His coat was thin--so thin that his skin showed through in patches. And
the skin was thin--so thin that the bones almost pricked through in a
mute appeal to the public.
He walked the streets until his four little feet dragged with weariness
and he often sat down upon his haunches to rest.
When he stopped people noticed him and many turned as they went past,
watching him--he was so pitiable a sight.
"Mangy dog," somebody said, but he was more than that. He was lost
and he was starving. He was so needy that he had forsaken his alley
haunts and had come up to the boulevards where was greater prosperity,
sunshine, cleanliness, and perhaps love toward man and beast.
In his walks he chanced near the lake and paced the viaduct that leads
out upon the pier. He even went on the pier and looked down into the
dark water as many despairing men and women have looked. It seemed easy
to fall in, but he turned back and walked away. He had learned that if
he kept moving the police and guards did not poke at him with their
clubs.
In crossing Michigan avenue he had to watch his chances, for the rubber
tires of the carriages made no warning sound on the asphalt. And then
he came to Wabash--the noise of the elevated and surface trains, and
of the trucks and drays was so confusing that he had need of more care
than ever. At length he reached State street and sat down to rest.
Lizzie and Mattie were there before him. They, too, were acquainted
with alley ways, though they were not personally acquainted with
Whitey. Evidently they had found nourishment there that Whitey had
missed, for Lizzie was decidedly fat and Mattie was fairly presentable.
Lizzie wore a faded worsted skirt poorly joined to a cotton shirt-waist
with a green silk belt. Her short, fair hair was curled and tied with
a green ribbon and her airy straw hat was bright with flowers. Other
little girls of better fortunes had worn the things and had extracted
their freshness and much of their beauty. But Lizzie felt quite dressed
up beside her friend who wore only a simple calico gown and plain
straw hat. She led Mattie from window to window, pointing out precious
articles and rare jewels, quite as if she had purse connections with
them.
The girls glanced at Whitey as he passed.
"Poor little dog!" Mattie said.
"Yes," returned Lizzie, "I should think the policeman would shoot him."
"Why?" queried Mattie in surprise.
"Oh, he's so bad off."
Whitey was moving slowly. He was rested and he thought to go on.
Somebody in a confectionery store noticed the girls.
"Mamma, I do believe that's my old belt that I threw in the rags one
day, for there's the cross I made on it at school with ink."
"Nonsense," said the lady.
"And, oh, mamma, look at the poor dog!"
Of all the people who were passing four at least were interested in
Whitey. Alley and avenue--but the alley folks first forgot him. They
went back to their diamonds.
Whitey's troubles had made him meek and humble. He did not at this
time expect anything and he was out of hopes and plans. He did not
observe any whisperings at the portals of the big store nor see the
wonder on the face of the porter. What he did see presently was a round
pasteboard box that the porter set down under his very nose. It was
torn a little at one side and what was in the box began to melt and run
down to the pavement.
Whitey moved his ears a little at the sight. It actually looked
eatable. He doubted if it was, but he put out his tongue and touched it.
When Lizzie and Mattie turned again they stood amazed. People were
looking amused as they passed and many a heart was made glad and light.
One could read it in their faces. An unusual kindness is a love-flash
that makes life sweeter to all who get it in their eyes.
"I'll bet there's a quart there," said Mattie.
"No, there ain't nuther. I guess a sick dog couldn't eat a hull quart
of ice cream--it's jest a pint."
"Look how he licks it up. My! I'll bet it's good!"
"He's a gulpin' to beat the band," returned Lizzie.
"He never hed it before, _I'll_ bet."
"Or you nuther, Mattie Black."
"You can't talk much," answered Mattie.
By this time Whitey had cleared up his spread pretty thoroughly. Not a
drop lingered in the circle at the bottom of the box and the pavement
was dry.
Whitey walked over to the side of the building and lay down in the
sun. He put his nose between his paws. His body was as thin and forlorn
as ever, but away at the tip of his pink, shabby tail was a little,
short-lived wag. It was the language of gratitude and hope. It had been
absent for days--ever since he was lost. The little girl who had caused
it was riding home in her carriage, but the alley folks took note of it
and they were appeased. They no longer envied the dog.
As for Whitey, the rich cream worked its work. As he lay in the sun he
felt new hopes and plans revive. Of a sudden he remembered a bakery
where he had chanced to get some plate scrapings. He would go again.
And go he did. His body and his hopes were alike nourished with his
recent treat. Whitey actually walked over to the bakery alley with a
decided and prolonged wag to his tail. The ice cream had placed it
there. It really made the turning point for better times for Whitey.
[Illustration: POPPY.
FROM KŒHLER'S MEDICINAL-PFLANZEN.
CHICAGO:
A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER.]
DESCRIPTION OF PLATE.--_A_, flowering plant, white variety; _B_,
flower of red variety; 1 pistil and stamens; 2, stamen; 3, pollen
grains; 4 and 5, pistil; 6, ripe capsule; 7, 8, 9, seed.