WHEREIN BARRY DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF
They rested until a little after two o’clock, and then, the intensest
heat of a very hot day having passed, they took up their journey again,
the party of four now having become a party of five.
The fifth member had remained on the porch while the boys had eaten
their dinners. There had been some compulsion about it, as a cord
had been tied to his collar and then to the railing. But after the
first minute or two, during which he had evidently labored under the
impression that his newly found friends were about to escape him again,
he had accepted the situation philosophically and had even dozed once
or twice there in the sun. He looked very much better after he had
been released and, surrounded by the boys, had eaten a hearty dinner.
The sun had dried his coat, and the food had apparently restored his
self-respect. A man in whipcord, probably a groom or stableman, paused
on his way out of the hotel.
“That’s a nice-looking dog you’ve got there,” he observed after a
silent contemplation of the terrier. “Where’d you get him, if it’s no
offense, sir?”
Dan hesitated. Then:
“Over near Barrington,” he answered uneasily.
“Thoroughbred, I guess,” said the other questioningly.
Dan nodded carelessly. The man stooped and snapped his fingers.
“Here, boy, come see me. What’s his name, sir?”
“Er--Barry,” stammered Dan.
“Here, Barry!” called the man. But the terrier acted just as though
he’d never heard his name before.
“He looks a lot like Forest Lad, the dog that won so many prizes in New
York last winter,” continued the man. “But he’s a bit thinner across
the breast than him, I guess. A fine-looking dog, though. Want to sell
him?”
“No, I don’t think so,” answered Dan.
“Well, I don’t want him myself, but I guess I could tell you where you
could find a purchaser, and not very far off.”
“He’s not for sale,” said Dan.
“Well, I don’t know as I’d want to sell him if he was mine,” said the
other as he moved off.
“Look here, what did you call him Barry for?” asked Nelson.
“Gee! I had to call him something,” said Dan, “and that’s the first
thing I thought of. I didn’t want that fellow to think I’d stolen the
dog.”
“Well, but what’s Barry mean? What made you think of that?”
“I don’t know,” answered Dan, puzzled.
“I do,” said Tom. “You’d just told the man you got him at Barrington;
see? Barry--Barrington.”
“I guess that was it. Mr. Barry, of Barrington. Well, that isn’t such a
bad name.”
“It’s easy to say,” responded Bob. “Here, Barry.”
But the terrier only wagged his tail in a friendly way.
“He’ll learn his name quick enough,” said Dan. “I wonder, though, what
his real name is.”
“Let’s see if we can find out,” suggested Bob. “We’ll call him all the
names we can think of and see if he answers to any of them.”
So they started in, and the terrier, evidently at a loss to know what
it all meant, laid himself down in the sunlight and observed them with
puzzled eyes. They tried all the usual names they could think of, and
then they started on unusual ones. But when Tom got to Launcelot, Dan
interfered.
“Look here, that will do for you,” he said. “I’m not going to have my
dog called any such names as that. You’ll be calling him Reginald next,
I suppose!”
“What name was that that fellow got off?” questioned Nelson. “Forest
Lad, was it?”
“Yes; maybe that’s his name. Let’s try it. Here, Forest Lad!”
But the terrier only yawned.
“Not the same,” said Nelson. “He doesn’t just look like a dog who would
win prizes, does he?”
“Why not?” demanded Dan indignantly. “He’s a mighty fine-looking dog, I
tell you!”
“Even if his name is Barry,” laughed Tom.
“Well, we’ve given him plenty of chances to choose a name to suit
himself,” said Bob, “and he hasn’t done it. So I guess Barry will have
to do.”
“It’s a good name,” said Dan stoutly. “Isn’t it, Barry?”
Barry wagged his tail. That seemed to settle it.
When, presently, they took the road again, Barry remained at Dan’s
heels for the first half mile or so, like a well-trained dog. But when,
after one or two experimental trips into the bushes, Barry found that
his new master was not a strict disciplinarian, he cut loose. After
that he was everywhere. Over walls, through fences, into this field
and into that, chasing birds, scratching for field mice, and treeing
squirrels, Barry had, as Dan put it, the time of his innocent young
life. But he always came instantly when called, no matter how far away
he might be; came like a small white streak of lightning, tongue out
and eyes sparkling merrily. He was a source of constant entertainment,
and the seven miles which lay between Meadowville and Kingston passed
underfoot almost before they knew it. As they came in sight of the
latter town a brisk shower began. For an hour past the clouds had been
gathering, big and heavy, overhead, and now the thunder began to crash.
Luckily they had but a short distance to go and they covered it in
record time, Barry, barking hysterically, leading the flying column by
six yards. They found a temporary refuge in a livery stable on the edge
of town, and the terrier put in an exciting ten minutes hunting rats in
the stalls. The stable keeper, a large, good-natured man, offered Dan
$10 on the spot for the dog and when that offer was declined raised the
price to $15. Dan was highly pleased at the compliment paid to Barry,
but refused to part with him.
Presently the shower held up for a moment and they thanked their host
and scampered for the nearest hotel. Here they met with difficulties.
