made a regular appearance there. It was the habit of one of the masters
who had retired, but still lived near at hand, to come to the school
every Monday and Friday morning at twelve o’clock, to play racquets
with the school pair. When he left his garden he always found Bandy
waiting to walk back with him to the court. Such a nice perception of
times and seasons had Bandy that he was never known to make a mistake
either in the day or hour of the visit. From the gallery no play was
visible for one of Bandy’s size, but he would stand there the hour
through, listening to the rattle of the balls he could not see, with
every nerve on stretch. There was, too, always the chance of a “skied”
ball, but the waiting was long, and from time to time he would give
relief to his pent-up feelings by a yell of approval or despair.
One of the many ways in which Bandy showed his appreciation of his
recognised position in the school life was by joining any party he
thought worthy of his company when they were being photographed. His
sense of loyalty to his house was shown in the selection he made, and
outside any gathering of his house members, nothing below Common Room
was good enough for him. But even then Bandy’s sense of justice did not
allow him to enjoy any honour that was refused to his friends. When
the masters were forming up on the Bowling Green to be photographed,
some one of the party drew attention to the fact that Bandy was not
present to complete their number. But it was the summer term, the hour
between twelve and one, when Bandy was busy fielding. This he could
not miss, and so it seemed that he had cut the photograph. But Bandy
was equal to the occasion. Just as the last arrangements had been
made, a movement was observed among the interested crowd that on these
occasions surrounds the door at the head of the garden steps. A small
form slipped through, and Bandy, still panting from his labours at the
nets, dashed over the grass and took up the most conspicuous place in
the group.
In accordance with custom, a second photograph was asked for, and
while the photographer was making his preparations and regrouping his
subjects, Bandy disappeared with the same speed that had characterised
his advent. But this time the calls of friendship were in his mind, and
when he returned he brought two curs of low degree to share his honours
with him. But while Bandy was an honoured associate, it was felt that
the dignity of Common Room would suffer if his friends were permitted
to join the group. The curs were consequently chased away with
ignominy, Bandy sitting up meanwhile and watching the treatment meted
out to them. He seemed to be considering the situation, and at the
moment the cap was taken off, he rose and moving rapidly down the line
left a blur on the plate that testified to his feelings on the subject.
He then walked off triumphantly to rejoin his rejected friends.
For the second time Bandy nearly met his death on the playing field.
A harmless horse, whose business in life it was to pull rollers and
mowing machines, spent his leisure hours in grazing at large in
the field. Whether it was that his stolid demeanour, or the placid
enjoyment that marked his performance, irritated Bandy, certain it is
that from one of these or some other equally sound causes he gave the
harmless quadruped no peace. His great delight was to dance about just
out of range, with short, sharp, most aggravating barks. This he would
keep up till the horse moved on, or if all else failed he would try a
snap at his heels. Such outrageous conduct was very properly resented,
and the day of reckoning came at last. With a thud that sounded far and
wide, the victim caught his tormentor full on the head and fairly laid
him out. Once more Bandy was carried home to die, and the horse had
peace for _one whole day_.
The great problem of Bandy’s life was how to carry three Fives balls in
his mouth at once. One cricket ball, two Fives balls, or three racquet
balls he could manage, but his ambition was to stow away three Fives
balls. Over the successful carrying out of this he would spend hours
when no more enticing occupation offered itself. As it was a serious
business, in the accomplishment of which he must not run the risk of
interruption, he would establish himself with his balls in a certain
grass plot in the court, which Bandy knew well was out of bounds for
all but him. Here his master has often watched him, with the three
balls laid out before him. He would begin by stowing away one ball
in either cheek, but with all his efforts he could not get the third
in between. Then he would eject them, and with the funniest air of
careful thought, turn the matter over in his mind. Starting again, he
would put the first ball well down his throat and make heroic efforts
to accommodate the other two. A less conscientious dog might have
substituted a smaller racquet ball for the third trophy, but such
was not Bandy’s way, and, alas, death overtook him before he found a
solution to the puzzle.
Fond, however, as Bandy was of balls and games, he put duty first.
It is almost a creed of Marlborough faith that Bandy never missed a
turn out of the School Rifle Corps after he had enrolled himself in
that body. As soon as the “Fall in” was sounded he would appear on
the scene, and, taking up his position just out of reach of the heels
and sword of the Commanding Officer, would do his best to emphasize
each word of command. Whether this was quite popular with the C.O.’s
is perhaps open to doubt, but here, as in all other details of school
life, Bandy was a privileged person. As the corps passed out of court
to the cricket field, he remained in attendance on the captain in case
his services should be required. It was a red-letter day for Bandy when
such an occasion presented itself.
As Bandy lived before the time of the South African War, more attention
was paid to the march past than is usual now. It was seldom that a
march past was not included in the afternoon’s drill. Here Bandy was at
his best. No sooner was the word given than he would dash forward to
the head of the band, and take up his post about ten paces in front.
His important duty was to lead, and with head and tail up, and eyes
front, he did it with becoming attention to details. When the band
wheeled left, to take post and play the corps by, Bandy would wheel
right, and, stationing himself in dignified manner at the feet of the
Captain, would take the salute with him.
