JUST ONE THING AFTER ANOTHER
“The painful hours went by, and I heard nine, ten, and eleven o’clock
strike, and at last twelve. There weren’t so many passengers now. I
was to be left here all night. A chilly breeze sprang up, my limbs
began to get cold and shaky, and it seemed to me that I must just lie
down and die.
“Then something seemed to come over me. I would not give up yet, and I
braced up and flattened myself more tightly against the corner, in
order to get as far as possible from the dreadful trains that came
roaring and bellowing at me like bull monsters. They should not get me
yet, and I propped myself up on my trembling legs. Oh, why could I not
cry or squeal or beg, or do tricks to attract the attention of some of
the passers-by? Alas! I was not that kind of a dog. I have always been
timid and retiring. A dog that forages for himself does not learn to
attract the attention of the public.
“At a quarter past twelve, when one poor tired-out paw was just
crumpling under me, another subway train from New York rumbled in, and
the passengers ran up the steps to catch the Boston and Westchester
train whose track was nearest me.
“The last two passengers to come up were ladies. A number of men were
ahead of them, and they passed me by, but the ladies stood and looked
at me.
“They were laughing and talking about going to hear a man preach
called Billy Sunday, and getting on a wrong train that took them to
the Bronx Park where the animals are in the Zoological Garden.
“Suddenly one of the ladies said quickly, ‘Lost dog!’ and stooping
down, she stared in my face.
“‘How do you know?’ said the other.
“‘By the look in her eyes,’ the first one went on. ‘She’s dirty,
neglected, and probably hungry; likely has been deserted. We have ten
minutes before our train leaves. I’ll run down and speak to the man in
the ticket office.’
“This dear lady, who was Mrs. Martin, has told to her friends so many
times the story of her experiences that I know just what happened. She
went first to the office by the gate she had come through, and asked
the man sitting there if he knew anything about the lost dog on the
platform above.
“He said he did not, but probably some one had dropped it there from a
train.
“‘Could it have come in from the street?’ Mrs. Martin asked.
“‘It might,’ he said, ‘but it would have a long passage to come
through, and would have to pass in this narrow gate. I guess it’s
deserted,’ he said. ‘No dogs ever climb up there.’
“‘Would you take care of it for the night?’ asked Mrs. Martin.
‘Perhaps to-morrow some one might come to look for it.’
“He looked bored, and said he would not.
“‘Do you suppose there is any one about the station that would take
charge of it?’ she went on.
“‘No,’ he said; he knew there wasn’t.
“‘Then will you give me a piece of string?’ she asked.
“He gave her a bit of twine and she hurried upstairs to me. Bending
over me, she tied her handkerchief round my neck—that little
handkerchief would not go round my fat neck now—then she fastened the
twine to it.
“A few minutes later the train came roaring in, and she pulled on the
twine, but I would not budge. How could I go near that horrible
monster?
“‘Nothing to do but carry you,’ she said, and she lifted me up and
took me on the train and sat me down on her lap, and the black patch
on my back where the wheels of the train struck me made a grease spot
on her coat.
“Now one is not allowed to carry dogs on these trains unless they are
in the baggage car, but it was late in the evening and not many
persons were traveling, and my new friend did not say a word to the
conductor, and he did not say a word to her.
“We passed several stations, then we reached the pretty town of New
Rochelle. The two ladies got out of the train and now I was willing to
follow, for we were leaving the terrible railway behind us. I ran down
the station steps beside my new friend, and when we got in the street
and I felt real grass under my feet, I felt like barking with joy. But
my dry mouth would not open, and I just sagged along, a happy feeling
inside me, for I knew I should have a drink of water as soon as we
reached the lady’s home.
“The lady who was with my new friend was younger and had rosy cheeks
and dark eyes. ‘What are you going to do with your lost animal?’ she
said.
“‘I think I will put her in the garage for the night,’ said Mrs.
Martin.
“‘Don’t do that. The creature will be lonely. Bring her in the house.’
“‘Well, it’s your hotel,’ said Mrs. Martin. ‘If you’re willing to have
her, I will bring her in.’
