ROMULUS AT THE TRIALS
Mr. Hartshorn found, upon investigation, that the nearest field trials
were those at Bedlow, where the Field Trial Club of Eastern
Connecticut held its annual meet in April. It was not usually a large
affair nor prominent among the field trials of the country, but Mr.
Hartshorn thought it would be just about the right place for Romulus
to make his first appearance as a contestant for field-trial honors.
Though not a large affair, it was by no means insignificant, for there
were some good dogs in that part of the country and one or two kennels
from which had sprung dogs that had won a national reputation. Romulus
was pretty sure to have opponents worthy of him.
April 15th and 16th were the days set for the event. Mr. Hartshorn
communicated with the secretary of the club and made the necessary
arrangements. Ernest Whipple filled out the entry blanks and they were
properly filed. Unfortunately, Romulus was just a few months too old
now to be entered in the Derby, but Ernest was not displeased by the
necessity of seeking bigger game, and Romulus was entered in the
All-Age or Subscription stake. A purse of $50 was offered for the
winner and $30 for the runner-up.
April 14th dawned mild and bright, and about noon Sam Bumpus appeared
with Romulus, whom he pronounced to be at the top of his form after a
bit of light finishing off the day before. Sam was to go along to
handle the dog. He had not had much experience at field trials, but
Mr. Hartshorn had given him full instructions, and if anybody could
get winning action out of Romulus it was Sam. Mr. and Mrs. Whipple had
agreed to let Ernest and Jack go in care of Mr. and Mrs. Hartshorn,
and both boys were full of excitement of the prospect. Mr. Whipple
came out to ask Sam a few questions and I am inclined to think that
even Mrs. Whipple shared a little of the excitement. Sam, as usual,
refused to come into the house, saying that he preferred to eat his
sandwiches in Rome, but he was glad to accept a cup of hot coffee and
some cake which Delia took out to him.
Soon after dinner Mr. and Mrs. Hartshorn appeared in their big car and
the boys hurried out to join them. They sat together on the front
seat, while Sam, Ernest, Jack, and Romulus were bundled into the back
seat, with the suitcases and Sam's gun. It was a tight squeeze, but it
was a jolly party that set forth, waving good-by to Mr. and Mrs.
Whipple, Delia, and the disconsolate Remus.
"It does seem too bad to have to leave poor Remus, doesn't it?" said
Mrs. Hartshorn.
"That's all right," said Jack. "His day's coming. You'll see."
As for Romulus, he was wildly excited by this unusual experience, and
treated the residents of Boytown to a continuous barking, in which
Tatters and Mr. O'Brien and one or two of the other dogs joined,
running beside the car until it was well out of town. Then Sam managed
to quiet Romulus.
They arrived at Bedlow about dinner time, and Sam at once disappeared
with Romulus, saying that he wanted to see that he had a good dinner
and a place to sleep. The others went up to their rooms and washed up.
Sam did not reappear, and the boys began to be a bit anxious.
"Don't worry," said Mr. Hartshorn. "He's a queer duck, Sam is. But I
fancy he would be uncomfortable if he stayed with us, and we might as
well let him have his own way. I'll venture to say we won't see him
again till morning, but we can be sure of one thing: Romulus will be
well looked after."
Mr. and Mrs. Hartshorn and the boys had their supper in the
dining-room of the hotel, and all about them they heard dog talk.
After supper they all went to a movie on Mr. Hartshorn's invitation,
for he said that if they didn't get their minds off the trials for a
little while they would not sleep that night.
It was, in fact, some little time before Ernest and Jack could get to
sleep in their strange surroundings, but at length sleep came, and the
first thing they knew Mr. Hartshorn was knocking on their door and
bidding them get up. They dressed quickly and hurried down to
breakfast, where they found even more people than there were the night
before. Outside there were many automobiles and some horses, and here
and there a dog was to be seen, blanketed and receiving unusual
attention.
"I don't know where Sam slept last night," said Mr. Hartshorn. "It may
have been in the stable for all I know. I didn't ask him. But he's all
right, and so is Romulus. Sam saw to it that the dog got a good rest,
and he was up bright and early this morning, taking Romulus out for a
short walk to limber him up."