Here again Bandy showed his stern ideas of discipline. It was before
the days of putties, and short leather gaiters were worn by the
volunteers. Mr. Swain, the bandmaster, was apt to be forgetful of
details, and one day as the corps, headed by the band, was marching
into the field, the captain, from halfway along the column, called the
attention of a sergeant to the fact that the bandmaster was without the
regulation gaiters. Bandy, who was in his usual place by the captain’s
side, showed his sense of outraged propriety by springing to the head
of the column and seizing Mr. Swain by the ankle, in the place where
the gaiters should have been. Whether he was not pleased with the
way in which his attentions were received, or did not consider the
punishment equal to the offence, Bandy did not let the matter rest here.
The band practices, held in the gymnasium, were gatherings that did
not appeal to Bandy, and he was never known to make one of them. But
on the practice that followed his disciplinary effort on the parade
ground, Bandy made his way to the gymnasium and demanded, and of course
received, admission. Without a second’s hesitation he made straight
for the astonished instructor, and repeated his warning against laxity.
The sufferer suddenly developed an agility on the horizontal bars that
no one had suspected him of possessing. The strangest thing perhaps
about the incident was that it is the only case in which the dog ever
attacked a human.
On the eve of one Field Day poor Bandy was in hospital. On the Monday
afternoon he had a tumour removed from his throat, and the corps
paraded early on Tuesday morning. One “turn out” then he was bound
to miss. But the corps had just fallen in when, as the first word of
command rang out, there was a gasp heard. The faithful soldier had
managed to escape, and had just enough strength to crawl to his usual
place. Is it wonder that such heroism was duly recorded in verse? “Exit
Bandy” testifies to the place he held in the affections of his friends.
These lines, like the others I have quoted, were written after the
dog’s death.
EXIT BANDY
A truce to all your games to-day,
Put football, racquet-ball away,
Not now the hour for sport and play,
But sorrow sore instead.
A friend has vanished from our view
Whom all of our six hundred knew.
O sad Six Hundred when to you
The news came--“Bandy’s dead.”
Muffle your drums, O Volunteers;
Your shrill notes soften to our ears,
O Fifers; half a score of years
He never missed a drill,
But ever as your captain spoke
“Fall in,” a bark the courtyard woke
To tell to laggard human folk
Their dog was punctual still.
He loved us all--would favour none--
The world his playmate; in the sun
Or in the rain to romp and run
His sole, his whole delight;
Beneath his doleful brow was pent
Indomitable merriment,
To play with boy or man he meant
All day with all his might.
Was ever cricketer more keen
On our field, or on any seen?
Though summer’s labour made him lean
To him ’twas labour sweet;
You hit the ball, he watched its course,
And fast as any Manton horse
Outpaced it ere it spent its force
And laid it at your feet.
His voice would echo sharp and short
From top tier of the Racquet Court
As if he criticised the sort
Of stroke you made or missed;
So well he seemed to understand
The tricks of every round he scanned
You vowed him fit to take a hand
(Or little paw) at whist.
In Hockey, Football less he found
Of dog’s delight, though on the ground
He oft would watch with gaze profound
The fortunes of the game.
And, maybe, mused, “My legs for kicks
Were not devised or holding sticks,
Else in the fray what fun to mix!
This looking on is tame.”
Self-constituted sentinel
Our school domain he guarded well;
And woe to cur on whom he fell,
Though twice his weight and size.
Or, if too strong and big the brute,
For timely aid of stone or boot,
He begged us with petition mute,
As due from sworn allies.
A blithe life--free from pain or ache
Save when he made some quaint mistake;
Once heedless how a ball would break
It half beat out his brains.
And once a-hunting he would go,
And sliced by ploughshare ’neath the snow
Samaritans had work to sew
His outside in again.
Well, every dog must have his day,
Even you, whose gaiety made gay
Two generations, passed away
Ere ours, whom Marlborough bred:
And when was dog so mourned as you?
Half sighs, half smiles, the wide world through
Will blend in thousand-fold adieu
When news comes--“Bandy’s dead.”
A. H. BEESLY.
Anything of the nature of a spectacle always had attractions for Bandy.
Sunday was, as I have said, a dull time to him, for he was never
allowed to follow his friends when they went into chapel. One day,
when there was to be a confirmation in the school chapel, the sight of
visitors and an unusual stir about the place attracted his attention.
Soberly, as befitted the occasion, Bandy watched the crowd slowly pass
into the chapel, and then retired to the Bradleian arches, to be ready
for what might yet be in store. Scarcely had he settled down before
there issued from the old house the Bishop and the Head Master, side by
side, with crozier bearer in front. Bandy was instantly all attention.
Was this a procession, within the meaning of the Act? Three was a small
quorum, but then there were the robes. It _was_ a procession, and with
a yell of joy that to his master’s ears told only too well what was
happening outside, he flew to take part in it. A series of short, sharp
barks that sounded like pistol shots in the quiet stillness of the
chapel made the watchers inside sharers of the scene that disturbed the
serenity of the embarrassed dignitaries. But one of the sufferers was a
Bishop, and Bandy’s master’s diocesan, so we will draw a veil over the
sequel.
