MASTER GETS TWO SHOCKS
Master was very much pleased with his wife for gratifying him, and he
kept looking kindly down at her as she waddled along the sidewalk.
She was all in fur--coat, muff and cap. Several little baby seals must
have starved to death, and several mother seals must have died in agony
to fit her out.
She didn’t care, for one day I saw her read a story about the cruel
seal traffic, and throw it in the fire. I knew what it was, for master
told her about it, and then handed it to her.
Well, just as we got opposite Stanna’s house, she started to “jay-walk”
across the street, as Gringo says--that is, to cross it in the middle
of a block.
Master caught her arm, and said, “Wait a minute--there are too many
cars passing.”
“They’ll stop when they see us,” she said impatiently, and she pulled
her arm away from him. He tried to catch her again, but she was
slippery in her furs, then he got behind her, and literally tried to
run her across the street.
If she had only done as he wished her to do, but she stopped short, as
she saw a car bearing swiftly down upon her, and screamed.
Now I do think automobiles are driven too fast in many cases, but I
have seen Louis get wild with excitement, and say that he thinks he
will lose his mind over those persons who won’t use the crossings, and
who get right in front of his machine in the middle of blocks.
Poor mistress, she didn’t know anything about the trials of chauffeurs,
and, in a flash, right there before my eyes as I hesitated in the
background, for something told me what was coming--I saw her and my
dear master struck by a little coupé, rolled over and over in the dust,
and finally lying quite still.
I shrieked in agony, and a silly doglet who was gazing from a window
told me afterward that she nearly died laughing to see me standing with
one paw uplifted as if I could help them.
The people in the coupé were nearly crazy. They jumped out, lifted my
master who was merely dazed, then took up my poor mistress who was
bleeding from wounds on her pretty face, hurried her into a powerful
limousine that had stopped at sight of the accident, and rushed her to
a hospital.
I dashed after it, and kept it in sight till we got near the hospital,
where I sank on the ground, more dead than alive.
After a long, long time my master came out. A doctor took him in his
car, I got in beside them, and we drove sadly home.
That was the beginning of a terribly unhappy time for my master, and
a mildly unhappy one for me. The apartment was lonely without its
mistress. She had been selfish and disagreeable the most of the time
when she was there, but we missed her.
My master would sit and look at her empty chair, his books and papers
unheeded, then he would go to the telephone.
She got over her wounds and bruises, but she didn’t want to see my
master. The doctors said her mind seemed slightly affected--she had
better go away off in the country for treatment.
When this happened, there was a long silence from her, broken only
occasionally by a report from a physician. Weeks and weeks went by.
Miss Stanna got married, and went to live in the big stone house, but
master never went near her, and his only recreation was his long walks
at night.
We got very near to each other in those days, and Miss Stanna, or
rather Mrs. Bonstone, meeting me in the street one morning, stooped
down and patted me, saying, “You are a dear Boy-Dog; I don’t know what
poor Rudolph would do without you.”
This pleased me immensely, and I stuck to my dear master closer than
ever. Some of his friends were losing money by the war, but his
business had improved, and the more money he made, the more he gave
away.
Many a poor man blessed him for the help he rendered. The unemployment
was dreadful, and the ones master helped were just the ones that the
agencies for poor men did not touch. One night he kept a poor fellow
from drowning himself in the Hudson. Master argued with him for an
hour, and finally brought him home and had him sleep in his own bed.
The poor lad was a gentleman and a foreigner, and was too proud to let
his people know the plight he was in.
Some nights we cut across the city to Ellen’s avenue. It did us both
good to go there. That Ellen was the dearest old soul I ever saw, and
I loved to talk to Beanie now. I never saw such a changed dog. We used
to tramp up the six flights of stairs to her flat, and when Beanie felt
that we were coming, he would fly out of Ellen’s soft lap, and stand
whining at the door, so we always found them waiting for us.
Beanie was quite handsome now. He had lost much of his flesh, and had
quite a slender dog figure. Some one had told Ellen how valuable he
was, and she was just eaten up with pride to think that she had such a
well-bred dog.
[Illustration: BEANIE WAS QUITE HANDSOME NOW]
There were a good many coloured people on the avenue, and they all
petted Beanie, but instead of getting more stuck-up and proud, he had
become quite a humble dog.
He used to talk to me by the hour, and tell me how kind Ellen and
Robert Lee were to him. While master was talking to old Ellen, and
despite himself, letting her know what some of his troubles were,
Beanie would ask me questions about his dear mistress.
On this particular evening he had been talking as he often did about
her accident.
“Beanie,” I said, “she wasn’t a true friend to you; why are you so
sorry?”
“She brought me up,” he said. “She owned me. I can’t help loving her
better than any one in the world.”
“But she is a very poor sort of a tool--now you know she is.”
“It doesn’t make any difference,” he said, shaking his head, “she was
my mistress.”
“I believe you’re right,” I said, “but I’m not that kind of a dog. I
can’t love persons unless I respect them.”
“Then you don’t know yet what true dog love is,” said Beanie. “I’d
rather be unhappy with my dear Mrs. Granton than to be happy here with
Ellen.”
“Is it because she is rich, and you like luxury?” I asked in a puzzled
way.
“No, no. If Mrs. Granton were Ellen, and Ellen were Mrs. Granton, it
would be all the same.”