After breakfast they all piled into the car and started for the fields
a few miles outside of town where the trials were to be held. The sky
was overcast, but Mr. Hartshorn said he didn't think it would rain.
There was little wind, and Sam pronounced it ideal weather for the
contest.
"I hope it won't rain," said he, "because a wet coat bothers a setter
and gives the pointers the advantage."
There were a number of cars on the road before and behind them, and
now and then a man galloped past on horseback.
"Looks like a pretty good gallery," said Mr. Hartshorn.
When they arrived at the grounds, Mr. Hartshorn told the boys they had
better remain in the car with his wife, while he and Sam consulted
with the officials. After awhile he returned and announced that
Romulus had been paired with another setter named Dolly Grey.
"I can't find out much about her," said he. "At least, she's not one
of the famous ones, so it oughtn't to be too hard for Romulus. The
Derby will be run off first, so Romulus won't be called on until
afternoon. Sam has taken him off into the woods to keep him quiet."
In spite of the fact that Romulus did not figure in the Derby, it
proved to be an absorbing and exciting event to the Whipple boys. Two
by two the young dogs were called out and sent off in whirlwind races
after the cleverly hiding birds. Sometimes no birds were discovered,
and then it became merely a contest of speed and form in ranging until
the judges changed to fresh ground. Every now and then, however, one
of the dogs would catch the tell-tale scent, whirl about to some clump
of grass or thicket, and come to a rigid point, his less successful
opponent trailing him and backing him up. Behind them followed the
judges, handlers, and gallery, some in automobiles, some in traps,
some on horseback, and some afoot.
It turned out to be a fine day after all, and the dogs, eager and
swift, made a pretty sight among the old pastures and stubble fields.
For the most part they were kept away from the woods where it would be
difficult to judge of their performances.
A halt was called at noon to eat lunch and rest the dogs. Already the
constant shifting of ground had carried them far from Bedlow and the
men who were afoot were tired. The dogs were wrapped in blankets and
were kept as quiet as possible, most of them being in wagons. Mrs.
Hartshorn got out the luncheon kit and the boys found that they were
famously hungry. Sam appeared during the luncheon hour, to find out
how things were going, and Mrs. Hartshorn persuaded him to eat
something with the rest. Romulus, he said, seemed to be in good shape,
and on no account must anybody give him anything to eat.
About 1:30 the judges called for the final contest in the Derby. A
small lemon-and-white female setter named Dorothea was pitted against
a somewhat overgrown blue belton of the same species. At first it
seemed as though the advantage lay with the bigger, stronger dog,
whose name was King Arthur. He kept well in the lead in the ranging,
but the wise ones noted little Dorothea's superb form and said
nothing. Little by little she crept up on King Arthur, and at length
she swerved sharply to one side and pointed at a clump of alder
bushes. King Arthur had missed the scent entirely. The birds were
flushed and the dogs shot over, for that is the custom. Then the
judges, after a conference, declared the Derby closed and Dorothea the
winner. The party from Boytown saw a young woman rush out from among
the automobiles and throw her arms around the little setter.
"That must be her mistress," said Ernest. "I bet she's happy."
The boys were so much interested in all this that they did not realize
that the All-Age stake had already been commenced. Two pointers went
galloping across the field and the contest was on. From that moment
the boys kept their eyes fastened to the successive pairs of racing
dogs, trying to appraise their skill and form and to compare them with
Romulus. It was a better contest than the Derby, with more birds
found, and it was evident that Romulus had opponents worthy of him.
One interesting contestant was a beautiful Irish setter, whose red
coat glistened like gold in the sunshine. He did well, beating his
opponent, but he did not qualify for the finals.
At last Romulus was called, and with him the setter Dolly Grey. She
was a mild-looking animal, but once loosed she led Romulus a merry
chase. Both dogs were a bit heady at first and did a deal of running
without accomplishing anything, but at length Sam, with his patient
whistle, got Romulus straightened out and Dolly Grey also settled down
to business. She found the first birds, but after that Romulus beat
her to two coveys in rapid succession, and Romulus, to the great joy
of his master and Jack, was declared the winner.
"Didn't he do splendidly?" said Mrs. Hartshorn as Sam came up with the
panting dog.