It was on a Sunday that yet another great disaster nearly ended Bandy’s
life. To relieve the tedium of the dull hours he went off in the
afternoon to do a little ratting on his own account. What followed can
only be surmised, but that night Bandy did not return. The next morning
a blood-stained track was found leading from a rick on Granham Hill,
and on a harrow at the foot of the rick were blood and hair. Bandy must
have leaped or fallen from the rick, though how he reached the top must
ever be a mystery. That day two boys saw him making a desperate effort
to reach home. He was in a terrible condition, and without assistance
must have died before he could find his friends. The boys, however,
did what they could for him. They took him to a friendly saddler,
who washed his wounds and sewed him up, and again he was carried home
apparently in extremis. Once more he was tenderly nursed back to life,
and within forty-eight hours he crept from his master’s house to the
school gates, where his owner found him waiting for him, too feeble to
travel further.
Though Bandy was no fighter in the sense that he sought an encounter,
he never refused a good offer. He returned sometimes from his little
private excursions more than a trifle mauled, but he never made any
fuss about his wounds. Rats were ever a joy to him, mice came in for a
lesser share of his attentions, and he would spend hours in desperate
efforts to dig out a rabbit. There was no mistaking the language with
which he would resent any intervention, even from his best friends,
at such times. On the other hand he was always ready to acknowledge a
really well-timed service.
As the Downs round Marlborough abound in hares, they were ever an
attraction to Bandy, and he lived in hope of some day accounting for
one. He had a good nose, and would sometimes stick to a stale line
till the hare jumped up within a few feet of him. Then away he would
go again, always running by scent and not by view. When nearly beat he
would sometimes start another hare. “Good,” he seemed to say, “I knew I
was getting up to her,” and with desperate determination he would carry
on the chase. His master was often obliged to ride up at last and call
him off, “faint, yet pursuing.”
Bandy once had a rude shock. He had gone out with one of her late
Majesty’s judges, to dig out a badger in the Pewsey Vale, some seven
miles off. The holt was in a sand-pit, and had two entrances or pipes.
A dog was sent up one of them to mark the badger, and behind the dog
a man worked with a short pick, passing the sand out behind him. At
the same time another man was told off to crawl up the other pipe and
report progress. It was a pouring wet day, and just as Bandy’s master
arrived on the scene the second man emerged backwards from his pipe. In
a moment the judge’s coat was off, and in spite of all remonstrances
he insisted on taking his turn, and slowly disappeared. The whole
proceedings were a mystery to Bandy, and he watched attentively. No
sooner did the judge reappear from the bowels of the earth than Bandy
dashed in to solve the mystery for himself. His curiosity was quickly
satisfied. Instead of a rabbit he found a badger at bay, and in this
case he decided that discretion was the better part of valour.
It was only comparatively late in life that Bandy turned his thoughts
seriously to education. Then for some time he attended his master’s
lessons regularly, and never was there a more attentive pupil. When the
blackboard was being used he would come out and sit in full view of it,
and never take his eyes off till the chalk was laid down. For two terms
he took up science, but he had the sense to limit his range of study,
and only attended a class that was held twice a week. He never mistook
the day and hour, and always made a point of escorting the master who
was to give the lesson from his rooms to the laboratory.
Occupied as he was, Bandy yet found time for social duties. For some
years he always paid one visit every term with unfailing precision. The
master who was thus honoured was not conscious of any special claim
to such distinction. He lived in rooms at the top of two flights of
uncarpeted stairs, and regularly once a term he would hear what sounded
like a human step coming slowly up, so self-repressed was Bandy when
occasion required. Then would come a tap low down on the door, and in
would walk the courteous visitor. The call would pass with no more
incident than other visits of ceremony, and after a stroll round the
room and a lounge before the fire Bandy would rise, make his bow, and
walk downstairs with the same dignified restraint that had marked his
approach.
It is as a public character that Bandy’s memory lives. The incidents
of his private life were few. Though devoted to his master, and with
a full sense of the claims of his house fellows upon his time and
affections, he was not a demonstrative dog. The only times in which he
was wont to display an exuberance of joy, was when his master returned
home after the holidays. Then he would go nearly mad with joy, and
testify to his delight with no thought for the restraining hand of
decorum. If his master was laid aside by illness or accident, Bandy,
who at other times did not frequent his bedroom, would always go up,
and jumping on the bed, give the special mark of sympathy that the
occasion demanded. But Bandy’s powers did not lie in the direction
of sick-room nursing. His was only a visit of condolence. He was
satisfied that others could look after his master better than he could,
and he would go off to one of his many school duties, safe in the
confidence that the invalid would be well cared for.
It seems almost sacrilege to speak of such a dog as Bandy being
thrashed, but such ill luck has been the portion of other and greater
lights of Marlborough, so I may take courage to say that twice such
ignominy fell on Bandy. The first time his master felt called on to
administer condign punishment was for the crime of chasing sheep on the
Downs. The lesson was remembered, and the offence was never repeated.
On the second occasion Bandy resented the treatment meted out to him
and took his means of retaliation. It was a prize day, and he wished
to share in the unwonted stir and movement that promised untold joys.
