A FRIEND IN NEED.
They were not long in discovering the cause of all that commotion. A
yellow dog of no particular breed but of the kind generally denominated
“cur,” came tearing around the corner of the street. He had an old rusty
tin pan tied to his tail, and as this struck him at every jump, he was
yelping like mad and trying every way possible to outrun the strange
thing that rattled and banged at his heels.
People thrust their heads out of windows and doors. Most of them smiled
or laughed outright at the spectacle. It was a time-honored custom, and
naturally all stray curs must expect to be treated this way on occasion,
to make a holiday for thoughtless boys.
Around the corner several half-grown lads came into view, evidently
those who had been the cause of the wretched dog’s dilemma. They were
apparently enjoying the sight of the poor creature’s fright and antics
about as much as was possible. Several of them nearly doubled up with
the excess of their hilarity.
There is an old fable about what great fun boys have stoning frogs, but
as a moral it is hinted that what is “sport to them is death to the
frogs.”
In this instance, the wretched cur, thinking that his escape was cut off
by the appearance of the two boys just in front of him, ran into a fence
corner and began to lick his wounds.
Billy Worth had a big heart. He was always ready to take the part of the
oppressed, whether it chanced to be a weak boy being set upon by a bully
or a miserable dog abused by its tormentors. So he immediately advanced
toward the fence corner, followed by Hugh, who was anxious to see what
his tender-hearted chum meant to do.
Billy snapped his fingers and spoke gently as he advanced. The boys near
the corner hooted derisively, and then watched, half expecting that
Billy might be only intending to get within striking distance and then
to throw off the mask and give the wretched dog a sudden kick in order
to start him running afresh.
The dog himself possibly doubted the sincerity of the approaching lad.
He had received little save kicks from human kind in times past, and
must have come to look with more or less suspicion on such apparently
friendly overtures that might only hide further ill-treatment.
The poor little beast raised a pair of brown eyes beseechingly toward
Billy. He even vainly tried to wag his tail, though this proved to be a
physical impossibility so long as a piece of cord kept the tin pan
hitched in place.
Billy had his hand extended. The yellow cur winced as he felt a touch on
his head, and then proceeded to lick Billy’s hand. This act quite
completed the conquest of the boy’s heart.
“You poor little runt,” said Billy tenderly, as he continued to stroke
the badgered beast’s quivering head, “it’s a shame the way they’ve
chased you just because you’re nobody’s dog. I’ve got a good mind to
adopt you right now. Look at his face, Hugh, and tell me if you ever saw
a more intelligent one? And his eyes are soft and brim full of
friendliness. Yes, I’ll do it! We lost our dog last month, and an empty
kennel is something I don’t like to see around.”
As he spoke Billy took out his knife. The dog possibly feared that some
new torture was in store for him, because he continued to lick Billy’s
hand, as though hoping in that mute fashion to plead with the boy not to
hurt him.
One slash of the sharp blade severed the torturing rope and the tin pan
fell away. Immediately the dog started to jump about joyfully, evidently
trying to prove how grateful he felt. He did not attempt to run away,
and when Billy held out his hand and spoke to him, he acted as though
fairly wild with delight.
“Say, do you really believe the little critter ever had a kind word said
to him before,” Billy asked, as he kept on patting the head of the
yellow cur. “Just remember that you’re _my_ doggie now. You want to
trail along close to my heels till we get home, when I’ll find a good
bone for you, all right. And I’d like to see anybody try to abuse you
after this, that’s what.”
He even took the little beast up in his arms, and the next thing he knew
it was trying to lick his face to show its gratitude.
From the boys around the corner a series of loud jeers broke forth. They
even began to throw stones and such things toward the two scouts, as
though resenting this interference with their “fun.”
Billy, although a scout, could get angry at times, and he was apt to
forget some of the rules to which he had agreed to conform at the time
he joined the patrol.
“For two cents,” he said angrily, when a stone bounded up and struck him
on the shin, “I’d be willing to go back there and offer to lick the
coward who threw that rock.”
“I don’t believe that would mend matters any,” Hugh remarked, as he
picked up the rusty old tin pan and tossed it carefully into one of the
scrap cans that happened to stand close by. “There are three of them
there besides Lige, and we’d only get into a fuss that might reflect on
the scouts. We’re in uniform, remember. Let it pass; you can afford to.
The dog thanks you anyhow; just see him frisk about as though he might
be trying to jump out of his skin with gratitude for a kind act and a
pleasant word. It would be hard to chase him away from you now, Billy.
What’ll you call him—Bruno, as your other dog was named?”
“Well, that would hardly do for such a shrimp. Frisk sounds better to
me. Hey, how do you like that for a name, eh, Frisk?” And he snapped his
fingers at the little animal that was leaping at his side and barking
joyously, something perhaps that he had seldom dared to do for fear of
attracting attention and having a brick shied at him for his temerity.
“Looks to me as if any name would answer with him, if only there was a
square meal tagged on at the end of it,” laughed Hugh. “His sides seem
to be caving in. I guess he hasn’t found very fat pickings lately in
skirmishing around town, though you’d think differently from the trash
that’s lying everywhere.”