The proprietor didn’t take dogs. Dan argued and offered to pay extra,
but the hotel man was obdurate. There was nothing for it but to try
elsewhere, and so out they went again in a pelting rain and hurried
down the street to the next hostelry. Here Barry was more welcome; he
could sleep in the smoking room or in the stable. Dan decided in favor
of the smoking room, borrowed a piece of cord from the clerk, and
hitched Barry to the leg of a writing table. After supper, the rain
having held up again, they went out and purchased a leather leash.
Barry took very kindly to this and was for chewing it up until Dan
explained the purpose of it to him. They played cards in the smoking
room until bedtime, and then, having made Barry comfortable for the
night on a piece of bagging, went to their rooms and, as was becoming
after an eighteen-mile tramp, fell promptly asleep.
Dan and Nelson slept together. It was at about two o’clock in the
morning--although that fact wasn’t discovered until later--that Dan
awoke to find Nelson shaking him by the arm.
“Wha--what’s the row?” asked Dan sleepily.
“Barry’s raising Cain downstairs,” answered Nelson. “Listen!”
Their room was on the second floor near the stairway, and through
the open transom floated a startling medley of sounds, frantic barks
succeeded by blood-curdling growls, scurrying footsteps, and the crash
of an overturned chair.
“That’s never Barry!” cried Dan.
“I’ll bet you it is,” said Nelson. “We’d better go down and see,
anyway.”
But Dan was already bumping into furniture in an endeavor to find his
trousers. Nelson followed him, but he had more difficulty than his
friend in finding his apparel, and Dan was out of the room and down the
stairs before Nelson’s search was finished.
Dan took the stairs two or three at a time; he wasn’t particular;
and when he reached the office a strange sight greeted his startled
eyes. The one gaslight was burning dimly, but it afforded sufficient
illumination to show what was going on. On the office counter crouched
a man. He wasn’t a very big man, nor was he very prepossessing. His
clothes had seen much wear and he was badly in need of a shave. Also he
was plainly frightened. And there was cause. The cause, with some two
feet of brand-new leather leash hanging to his collar, leaped excitedly
at the counter in a businesslike effort to get at the occupant of it,
and every time he leaped he either barked or growled. Dan took in the
situation in an instant, but he didn’t pretend to understand it. The
hotel proprietor, however, who appeared on the scene at that moment,
bearing evidences of a hurried dressing, understood it at once.
[Illustration: “Leaped excitedly at the counter.”]
“Barry!” called Dan. “Come here, sir! Come here!”
“Let him alone,” said the proprietor. “He knows his business, that dog.
What are you doing in here?” he asked sternly of the man on the counter.
“Nothin’,” was the answer. “Call off that beast, can’t yer?”
“You’ll stay where you are a minute, I guess,” answered the proprietor
grimly. Then he strode to the door, unlocked it, and passed out to the
porch.
“Hi, Brooks! Brooks!” he called loudly. “O Brooks!”
From somewhere near at hand came an answering hail. Then things began
to happen indoors. Barry, aware of Dan’s presence, had stopped his
barking and leaping and was watching his prey warily from the distance
of a few feet. Dan also had his eyes on the man, but for all that he
wasn’t prepared for what happened. When the answering hail came the man
on the counter gathered himself quickly and made a flying leap over
Barry’s head. The front door was guarded by the proprietor, and Dan
stood between the counter and the door leading to the washroom and the
back of the hotel. Only the stairway seemed unguarded, and toward that
the man fled, Barry after him and gaining at every leap. Dan set up a
shout and followed Barry. At that moment Nelson, having finally got
into his trousers, appeared on the landing halfway up.
“Stop him!” cried Dan. “Stop him!”
The pursued caught sight of Nelson at the same moment and his hand flew
toward his pocket. Nelson drew aside warily, but as the other plunged
past he threw out his leg and the next moment Nelson and the man and
Barry were all mixed up in a writhing heap on the landing. But Dan was
up there in a second, Barry was thrown aside, and in a twinkling the
battle was decided.
“Grab that hand,” panted Nelson. “He’s got a revolver.”
Dan obeyed and wrested the implement away. It proved, however, to be
not a revolver, but a heavy, leather-covered billy about six inches
long. After that the man underneath gave up the struggle and lay quiet
until Mr. Brooks, who turned out to be the town constable, yanked him
to his feet.
By that time most of the occupants of the hotel, including Tom and
Bob, had assembled in various stages of undress, and the hubbub was
considerable. Tom was wildly excited and stammered question after
question. But no one paid any heed to him. A bag well filled with
plated silverware, gleaned from the dining room, into which apartment
the burglar had made his way by forcing a window, was found back of
the counter. The officer took the names of about twenty persons, most
of whom had seen nothing of the affair, and the unfortunate man was
haled away to the jail. After that, for more than an hour, all the
male occupants of the house sat around in the office and discussed and
rediscussed the affair. Naturally, Barry and Nelson and Dan came in
for much praise, Barry especially. Everyone had to pet him, and a less
sensible dog might have had his head turned. But Barry took his honors
modestly; in fact, he seemed rather bored by the admiration bestowed
upon him. Along toward four o’clock the excitement had died down
sufficiently to permit of the occupants returning to bed, and this
they did, Tom bewailing loudly his ill luck in having arrived on the
scene too late.
“If I had bu-bu-bu-been there,” began Tommy.
“If you had been there,” interrupted Bob unkindly, “the thief would
have got away while you were choking over it.”