But his master decided otherwise, and sent him sternly home. From the
order there was no appeal. Sadly Bandy turned from promised joys, and
meditated vengeance in his heart. Going straight back to the dining
room he forthwith jumped on the table, and finding there among other
dainties a cold duck, he determined to relieve the tedium of his
banishment by a feast. So he devoured the duck in comfort on the floor,
and then waited on the doorstep for his master’s return. When the
latter came in Bandy led the way to the dining room, and conducted his
master to the remains of his repast. It was not to be supposed that
a free member of the school could be shut out from one of its great
functions with impunity.
Bandy was always keenly sensitive to ridicule. It was a favourite
amusement of his to watch the matron dispense the various medicines
to the boys. Curled up in her chair, he would follow the proceedings
with interest. One of the boys in teasing mood came and stood in front
of him, and laughed derisively. Bandy showed his sense of the insult
offered him by immediately leaving the room and taking refuge in his
master’s study. Two years later this boy came down to see the senior
master, and as soon as Bandy heard his step outside he made good his
escape from the room. As soon as the boy entered, his master knew the
cause of Bandy’s hurried departure.
Once again Bandy was in hospital, and the very care his friends took of
him proved his undoing. No one had mastered the secret of his former
escapes from confinement, and to make all sure, Bandy was chained up
and left for the night. Alas, the next morning, which by a strange
coincidence was his master’s birthday, a sad sight met the eyes of his
guardians. Bandy, unable to support the indignity of loss of liberty,
had strangled himself in mad efforts to escape. There lay his little
lifeless form, and grief reigned in Marlborough for the loss of the
good comrade and faithful friend, who for ten long years had been a
privileged member of the school body.
Yet another friend was moved to verse in his sorrow for his loss.
BANDY
Bandy dead, and such a death!
Sure it makes the heart beat faster,
That he rather strove to die
Than be parted from his master.
Countless risks to limb and life
(As I write my spirits falter)
He had weathered; and the end--
Self-destruction with a halter!
Bandy! When from lip to lip
Spread that dismal bit of knowledge,
More than grief for loss of brute
Dimmed the gladness of the college.
How shall we supply the place
Vacant by his sad disaster?
Self-appointed, Bandy long
Held the post of Extra Master.
See him watch behind the nets,
Cerberus-toothed, and Lynceus-sighted;
See him scampering o’er the grass,
Coach and fag in one united.
See him, close inspection o’er,
Column formed, and bugles blowing,
Head the Corps, and through the gates
Trot, the way to glory showing.
In the field, the court, the road,
Barking, bossing had you seen him,
_Nil humani_, you had said,
Was to Bandy _alienum_.
Never, rare in man! _de trop_,
Ever on occasion handy;
Boys and Masters courage take
From the energy of Bandy!
More than brute, if less than man,
Far beyond all canine measure,
Sharing, conscious of his worth,
Human business and pleasure.
Mystery strange of brutish soul!
Beamed from out those doggy features;
More of sympathy for man
Than his nearer fellow creatures.
Lived throughout that grizzly frame
Iron purpose past our guiding;
Wisdom hoar that mocked our search
Deep in those weird eyes abiding.
Where is Bandy’s spirit fled?
What forbids this hope to cherish,
Wit so keen, and love so strong,
Are not of the things that perish?
X. A. M.
THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE
“_Here’s fine sport, my masters!_”
Jack, who belonged to the old breed of fighting dogs, had all the
characteristics that marked the better class of those worthies of a
bygone age who were known as soldiers of fortune. Brave as a lion,
he would fight to the death, but he was gentle and courteous to
those in distress, loyal to his friends, and an open enemy. It was
strange, indeed, that with his early training he had not learned to
love fighting for fighting’s sake. But as he never began an attack,
and never lost his head even in the most heated moments of a deadly
struggle, he had the advantage of a soldier trained to warfare over
less well disciplined opponents. Jack’s enormous strength of jaw
and his size--for in fighting condition he was said to weigh fifty
pounds--made him a formidable antagonist. But in spite of this, and
of his truly ferocious appearance, he was gentle and affectionate in
disposition, was on the most friendly terms with every one in the
house, where he found a home after the stormy days of his youth, and
was never known to start a quarrel with one of his own kind.
His meeting with his future mistress was sufficiently dramatic. This
lady was calling at a vicarage in the neighbourhood of her home when,
as she reached the front door, she found herself confronted by a
remarkable looking object. Seated on the doorstep was a large, grey,
brindled bull terrier, with the square massive head of the bulldog,
and in general appearance resembling the pictures of Crib and Rosa and
other old-world celebrities. To add to his attractions he had lost half
an ear on one side of his face and half of his upper lip on the other.
His head was covered with wounds not yet healed, and his neck had been
severely mauled recently.
The visitor stood still in astonishment, while she examined him
attentively, and Jack on his side kept his place in the middle of the
doorway, and returned her gaze, while he slowly turned his head from
side to side. Happily the lady does not know what fear is where a dog
is concerned, and as soon as she had recovered from her surprise she
spoke to the dog in a gentle voice. Jack then rose and came towards
her, and after walking round her and sniffing at her skirt he looked up
at her and allowed her to pat his head. From that moment his friendship
with the stranger began, though there were still some vicissitudes
of his strange career to be gone through before he came into her
possession.