“Here’s our butcher’s place, so wait for me a minute while I beg some
scraps of meat for my new dog. I’d like to let him know he’s met a real
friend at last. Look at his eyes, will you, Hugh? Did you ever see such
an appealing pair in any common dog? I’m glad I ran across Frisk, for
I’m going to like him first rate.”
“The affection is mutual, then,” said Hugh, as Billy darted past the
screen door of the butcher shop, and the cur, as though divining what
was in the wind, sniffed at the barrier, whimpered, and wagged his tail
expectantly while waiting for his new master to appear again.
When Billy came forth he had a paper in his hand, from which he took
some scraps of meat and held them for the dog to jump after. It was
comical to see the antics of the little animal. He tried to wag his tail
so furiously between leaps that it almost seemed as though he must shake
it off.
“Did you notice how most of the men who watched the circus when that tin
pan was rattling and the dog yelping like a crazy thing, only laughed as
if they thought it a good joke?” Hugh asked, as they walked along the
street heading for the home of Billy.
“Yes, and I guess that’s about the way it used to be when they were
boys,” replied the other reflectively. “They didn’t have the scouts in
those days to show boys how to have oceans of good times without being
mean and cruel. Times have changed some, I reckon, Hugh, since our
fathers were young. That’s what my dad declares when he hears of
something we’ve been and done. And say, I rather think he believes boys
have got a better chance to do things to-day than they used to.”
“But did you see a single woman or girl laughing?” continued Hugh.
“Every one I noticed seemed to be shocked and pained, and I heard
several crying ‘Shame,’—just as though that would make any difference
with such boys as Lige Corbley and his gang!”
“Well, now that you mention it, I did notice Susie Collins and Mazie
Tucker talking to that bunch of sneaks near the corner, and I guess they
must have been telling ’em what a low opinion they had of boys that
could treat a poor dog as they were doing. Girls aren’t ever up to the
same tricks as boys, and they don’t like the same things. They don’t see
any fun in going fishing or hunting. And I reckon it’s as it should be,
because we don’t like lots of things they dote on. The men thought it
was a good joke. Not a single one but the minister called out, ‘Shame,’
did they, Hugh?”
“Not that you could notice,” Hugh answered. “And if you stop to think
about it, Billy, perhaps we would have laughed, too, if this had
happened before we joined the scouts. Things look different to a boy
after he has had his eyes opened, in a good many ways.”
“Now that’s where you hit me hard, Hugh,” admitted the other, reddening.
“I can look back to more than one time when I helped tie a tin can to a
dog’s tail and then started him scooting through the streets like a
comet by shying stones after him. But never again, and you hear me say
it! After looking into the eyes of little Frisk here, I feel ashamed to
remember some things I’ve been guilty of doing in the past. I only hope
that bunch of boys will come to their senses some fine day, too. They
don’t know what they’re missing, that’s all.”
Hugh looked thoughtful.
“I only wish we could think up some way to get Lige interested in scout
business, but he makes all manner of fun of us now and never lets a
chance slip past to shout after a boy he sees dressed in khaki. There
have been three fights already on that account, and I’ve had to warn all
the fellows to keep on their guard so as to give him as little cause for
blustering as possible. Of course when they’re actually set on and
attacked, they’ve got to defend themselves. If this thing keeps up much
longer, Lieutenant Denmead promised to see the mayor himself and enter a
formal complaint, telling him that it has to be stopped if it takes all
the police force in town to tame the Corbley gang.”
“When you get that fellow to change his ways, the sky will tumble on
us,” declared the doubting Billy. “If there ever was a bad egg, it’s
Lige. Hardly ten minutes have gone since they started this poor stray
dog with that can at his heels, and, Hugh, chances are they’re up to
some other slick game already. Oh! say, wouldn’t it be a cracking good
thing for the town if ever Lige _did_ reform and join the scouts! But
that’s a dream, Hugh. Don’t ever believe it’s going to happen. I
wouldn’t like to say that it’s impossible, but there’s a dozen chances
to one against you and me ever seeing Lige in a khaki uniform, swearing
to obey the rules and regulations that a scout has got to subscribe to
when he enlists in the troop.”
They were now at Billy’s home.
“Wonder if I ought to tie Frisk to the kennel?” the yellow dog’s new
master was saying as Hugh started away.
“No use,” laughed the other. “Why, you couldn’t drive that dog away from
here after you’ve put the rest of that meat by his kennel. He’ll make
himself at home and stay around for keeps. Look at him jumping, Billy! I
really believe he knows what we’re talking about. See him go into the
kennel, sniffing around as if he just understood it was going to belong
to him, big as it is! He’s a fixture here from now on, let me tell you.
So-long, Billy. See you at the meeting to-night, sure?”
“I should say yes, Hugh,” came the quick reply. “I just seem to feel
that there are going to be big things happening in this little city of
ours before many days, and that the scouts are going to have a hand in
the pie. I’ll call up a lot of the boys on the ’phone and tell them to
be on deck, because you’ve got a scheme to offer that’s bound to make
the old town sit up and take notice. That’ll get them wild to hear what
it is, and we’ll have a full house.”
“And I’m going to think it all over and then see what some of the ladies
have to say about our taking the job on our hands; but I’ll be able to
tell you more about it to-night, so good-bye till then.” And Hugh went
off with his customary snappy stride.