Again for one moment there was that strange, puzzled look in the man's
face, but it passed, and he turned with another of his bland smiles.
"His name, sir? Ah, his name? He ain't got no name, sir!"
"No name!" I exclaimed, in surprise.
"No, sir; I object to givin' dogs names on principle. It's too much
like treatin' them as if they wos Christians; and, you know, they
couldn't be Christians if they wanted to ever so much. Besides, wotever
name you gives 'em, there must be so many other dogs with the same name,
that you stand a chance o' the wrong dog comin' to 'e ven you calls."
"That's a strange reason. How then do you call him to you?"
"Vy, w'en I wants 'im I shouts `Hi,' or `Hallo,' or I vistles."
"Indeed," said I, somewhat amused by the humour of the fellow; "and what
do you ask for him?"
"Fi' pun ten, an' he's dirt cheap at that," was the quick reply.
"Come, come, my man, you know the dog is not worth that."
"Not worth it, sir!" he replied, with an injured look; "I tell you he's
cheap at that. Look at his breedin', and then think of his affectionate
natur'. Is the affections to count for nuffin'?"
Admitted that the affections were worth money, though it was generally
understood that they could not be purchased, but still objected to the
price, until the man said in a confidential tone--
"Vell, come, sir, since you do express such a deal o' love for 'im, and
promise to be so good to 'im, I'll make a sacrifice and let you 'ave 'im
for three pun ten--come!"
Gave in, and walked off, with my purchase leaping joyfully at my heels.
The man chuckled a good deal after receiving the money, but I took no
notice of that at the time, though I thought a good deal about it
afterwards.
Ah! little did I think, as Dumps and I walked home that day, of the
depth of the attachment that was to spring up between us, the varied
experiences of life we were destined to have together, and the important
influence he was to exercise on my career.
Forgot to mention that my name is Mellon--John Mellon. Dumps knows my
name as well as he knows his own.
On reaching home, Dumps displayed an evidence of good breeding, which
convinced me that he could not have spent all his puppyhood in company
with the man from whom I had bought him. He wiped his feet on the
door-mat with great vigour before entering my house, and also refused to
pass in until I led the way.
"Now, Dumps," said I, seating myself on the sofa in my solitary room (I
was a bachelor at the time--a medical student, just on the point of
completing my course), "come here, and let us have a talk."
To my surprise, the doggie came promptly forward, sat down on his
hind-legs, and looked up into my face. I was touched by this display of
ready confidence. A confiding nature has always been to me powerfully
attractive, whether in child, cat, or dog. I brushed the shaggy hair
from his face in order to see his eyes. They were moist, and intensely
black. So was the point of his nose.
"You seem to be an affectionate doggie, Dumps."
A portion of hair--scarce worthy the name of tail--wagged as I spoke,
and he attempted to lick my fingers, but I prevented this by patting his
head. I have an unconquerable aversion to licking. Perhaps having
received more than an average allowance, in another sense, at school,
may account for my dislike to it--even from a dog!
"Now, Dumps," I continued, "you and I are to be good friends. I've
bought you--for a pretty large sum too, let me tell you--from a man who,
I am quite sure, treated you ill, and I intend to show you what good
treatment is; but there are two things I mean to insist on, and it is
well that we should understand each other at the outset of our united
career. You must never bark at my friends--not even at my enemies--when
they come to see me, and you must not beg at meals. D'you understand?"
The way in which that shaggy creature cocked its ears and turned its
head from side to side slowly, and gazed with its lustrous eyes while I
was speaking, went far to convince me it really did understand what I
said. Of course it only wagged its rear tuft of hair in reply, and
whimpered slightly.
Refer to its rear tuft advisedly, because, at a short distance, my
doggie, when in repose, resembled an elongated and shapeless mass; but,
when roused by a call or otherwise, three tufts of hair instantly sprang
up--two at one end, and one at the other end--indicating his ears and
tail. It was only by these signs that I could ascertain at any time his
exact position.
I was about to continue my remarks to Dumps when the door opened and my
landlady appeared bearing the dinner tray.
"Oh! I beg parding, sir," she said, drawing back, "I didn't 'ear your
voice, sir, till the door was open, an' I thought you was alone, but I
can come back a--"
"Come in, Mrs Miff. There is nobody here but my little dog--one that I
have just bought, a rather shaggy terrier--what do you think of him?"