“Well,” I said stoutly, “I’m glad you can’t live with her, for she
would have killed you by this time with over-rich food.”
“I wouldn’t have minded dying for her,” said Beanie simply.
“Well,” I said, “it takes all kinds of dogs to fit the different kinds
of owners,” and I ran to my own dear friend who was saying good-bye to
Ellen in a depressed fashion.
Evidently he had been telling her that the blessing she had promised
him had been changed into something else, for she was saying earnestly,
“Sometimes the wheels of the Lord’s chariot run slow, dear Sir,
sometimes fast, but dey always roll. Dey never stand still. You jes’
wait an’ hope. I feel as if somethin’ great was jes’ a-hangin’ over you
now.”
Master raised his hand, and a soft light fell on his handsome face from
Ellen’s single, dim gas jet--That’s another thing poor people don’t
have enough of--good light.
“Ellen,” he said, “if it ever does come, I’ll remember you.”
He talked to himself a good deal, when we started on our way home. We
were taking our usual route now--that is, through Morningside Park
which we climbed just under Cathedral Heights. We were getting home
much earlier than usual, and there was an evening service just closing
in the huge church which dominates this part of the city.
As we took the path which winds round the back of it, where the workmen
chip the stone all day, and will for many days to come (for it will
take years to finish the structure) an exquisite sound floated out on
the night air.
Through some unfinished part of the building, this boy’s voice reached
us--so clear, and sweet and promising. It soared by us, and right up to
the stars.
Master started, looked at first disturbed, then comforted. He stopped
short, gave one backward glance at the vast tract of brightly lighted
city seen from this eminence, then walked quickly toward a side door of
the cathedral, near one of the exquisite little chapels.
I had often been here before with him, but always in the daytime, and
he had made me wait for him outside, hidden behind some of the big
blocks of stone.
However, to-night I pressed in after him, and he did not rebuke me. I
knew a church was no place for dogs, but I was uneasy about my dear
master, and did not want to leave him alone.
As he pushed open the swing door, such a blast of music met us.
The whole thing was going now--organ and men’s voices, and it was
magnificent.
Dogs like music as well as human beings do. Nothing entertains me more
when I am tired than to have some lady sing and play the piano, and
even a victrola is better than dead quiet.
Well, my master walked heavily in through the little door, and skirting
the small chapels, went away down to the end of the church and took one
of the last seats near the big doors.
There he sat down--poor, weary man, and laid his head on the back of
the chair in front of him.
His soft hat rolled away in a corner, and I picked it up and put it on
the seat next him. Then I sneaked in close to his feet.
He was making the low, soft noise that some people make in churches,
for I have often stolen into them. This seemed to comfort him. The
music rose and fell, and the boy’s voice soared and soared till in that
evening hour, it seemed to be full of unnatural beauty and appeal.
It was almost dark where we were. A few of the lights high up in the
cathedral were going, but we were far away, and they scarcely reached
us. The organ went on after the human voices stopped--oh! the lovely
music--sometimes soft and low, then high, and clear and sweet, and
sometimes grumbling, like the waves of the sea in a storm.
I am only a dog, but the music told a story to me. I ran over all my
past life, my ups and downs, my sorrows and delights--and I thought,
if this means so much to me, when I understand it only on the surface,
what must it mean to the weary, clever human being beside me.
After a time, the organ stopped. I think the organist had been having
a good time to himself after the choir-boys had gone. Then a very
strange thing happened. A voice sounded through the cathedral--a warm,
persuasive voice, addressing all that army of vacant chairs.
My master started, and raised his head for a minute. Then it sank
again. Afterward, I heard the explanation. A preacher who had come from
a long way off, had heard of the teasing echo in the cathedral, and he
was testing his voice. Every word he said seemed to be repeated. The
immense building now looks as if it were cut in two, for it is only
half finished. When it is quite done in years to come, the echo, it is
said, will disappear.
I did not understand the words, but my master did. He listened
intently, and I, who had got to know him so well, knew that a change
was coming over his spirit. He was being comforted.
After a while the preacher followed the organist, and left the
cathedral, but still my master did not go home. I might have pulled
his coat and reminded him of the passage of time, but I judged that
this was not a case for my interference. I kept curled up on his feet,
so they would not get chilled from the stone pavement, and there we
sat, hour after hour, till I fell asleep.
After a time I felt his feet stirring, then he got up, found his hat,
and groping his way to the big doors, began to walk up and down, up
and down, very slowly and thoughtfully. I went to a corner and lay
down, and it did not seem very long before the doors were opened for an
early service. We were free. I gave him a long, searching glance, as we
emerged from the cathedral grounds to broad Amsterdam Avenue. He was a
different man. Something had happened in the church.
With a firm, free stride, he struck across the avenue, past Columbia
University and Broadway to the Drive. He was in a terrible hurry to get
home.
“Boy,” he said looking down at me with a light on his face I had
not seen there since the accident to my mistress, “it’s all right
now--happiness or sorrow. I shall not repine, but I feel as if we were
going to receive good news.”
I was so glad he said “we” and not “I.” It made me feel a part of his
family. I had to run to keep up with him at last. It seemed as if he
could not go fast enough. When we got to the apartment house, and he
entered the elevator which was always too speedy a one for my comfort,
he acted as if he thought it was going slowly.
He whipped out his latch-key, and stepped very quickly to the parlour,
and there on the table that always stood between him and his wife, lay
a telegram.