“‘Put her in my bathroom. I’ll take care of her,’ said Miss Rosy
Cheeks, whose name I found out later was Miss Patricia MacGill.
“‘No, thank you—you have enough to do without having a dog added to
your cares,’ said my friend. ‘I’ll take care of the burden thrust upon
us through going to hear Billy Sunday.’
“Miss MacGill, who was very fond of a joke, began to laugh, and
looking down at me, said, ‘Welcome to New Rochelle, Billy Sunday.’
“We were walking all this time along streets lighted and with nice
shops each side. I just lifted my weary head occasionally to glance at
them; then suddenly the street was not so bright and, looking up, I
saw that the shops were behind us, and we were in a region of pretty
homes and gardens. I had a confused impression of being in a very
grand neighborhood. It was nothing extraordinary, but I had been
brought up in a very poor way, and up to that time the biggest house I
had seen was the café and the railway stations. Soon we came to a
corner where there were three houses joined together by broad
verandas.
“There my two nice ladies turned in, went up a stone walk, crossed a
veranda, and entered a big front door.
“‘Do you wish anything for the dog?’ asked Miss MacGill.
“‘No, thank you,’ said Mrs. Martin. ‘I know the kitchen and pantry are
shut up, and the boys in bed, so I will do with what I have in my
room.’
“I was nearly dropping in my tracks by this time. While the two
friends said good night I stood still and tried to steady myself.
Everything inside the house was going round and round, and everything
was red. In a few seconds things cleared, and then I saw I was in a
hall brightly lighted, and with a red stair carpet. Poor little
ignorant dog—I did not know that hotel keepers in New York State are
obliged to keep their halls lighted all night, in case of fire.
“Mrs. Martin was pretty clever. She looked down at me as I stood with
my feet braced far apart, then she bent over me, took my dirty little
body in her arms and toiled up the stairs with me, for she was pretty
tired herself.
“I closed my eyes. She was not a person that needed watching. Then I
felt myself let down gently, a button snapped to turn on the light,
and there I was in the middle of what seemed to me a great big lovely
nest, that smelt of flowers.
“Later on I heard even grand ladies who came to call on Mrs. Martin
say it was a pretty room, so imagine what it was like to me, a little
dog from the dumps!
“It was all pink and white and soft looking, but I did not take in all
the furnishings that night. I smelt water and I staggered toward the
table where was a big glass jug of ice water.
“Mrs. Martin filled a glass and put it down on the floor. I drank it,
and she filled another. I drank that, and then she said, ‘Moderation
in all things, doggie. Wait a few minutes before you have any more.’
“I flopped down on a soft fur rug and put my nose on my paws.
“‘Poor little victim!’ she said. ‘I will make up your bed.’
“Opening a drawer, she took out a big soft shawl. ‘It came from
Canada,’ she said. ‘It belonged to my aunt, who liked dogs.’
“I did not know then what she meant by Canada, but I was glad to hear
her aunt liked dogs, and when she went to a closet and arranged the
shawl in a corner of it, I staggered after her and dropped on it.
“There were some dresses hanging over me, and I felt as if I were in
an arbor like the one at the back of the café, where the men used to
sit in summer over their drinks, with green leaves all round them.
“‘Happy, eh?’ she said in an amused voice, as she stood looking down
at me. ‘Now for something for the inner dog,’ and she went to a little
table where there were shiny-looking dishes. She snapped another
button, and presently I heard the hissing of hot water. Then she went
to one of her windows, opened it, and took in a bottle.
“In a few minutes I had set before me what I never had had before,
namely, a bowl of delicious bread and cream.
“I wagged my tail and agitated my muzzle. The very smell of this warm
food put new life into me. Then I half raised myself on my bed, put my
head in the bowl, and just gobbled.
“Talk about manners! When I look back, I wonder that Mrs. Martin was
not disgusted with my greediness. But she is a very sensible woman,
and she merely smiled, and, taking the bowl from me as I was trying to
lick it nice and clean for her, she pushed me back on my soft shawl,
with a gentle, ‘Pleasant dreams, doggie.’”