[Illustration: THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE
JACK]
Inside the house the visitor heard something of his story. Jack had
been brought home by the son of the house, who was an undergraduate of
Cambridge, and he had become possessed of him under peculiar and, we
may hope, unusual circumstances. A fellow undergraduate had purchased
Jack from a man who had brought him down from the Staffordshire
Potteries, where the bull terrier had a great reputation as a
fighting dog. Many were the tales told of his prowess in deadly
combats, in which he had come off with the honours of war. These
brutal exhibitions though contrary to law are not yet done away with
in mining districts, and that other parts of the country are not free
from suspicion in this respect Jack’s history will make clear. It would
be well if the authorities showed more vigour in putting them down, as
they are a disgrace to our boasted humanity and refinement of feeling.
It is hard to see how the gruesome sight of dogs deliberately set to
maul one another until the life of one is forfeited, lacks any of the
brutal elements that have made cock fighting happily a thing of the
past.
Unfortunately for poor Jack the hands into which he fell at Cambridge
were no more humane than those of his former owners. At a “wine” his
new master produced him, and challenged his friends present to find a
dog that could “lick” him. Another wild spirit took up the challenge,
declaring that his Newfoundland, an unusually large and strong specimen
of his breed, could easily give the Staffordshire hero a licking. Bets
were made freely, and the furniture was cleared, while the Newfoundland
was being fetched. Then the wretched animals were set on, and for a
time their struggle was watched by the inhuman men. But the fight grew
so savage that the infuriated animals became a danger to the onlookers,
and the party put the crowning point to their cowardly proceeding by
clearing out of the room and shutting the door on the combatants. It
was not till the sounds of fighting had died away that they ventured
back to see what had happened to their victims. The Newfoundland had
been killed, and Jack was lying half dead beside him.
Fear of the consequences of their exploit to themselves now entered the
young men’s minds. If Jack was kept, the Dons would be sure to hear of
the affair, and as one of the party was going down the following day,
he was persuaded to take the dog with him. The suffering creature was
consequently put into a basket and carried down to the Dorset Vicarage,
where he was by no means a welcome guest. The Vicar not unnaturally
thought that he was not a reputable addition to his household. But the
dog could not be turned away till his wounds were healed, and Jack
found a home in an outhouse, from which he had made his escape on the
day of my friend’s visit.
The lady had no sooner heard his history than she expressed a wish
to have him. But the Vicar refused point blank to allow him to go to
her, and his son told her privately that he meant to keep the dog.
On returning from a short absence from home the would-be owner made
inquiries about Jack, and what she then heard determined her to make
every effort to get possession of the dog, and thus put an end to his
fighting career.
Jack’s presence at the Vicarage had not been pleasing to an old
retriever, who was used to ruling supreme on the premises. Before
long a fight ensued between the rivals, and the Vicar, hearing sounds
of warfare, rushed out to find matters looking serious. Seizing the
retriever by the tail he called loudly for assistance. This brought
Jack’s master on the scene, and with considerable difficulty he
succeeded in getting his dog by the collar and choking him off. From
the fiat of banishment that now went forth there was no appeal, the
somewhat undignified part played by the master of the house perhaps
adding fuel to his wrath. Anyway, Jack was made over to a travelling
pedlar, who passed through the village the following day.
This man had a large white bull terrier of his own, which, he said,
he kept to guard his cart. With the same brutal instincts displayed
by Jack’s former owners the pedlar determined on a fight between the
dogs. For the benefit of himself and his friends the entertainment was
brought off in a back yard. So desperately did the dogs fight that to
save their lives the men at last separated them. Too late, however, to
save the life of the white dog, which died of its wounds, while Jack
was in a dreadful condition, and it seemed doubtful if he would recover.
My friend found out where the dog was, and sent the Vicar’s son, who
had brought him into the neighbourhood, to buy the poor suffering
creature for her. The embassy was successful, and Jack, the most
miserable remnant of a dog that ever was seen, and with his neck in
such a state that it was months before he could bear a collar, came to
the home that sheltered him for the remainder of his days.
Jack’s adventures were by no means over, but he was too intelligent
ever to enter on a struggle lightly. He knew what fighting meant, and
did not run into danger needlessly. What to others was a mere incident
in their quarrelsome lives was for him a matter in which the science
of war and the risks of battle had to be considered. These fighting
dogs are trained never to let go of their opponent till they have a
firm grip of the head, and then, from the working of their terrible
jaws, there is little hope for the victim. The dog that fastens on to
the leg of his opponent is not accounted much good, as, though he may
break the bone and cause terrible agony, he is not likely to succeed in
killing the other. The brutalising effect of such contests as those in
which Jack had taken part seems to be shown more clearly on the men who
organise them than on the animals they train. This is, at least, as it
should be, for it is man’s superior intelligence that is perverted to
provide the so-called sport, while the dogs are but the puppets made to
dance at his orders.
Jack’s appearance always remained sufficiently alarming to terrify weak
nerves. In his new home he used to spend long hours lying on a mat in
the front hall, and always did so of an afternoon unless he was out
driving with his mistress. He was in his usual place when two ladies
arrived to tea. One of the visitors stepped out of the carriage to
ring the bell, and this, being almost over Jack’s head, awoke him with
a start. The dog sprang to his feet with a growl, and his unexpected
appearance struck such terror into the heart of the visitor that she
fled back to the brougham for protection. Her companion, an older lady,
just then in the act of stepping out, received her friend’s onslaught
with no hope of withstanding the shock. She was knocked backwards on
to the floor of the brougham, where the fugitive tumbled on the top of
her, Jack meanwhile watching the unwonted proceedings with interest,
but without showing the least sign of wishing to join in the fray.
