first. Whithersoever she went, there
would he go also, unless she otherwise commanded. Just now she had
withdrawn, closing the door, but he understood that she intended no
permanent exclusion. Who was this newcomer at the gate?
The newcomer came to a halt, staring intolerantly. Then he advanced,
slamming the gate behind him. "Get out o' here!" he said. "You get off
the place!"
Gammire regarded him seriously, not moving, while Mr. Atwater cast an
eye about the lawn, seeming to search for something, and his gaze, thus
roving, was arrested by a slight movement of great areas behind a lilac
bush. It appeared that the dome of some public building had covered
itself with antique textiles and was endeavouring to hide there--a
failure.
"Kitty Silver!" he said. "What are you doing?"
"Suh?"
Debouching sidewise she came into fuller view, but retired a few steps.
"Whut I doin' whur, Mista Atwater?"
"How'd that dog get on my front steps?"
Her face became noncommittal entirely. "Thishere dog? He just settin'
there, suh."
"How'd he get in the yard?"
"Mus' somebody up an' brung him in."
"Who did it?"
"You mean: Who up an' brung him in, suh?"
"I mean: Who does he belong to?"
"Mus' be Miss Julia's. I reckon he is, so fur."
"What! She knows I don't allow dogs on the place."
"Yessuh."
Mr. Atwater's expression became more outraged and determined. "You mean
to say that somebody's trying to give her another dog after all I've
been through with----"
"It look that way, suh."
"Who did it?"
"Miss Julia ain't sayin'; an' me, I don' know who done it no mo'n the
lilies of the valley whut toil not neither do they spins."
In response, Mr. Atwater was guilty of exclamations lacking in courtesy;
and turning again toward Gammire, he waved his arm. "Didn't you hear me
tell you to get out of here?"
Gammire observed the gesture, and at once "sat up," placing his forepaws
over his nose in prayer, but Mr. Atwater was the more incensed.
"Get out of here, you woolly black scoundrel!"
Mrs. Silver uttered a cry of injury before she perceived that she had
mistaken her employer's intention. Gammire also appeared to mistake it,
for he came down upon the lawn, rose to his full height, on his "hind
legs," and in that humanlike posture "walked" in a wide circle. He did
this with an affectation of conscientiousness thoroughly hypocritical;
for he really meant to be humorous.
"My heavens!" Mr. Atwater cried, lamenting. "Somebody's given her one of
those things at last! I don't like _any_ kind of dog, but if there's one
dam thing on earth I _won't_ stand, it's a trick poodle!"
And while the tactless Gammire went on, "walking" a circle round him,
Mr. Atwater's eye furiously searched the borders of the path, the lawn,
and otherwheres, for anything that might serve as missile. He had never
kicked a dog, or struck one with his hand, in his life; he had a theory
that it was always better to throw something. "Idiot poodle!" he said.
But Gammire's tricks were not idiocy in the eyes of Mr. Atwater's
daughter, as she watched them. They had brought to her mind the tricks
of the Jongleur of Notre Dame, who had nothing to offer heaven itself,
to mollify heaven's rulers, except his entertainment of juggling and
nonsense; so that he sang his thin jocosities and played his poor tricks
before the sacred figure of the Madonna; but when the pious would have
struck him down for it, she miraculously came to life just long enough
to smile on him and show that he was right to offer his absurd best. And
thus, as Julia watched the little Jongleur upon the lawn, she saw this
was what he was doing: offering all he knew, hoping that someone might
laugh at him, and like him. And, not curiously, after all, if everything
were known, she found herself thinking of another foolish creature, who
had nothing in the world to offer anybody, except what came out of the
wistfulness of a foolish, loving heart. Then, though her lips smiled
faintly as she thought of Noble Dill, all at once a brightness trembled
along the eyelids of the Prettiest Girl in Town, and glimmered over, a
moment later, to shine upon her cheek.
"You get out!" Mr. Atwater shouted, "D'ye hear me, you poodle?"
He found the missile, a stone of fair diameter. He hurled it violently.
"_There_, darn you!"
The stone missed, and Gammire fled desperately after it.
"You get over that fence!" Mr. Atwater cried. "You wait till I find
another rock and I'll----"
He began to search for another stone, but, before he could find one,
Gammire returned with the first. He deposited it upon the ground at Mr.
Atwater's feet.
"There's your rock," he said.
Mr. Atwater looked down at him fiercely, and through the black
chrysanthemum two garnet sparks glinted waggishly.
"Didn't you hear me tell you what I'd do if you didn't get out o' here,
you darn poodle?"
Gammire "sat up," placed his forepaws together over his nose and
prayed. "There's your rock," he said. And he added, as clearly as if he
used a spoken language, "Let's get on with the game!"
Mr. Atwater turned to Kitty Silver. "Does he--does he know how to speak,
or shake hands, or anything like that?" he asked.
* * * * *
The next morning, as the peculiar old man sat at breakfast, he said to
the lady across the table: "Look here. Who did give Gamin to us?"
Julia bit her lip; she even cast down her eyes.
"Well, who was it?"