clubhouse at all, but within there was an indefinable atmosphere of
early Victorian comfort. 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 Churchwarden 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 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 didn’t know that such a man existed in New York, and yet I
couldn’t decide whether his habitat should be Arizona or Cape Cod.
Enderby and Uncle Ford were deep in a discussion of the
statesmanship of James G. Blaine, 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 needn’t come with me to visit the sick.
I’ll 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:
“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 commotion, 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 absolutely 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 doesn’t pay any attention to any one
else except his master. They all act that way with me, dogs do.” And
he pulled Nubbins’s stubby ears.
“Natural attraction, I suppose,” said I.
“Yes, it is,” he answered, with the modest frankness 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
wasn’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 surprise.
“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 couldn’t help this. It was in my blood, for some reason
or other. It was the bane of my existence. I couldn’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.
“Quite. It was in 1901. I accepted a commission 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 couldn’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 didn’t learn much about
her, but I verily believe her to have been a condemned excursion
boat. She wouldn’t have been allowed to run to Coney Island.
“She was battered and unpainted, and she wallowed horribly. I don’t
believe she could have reached Honolulu much before the next regular
boat, but I couldn’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.
“But we hadn’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 Gulliver, and he was the pride of the
captain’s rum-soaked heart.
“With all my fear, I realized he was a magnificent 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 Wurtemburg 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 belaying-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 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
couldn’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
immediately, and the _Old Squaw_ herself was visibly settling.
“I saw there was no chance of getting away in 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 wasn’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
couldn’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 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 managed 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 didn’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 perpendicular, 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 didn’t do anything. I
couldn’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 time. If my life had depended on my doing something,
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
absolutely 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 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.
“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 didn’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 remarkable experience.
Nubbins looked up inquiringly, and then snuggled 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 deliverance.
“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
managed to get the bung out and took a drink. Then 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 lulling 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 cannot 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 myself, stood up, and swung my arms and
legs to stir up circulation, for the night had been chilly. Gulliver
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. Gulliver was restless, and was evidently interested.
“‘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.
“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 tremendous 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 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 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, isn’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 wasn’t a growl, and with all my ignorance of dog
language I knew it.
“Then I began to talk. I talked about everything—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 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 sometimes 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 quarters 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 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.
[Illustration:
Again and again Gulliver gave voice, deep, full, powerful
]
“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. I
patted his head—a little gingerly, I must confess.
“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 completely 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 licking 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, 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 watching 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.”
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.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
SONNY’S SCHOOLIN’
By RUTH McENERY STUART
A Monologue
WELL, sir, we’re tryin’ to edjercate him—good ez we can. Th’ ain’t
never been a edjercational advantage come in reach of us but we’ve
give it to him. Of co’se he’s all we’ve got, that one boy is, an’
wife an’ me, why, we feel the same way about it.
They’s three schools in the county, an’ we send him to all three.