When the visitors had been safely escorted into the house, and the
elder lady understood the cause of her friend’s fright, her anger was
great. How could any one suppose that a dangerous dog would be allowed
to lie at the front door? she inquired. But the other who could not be
persuaded to allow Jack to come near her, or indeed to be in the same
room with her, asserted that his look was enough to frighten any one,
and if he came near her _she should do the same again_.
But Jack behaved with exemplary courtesy to all visitors to the house,
and to his mistress he was devotedly attached. This love he only
extended in anything like the same degree to one person, and that was
his mistress’s mother. He always had a special welcome for her when she
made one of her occasional visits to the house, and constituted himself
her guardian, seeming to understand perfectly that as she had nearly
lost her sight she needed protection. Whenever his mistress was out,
if Jack did not go with her, he would go straight up to her mother’s
room and sit by her side, and no one could induce him to move till his
mistress returned. His affection and care were much appreciated, and
Jack and the elder lady became the firmest friends. She was in the
habit of taking a little stroll in the afternoon along the carriage
drive, and with Jack for a companion she said she felt perfectly safe.
He always walked close by her side, and to give her warning when any
one was coming, he would look up at her and give a little friendly
growl.
To his mistress he was the most vigilant of guards, and his encounter
with a tramp was talked of far and wide in the county. For some time
the cottagers in the neighbourhood had been troubled by the visits of
this man. It was his custom to watch the men off to work, and then go
and bully the women until he got money from them. One spring morning,
when Jack’s owner was sitting in the drawing room with the window open,
a shadow cast across her book caused her to look up. She saw a short,
sturdily built man of the dirtiest possible appearance in the act of
stepping into the room from the verandah. She realised at once that it
was the tramp, from the descriptions she had heard from some of his
former victims. She knew, too, that he must have watched the house and
chosen his time as usual when the men were absent. Probably from the
shelter of the shrubbery he had seen the two gentlemen of the household
drive away in the dog-cart, and had waited until the outside men had
gone home for their dinner. The only man left about the place was the
butler, who was on the far side of the house.
Starting from her chair the lady asked the intruder what he wanted. “I
want some money,” was the surly response. “I have nothing for you;”
and as she spoke she made a step towards the bell. But the man was
too quick for her. Flinging himself before her, and thus cutting her
off from the power of summoning assistance, he said threateningly, “I
means to have some before I goes.” His startled victim looked round
hastily for a weapon of defence, as her doubtful visitor held a short
thick stick in his hand, which he looked quite capable of making use
of to achieve his object. Her eye fell upon Jack asleep under a chair
in the back room. Clapping her hands to rouse him, she called, “Go for
him, Jack,” and the dog sprang to his feet, and with a savage growl
made straight for the man. In an instant the intruder was back on the
verandah, striking blindly at the dog with his stick. Jack was not to
be caught, and cleverly dodging the blows aimed at him he danced round
with every bristle up and his eyes glaring.
The man backed away along the verandah shouting at the top of his
voice, Jack after him, and his mistress following and encouraging the
dog. In this way the procession worked round the house till it reached
the garden gate. Here the man turned and tried to bolt through, but
Jack was on the watch, and instantly making his spring, he fastened on
to the man’s thigh and hung like grim death. Never was there a more
abject picture of fright than the tramp presented. He roared with pain
and fear combined, and throwing away his stick made frantic efforts to
get his hand into his pocket. Seeing the movement, and fearing that a
knife might be brought into play against Jack, his mistress caught the
dog by the collar, exclaiming as she did so, “I will try and get him
off, if you will be quiet.” This was no easy matter, for Jack’s blood
was up, but luckily there was a wrench, and with a piece of dirty,
rotten cloth in his mouth the dog fell back. It was the work of a
moment for the tramp to bang to the gate between him and his assailant.
By the time the household came hurrying up to see what was the matter
the man was making best pace down the drive, and was never heard of in
that neighbourhood again.
It is to be noted that even in his angriest moments Jack never resented
his mistress’s efforts to check him. Neither now nor at any period
of his life, however great the provocation, did he turn upon her. As
he understood and was ready to respond to her call for aid, so he
respected her restraining hand, even though, like an angry child, he
could not give in to the restraint at once.
On one evening in the week my friend was in the habit of walking across
the fields to the village in order to play the organ for the choir
practice. Jack always accompanied her, and as long as it was light he
followed close at her heels. Directly it grew dark Jack invariably
changed his position and trotted along in front of her. He then gave
notice of any one approaching by a warning growl, and if the passer by
ceded the path to him all went well, and he took no further notice.
If, however, the intruder kept to the path, things were not made so
pleasant for him. One very dark night Jack’s mistress heard the warning
growl, and then a quick rush, and a man’s voice raised in alarm.
Hurrying to the rescue she saw, as well as the darkness would allow,
what appeared to be a man on the ground and a dog on the top of him.