"Do 'e bite, sir?" inquired Mrs Miff, in some anxiety, as she passed
round the table at a respectful distance from Dumps.
"I think not. He seems an amiable creature," said I, patting his head.
"Do you ever bite, Dumps?"
"Well, sir, I never feel quite easy," rejoined Mrs Miff in a doubtful
tone, as she laid my cloth, with, as it were, one eye ever on the alert:
"you never knows w'en these 'airy creatures is goin' to fly at you. If
you could see their heyes you might 'ave a guess what they was a
thinkin' of; an' then it is so orkard not knowin' w'ich end of the 'airy
bundle is the bitin' end, you can't help bein' nervish a little."
Having finished laying the cloth, Mrs Miff backed out of the room after
the manner of attendants on royalty, overturning two chairs with her
skirts as she went, and showing her full front to the enemy. But the
enemy gave no sign, good or bad. All the tufts were down flat, and he
stood motionless while Mrs Miff retreated.
"Dumps, what do you think of Mrs Miff?"
The doggie ran to me at once, and we engaged in a little further
conversation until my landlady returned with the viands. To my surprise
Dumps at once walked sedately to the hearth-rug, and lay down thereon,
with his chin on his paws--at least I judged so from the attitude, for I
could see neither chin nor paws.
This act I regarded as another evidence of good breeding. He was not a
beggar, and, therefore, could not have spent his childhood with the man
from whom I had bought him.
"I wish you could speak, Dumps," said I, laying down my knife and fork,
when about half finished, and looking towards the hearth-rug.
One end of him rose a little, the other end wagged gently, but as I made
no further remark, both ends subsided.
"Now, Dumps," said I, finishing my meal with a draught of water, which
is my favourite beverage, "you must not suppose that you have got a
greedy master; though I don't allow begging. There, sir, is your
corner, where you shall always have the remnants of my dinner--come."
The dog did not move until I said, "come." Then, with a quick rush he
made for the plate, and very soon cleared it.
"Well, you have been well trained," said I, regarding him with interest;
"such conduct is neither the result of instinct nor accident, and sure
am I, the more I think of it, that the sulky fellow who sold you to me
was not your tutor; but, as you can't speak, I shall never find out your
history, so, Dumps, I'll dismiss the subject."
Saying this, I sat down to the newspaper with which I invariably solaced
myself for half an hour after dinner, before going out on my afternoon
rounds.
This was the manner in which my doggie and I began our acquaintance, and
I have been thus particular in recounting the details, because they bear
in a special manner on some of the most important events of my life.
Being, as already mentioned, a medical student, and having almost
completed my course of study, I had undertaken to visit in one of the
poorest districts in London--in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel; partly
for the purpose of gaining experience in my profession, and partly for
the sake of carrying the Word of Life--the knowledge of the Saviour--
into some of the many homes where moral as well as physical disease is
rife.
Leanings and inclinations are inherited not less than bodily
peculiarities. My father had a particular tenderness for poor old women
of the lowest class. So have I. When I see a bowed, aged, wrinkled,
white-haired, feeble woman in rags and dirt, a gush of tender pity
almost irresistibly inclines me to go and pat her head, sit down beside
her, comfort her, and give her money. It matters not what her
antecedents may have been. Worthy or unworthy, there she stands now,
with age, helplessness, and a hopeless temporal future, pleading more
eloquently in her behalf than could the tongue of man or angel. True,
the same plea is equally applicable to poor old men, but, reader, I
write not at present of principles so much as of feelings. My weakness
is old women!
Accordingly, on my professional visiting list--I had at that time a
considerable number of these. One of them, who was uncommonly small,
unusually miserable, and pathetically feeble, lay heavy on my spirit
just then. She had a remarkably bad cold at the time, which betrayed
itself chiefly in a frequent, but feeble, sneeze.
As I rose to go out, and looked at my doggie--who was, or seemed to be,
asleep on the rug--a sudden thought occurred to me.
"That poor old creature," I muttered, "is very lonely in her garret; a
little dog might comfort her. Perhaps--but no. Dumps, you are too
lively for her, too bouncing. She would require something feeble and
affectionate, like herself. Come, I'll think of that. So, my doggie,
you shall keep watch here until I return."