"Waal," said Sam, "he might have done worse and he might have done
better. He wa'n't up to his top form, but it was his first trial. I
expect he'll do better in the finals. It was lucky he wa'n't paired
with one of the best dogs, or he might have been out of it now. As it
is he's got a chance, and I think it's a pretty good one. I heard one
of the judges say some nice things about him."
"Do you think they'll get to the finals this afternoon?" asked Mr.
Hartshorn.
"I don't think so," said Sam, "but I've got to stick around. They may
want to see Romulus work again."
They did try him out once more toward the end of the day, and this
time Sam seemed to be better pleased. Romulus won his heat handily
against a bigger dog. Meanwhile, however, everyone was commenting on
the superb work of a pointer with a chocolate brown head and markings
named Don Quixote, and even the boys could see that he was a past
master at the game. He went at it as though he knew just how to make
the winning move, and he did it every time.
"He ought to be in the championship class," said Mr. Hartshorn. "He's
an old-timer, and if Romulus can beat him it will be a great triumph."
Time was called as the shadows began to lengthen, and the crowd,
tired, hungry, and happy, returned to the hotel at Bedlow. At dinner
everyone was speculating as to which two dogs would be chosen to
compete in the finals, and Ernest was sure that the name of Romulus
was heard as often as that of any other dog except Don Quixote. In
response to the popular demand, the judges held a conference that
evening and chose the two who would compete for final honors on the
morrow. Crowds gathered in the lobby to ascertain the outcome of this
conference, and when at last the judges came out everyone was a-tiptoe
with expectation. One of the judges walked over to a bulletin board
and pinned up a piece of paper. It read: "The dogs chosen by the
judges to compete in the final heat of the All-Age stake to-morrow
morning are Don Quixote, pointer, owned by the Rathmore Kennels, and
Romulus, English setter, owned by Mr. Ernest Whipple. The trials will
start promptly at 9.30."
A cheer went up all over the lobby, and Ernest and Jack, strangely
enough, found tears in their eyes.
"That means," said Mr. Hartshorn, "that unless Romulus is in some way
disqualified, he wins second place at least, and to become runner-up
in the All-Age stake at his first trial is a big honor, even if he
isn't the winner. I tell you this because I don't want you to be too
much disappointed if Don Quixote beats him. The pointer is a fast,
rangy dog, an old-timer that knows all the tricks of the game, while
Romulus, for all Sam's fine training, is still green. Let's not expect
too much."
That evening Mr. Hartshorn did not even suggest a movie to take the
minds of the boys off the great event of the morrow; he knew it would
do no good. He told them stories of historic events in the field-trial
game, and then sent them to bed. They talked excitedly together for an
hour after that, but at last sleep claimed them, for they were really
tired, and running dogs filled their dreams.
An even larger crowd followed the dogs to the trial grounds next
morning, for there were some who were interested only in the
Championship stake, though they were glad to witness the finish of the
All-Age. The day was fine and Sam pronounced Romulus to be in
first-class trim.
This time the setter seemed to understand what was required of him. He
strained at his leash, and when at last he was set free at the command
of the judges, he was off like a shot, neck and neck with the pointer,
and the gallery cheered.
Old field-trial fans told Mr. Hartshorn afterward that they had never
witnessed a prettier contest than that one. The pointer was cool and
collected, but full of strength and spirit. When there was any leading
done at all, he generally did it. But there was a certain spontaneous
fire and energy in the running of Romulus that caught the fancy of the
spectators. And Sam's careful drilling began to tell. Romulus settled
down to the steadiest kind of work; his form was perfect and beautiful
to watch; his scent was sure and keen.
The second move brought the dogs to a very birdy spot, and the points
became frequent. In this department of the work it was nip-and-tuck
between the two dogs. No one could say that either had a quicker nose
than the other or responded more promptly to the scent. Sometimes one
dog would be first on the point, sometimes the other. It was largely a
matter of luck, for the birds lay on both sides of a series of fields,
and the dogs ranged from side to side, circling and quartering in a
manner to delight the heart of a sportsman.
If Romulus had a fault it was overzeal. He covered more ground than
was absolutely necessary.
"He is doing wonderfully," said Mr. Hartshorn. "I am only afraid he'll
run himself off his feet. This is bound to be a protracted contest,
the dogs are so nearly equal in every way, and endurance is the
quality that is going to tell in the end."