Seizing Jack by the collar she found it an unexpectedly easy task to
pull him off, as whatever it was that he had firmly in his teeth came
away with him. The man struggled to his feet and fled for dear life,
and it then turned out that Jack’s trophy was a large bundle done up
in a red handkerchief, and with a stick through it, which the man had
evidently been carrying over his shoulder. Holding Jack firmly his
mistress called to the fugitive that he might come back safely and
secure his property. But he would have none of it, and continued his
headlong course, while Jack and his mistress reached home without
further adventure.
Another of Jack’s exploits was in saving her from the attack of a
savage cow. A farmer in the parish had put a cow and her calf in a
field, through which ran a path that led into the village. Through this
field the Vicar’s daughter had come one afternoon to see Jack’s owner,
bringing her old retriever with her. On her return she was charged
by the cow, and in her efforts to escape fell into a deep ditch. The
retriever meantime flew at the cow, but finding himself hard pressed,
jumped after his mistress, who in her fright thought her infuriated
assailant had come after her. She and her dog eventually managed to
scramble through the hedge into the next field, and found their way
home. Knowing that the lady on whom she had been calling would be
coming down later to the practice, she sent a note to warn her of the
danger. But the messenger wisely preferred to go the longer way by the
road, and he thus missed the lady, who with Jack had already started
across the fields. On getting over a stile she found herself face to
face with a large half-bred Hereford cow, which without the slightest
warning rushed straight at her. Springing to one side she left the way
open to Jack, who proved quite equal to the encounter. Jumping at the
cow’s head, he caught her firmly by the nose and there hung. It was
now the cow’s turn to try and get away, and she rushed round and round
in a circle, swinging the clinging dog completely off the ground. All
her efforts being of no avail, she sank at last on her knees and laid
groaning on the ground. Just then the farmer appeared, and with his
help the cow was released, and Jack was then hurried away. The cow
recovered from her fright, and was none the worse for her adventure,
but she was promptly removed to a quieter grazing ground.
One of Jack’s pleasures was to accompany his mistress in her drives.
He always ran under the dog-cart, and if pursued by other dogs would
never take any notice of them for fear of losing the cart. His mistress
therefore always drove on when any assailant appeared, as she knew Jack
would not leave her. This proof of attachment sometimes cost him dear,
as his enemies were wont to think that his flying figure meant fear,
and that they could bully him as they pleased. This was specially the
case with a large collie who lived in a neighbouring town to which Jack
and his mistress often went. The collie had a habit of rushing after
any dog following a carriage, and his great speed generally allowing
him to come up with them, he would then roll them over and, after
shaking and biting them, run back to his master as if sure of approval.
This was indeed more or less true, for the master, whenever he was
remonstrated with on the behaviour of his dog, always replied that he
meant no harm and only acted in play.
After a time the owner of the collie set up a second, a younger dog,
who, of course, speedily followed in the steps of his elder. The two
dogs once rushed on Jack, as he was passing in his usual place under
the cart, and gave him a severe mauling. After that his mistress always
took him up when they were likely to meet his enemies, and one day when
she went into a shop she fastened a piece of string to Jack’s collar
and led him. She had just reached the shop door when she saw the older
collie rushing towards them. Turning in hastily to avoid him, Jack
lay down quietly beside her chair, but the collie rushed in and fell
upon Jack, and with a snap of the string from the latter’s collar, the
two were fighting in the street. For the first few minutes the collie
seemed to have the best of it, for he pinned Jack and was tearing at
him with all his strength. The lady and gentleman, in whose charge the
collie was at the time, seemed rather amused at the adventure, and
did not offer to interfere, while Jack’s mistress, knowing that his
turn would come, and thinking the attacker deserved a lesson, remained
passive.
Presently the collie, who thought he was going to have things entirely
his own way, recklessly put his foreleg across Jack’s open mouth.
The powerful jaws closed on it, and the collie, releasing his hold of
Jack’s throat, howled loudly, while he tried in vain to pull his leg
away.
Jack, however, was no leg fighter, and struggling to his feet he
released the leg, and, catching the collie by the side of the head,
turned him over on his back. The collie’s guardians now wished to
interfere, the lady calling out to her companion to save her dog. The
man raised his walking stick and was in the act of bringing it down on
Jack’s head, when the latter’s mistress interfered. Fortunately she
had brought a walking stick in her hand when she left the dog-cart,
and striking up the threatening stick of the other, she exclaimed, “He
shall not be touched.” But seeing that the collie would soon suffer
the extreme penalty of the law unless rescued, she seized Jack by the
collar and told him to leave go. His mistress always says she can
never forget the look of reproach her dog turned on her. Lowering his
bristles and wagging his tail Jack fixed his eyes on her face with an
expression that was almost human. His look said as plainly as words,
“What a shame to baulk me of my vengeance, now that I have at last got
my chance.” Nevertheless, he let go his hold, and the tattered collie
was led away. After this the collie was always put on a lead when he
was taken into the town. Jack once met him when he was being led, and
the way in which he showed that a dog who was not free was not worthy
of his notice was very funny. Jack raised his head and stared at the
collie for a moment and then passed on with contempt written in his
bearing, while the other, with lowered tail and scared look, showed
relief at getting by unnoticed.