As the race continued, those who were familiar with the signs observed
that Romulus was weakening. The more methodical pointer kept up his
steady, fast lope unflagging, but Romulus showed an increasing
inclination to drop behind.
"I'm afraid this can't last much longer," said Mr. Hartshorn. "The
pace is too hot for Romulus. If he had had more experience he would
know how to save his strength for the last ten minutes. As it is, it
looks as though the pointer had the reserve power."
Suddenly Don Quixote seemed to tap a new supply of strength and speed.
He dashed to the right, and then circled swiftly around to the
hedgerow of wild shrubs at the left of the field, and all so swiftly
that poor Romulus was left well behind. As they watched, they saw the
setter stumble. He recovered himself, but stood trembling with
weariness and nervous tension. Sam's shrill whistle sounded and
Romulus gathered himself together again, but his feet seemed to
drag; he had lost speed.
Ernest Whipple was almost beside himself with excitement and fear of
defeat. A hush fell over the gallery as they watched this last
manoeuver of the dogs, and Ernest's voice sounded loud and distinct as
he shouted, "Go on, Romulus! Go on!"
The setter heard. He knew that voice and he loved it well. Sam's
whistle, which he had become accustomed to obey, had become monotonous
in his ears; it no longer served to put energy into his flagging
limbs. But here was a new call, a call that demanded the last atom of
his devotion and will and strength. He raised his head and looked
about for an instant, his lower jaw quivering. Then he seemed to draw
together and bound away like a steel spring released. Straight ahead
he went, cutting across the track of the pointer and circling around
clean in front of him. Don Quixote, surprised by the suddenness of
this rush, hesitated and looked a bit dazed. The awful strain of the
contest was telling on him, too, and the setter's burst of speed upset
his equilibrium.
While the pointer still trotted along in a wavering course, as though
in doubt whether to lead or to follow, Romulus caught a scent from the
bed of a little brook almost under the pointer's nose. He whipped
about like a flash and froze to a statuesque point that would have
made a perfect picture for an artist. The pointer, still bewildered,
did not even back him up.
The umpire's whistle sounded and the handlers called their dogs in.
Sam picked up the trembling Romulus bodily and carried him to the
Hartshorn car.
"He's all in," said Sam. "He used the last ounce he had. What a
heart!"
Jack began fondling the setter's ears, but Ernest was eagerly watching
the little group about the judges. At last a man on horseback came
riding up. He was smiling.
"My congratulations," said he. "Your dog won, and I never hope to see
a pluckier finish."
The forenoon was already half over and so the Championship stake was
begun immediately, but the occupants of the Hartshorn automobile had
no eyes for it. They could have told you nothing about what happened,
though they learned afterward that it was an exciting contest in which
some of the best dogs in New England took part. They were engrossed in
their own triumph, and if ever a dog stood in danger of being spoiled,
it was Romulus. Sam wore one of the broadest grins the human face is
capable of and Ernest found his emotions quite beyond expression.
The party left early, before the Championship stake was finished, and
they made a triumphal entry into Boytown. The last part of the way
they were accompanied by a noisy convoy of cheering boys and barking
dogs, and the town knew what had happened long before it read the
stirring account in the papers.
In due course Ernest received a handsome silver trophy, engraved with
the now famous name of Romulus, and Mrs. Whipple appeared to be as
proud of its appearance on the mantelpiece as any of the others. There
was also the fifty dollar purse, from which Ernest was obliged to
deduct a considerable amount for entrance fee and other expenses. The
rest he tried to force upon Sam in payment for his invaluable
services, but Sam would not hear of it.
"Why," said Ernest, "you earned ten times as much as that."
"I didn't earn anything I didn't get," said Sam. "I raised that pup
and I'm as proud of him as you are. I'm satisfied."
So Ernest put the balance in the savings bank as a fund for financing
similar undertakings in the future.
"A great dog, that Romulus," said Mr. Whipple, when it was all over.
"I always did believe he'd cut a figure somehow. It's a pity Remus
isn't in his class."
He didn't mean Jack to overhear him; he had no wish to hurt the boy's
feelings. But Jack did overhear and came promptly into the room.
"That's all right," said he. "Remus will have his day yet. He'll show
you."