At home Jack had a rival in the form of a black, curly coated
retriever, named Bob. This dog showed his jealousy by falling on Jack
whenever he found an opportunity, and their contests were endless. Bob,
however, was not a fighting dog, and as soon as the struggle reached
a certain point he stopped. Jack, who looked on Bob as an amateur
unworthy of his serious attention, always stopped as soon as the other
did, and never offered to renew the fight. The two dogs often went with
their mistress when she was riding, as Bob had no time for quarrelling
when he was following the horse. But when the rider was opening a gate
on a river bank, in order to cross by the ford, the gate swung back
on Jack, who always followed close at her horse’s heels. While he
was struggling to force his way through, Bob took the opportunity of
falling on him. Their mistress jumped from her horse to separate them,
and as they were now fighting on the top of the bank she rolled them
over into the water. With a great splash they disappeared, but Bob, who
was first to come to the surface, was none the worse for his ducking,
and swimming a little way down stream soon found an easy landing place.
Jack was not so fortunate, for being a much heavier dog he had a deeper
fall, and when he came up he was covered with mud. He seemed, too,
slightly dazed, and instead of following Bob’s example he tried to
scramble up the high bank close to him. Time after time he fell back,
and his mistress, fearing lest he should be drowned, lay down on the
bank and, reaching over, tried to get hold of his collar.
Bob, meantime, sat and watched the proceeding, and seeing his
mistress’s ineffectual efforts he jumped into the water and, seizing
Jack by the collar, towed him down to the landing place and then,
scrambling up backwards, tried to drag Jack after him. His owner rushed
to his assistance, and by their united efforts Jack was pulled up, and
in a few minutes the two dogs were trotting on amicably together.
Their last encounter was a bad one for their mistress. It was a hot
summer day, and she had taken a book into the garden and settled
herself under the shade of a tree with Jack by her side. After a
time she fell asleep, and was awakened by a weight on her chest that
threatened to suffocate her. A loud worrying saluted her ears, and to
her horror she found that Bob and Jack were having a scrimmage on the
top of her prostrate form. Struggling hard to release herself, she at
last slipped from under them, and the dogs continued their combat on
the ground. It was one of the worst fights they ever had, for Jack
meant business, so that Bob was glad at last to be carried away. After
this Bob found another home, but he neither forgot nor forgave his old
enemy and was always ready for a row whenever they met.
One of Jack’s great amusements was boxing with his mistress’s brother.
The latter, putting on his boxing gloves, used to go down on his knee,
while Jack stood opposite him, all attention for the signal to begin.
Jack’s aim was to get a hold of one of the gloves, while his opponent
tried to keep him out by bowling him over. Jack was often rolled head
over heels by a well directed blow, but in the end he always got
a grip of one of the gloves, which he was allowed to carry off in
triumph. Though he used to get wildly excited over the performance he
was not savage. He wagged his tail the whole time as a sign of good
fellowship, and quite understood that it was only a pastime, and not to
be considered as one of the serious duties of life.
In his older days Jack was very fond of lying in front of the kitchen
fire. This place he shared with a large white cat named Muff, and very
funny it was to see the two strangely assorted creatures lying curled
up side by side. Nothing would move Jack from his place. If the fire
became too hot he would stay till his coat was actually scorched, only
showing his discomfort by an angry growl. This always upset Muff, who
on hearing the noise would fall on him, and was of course punished
for his insolence, till the cook, whose pet he was, rushed to his
rescue. In one of these scrimmages Muff got such a sharp squeeze from
his powerful enemy that in terror he made a spring at a high window,
trying to escape. Instead, however, of getting through he came against
the blind which was partly down. To this he clung, and his weight
being twelve pounds brought down the roller, which with the cat still
clinging to his perch, fell with a clatter into the midst of plates and
dishes, making a noise that raised the whole household. Jack and Muff
being equally startled with the unexpected result of their conflict,
fled for their lives, leaving the cook a sadder and a wiser woman.
It was in front of the kitchen fire that Jack’s adventurous life came
to an end. We may fancy what dreams of past exploits came to soothe the
days of failing powers, when the worn-out warrior knew that his work
was done. With the scars of many conflicts and the respectful sympathy
of friend and foe alike, Jack found his last resting-place in the
shrubbery of his home, facing the door near which he used to lie.
THE ARTISTIC THIEF
“_They also know
And reason not contemptibly._”
Jet, in appearance and character, had a distinction all his own. That
the latter was due to a subtle cleverness which frequently led him from
the paths of virtue did not prevent his being in private life a dog of
high moral character. He never condescended to petty thieving, but when
an occasion presented itself that he felt was worthy of his powers, Jet
threw himself into it with all the enthusiasm of a true artist.
He was a King Charles spaniel of a type now unknown, and was believed
to be the last specimen of his kind. He was coal black from tip to
tail, and had lovely blue-black eyes that completed the duskiness
of his appearance. His head was not so short as the present fashion
demands, though it was shorter than those painted by Landseer, or
portrayed by the eighteenth-century artists.
As a puppy he was too leggy for perfect beauty, but there was no
evidence of this when he thickened out, and had grown a silky coat that
swept the ground, from the tip of his undocked feathery tail to his
ears. The latter were of extraordinary length, and would tie easily
over his mouth--in a bow his family declared, but certainly in a love
knot. When he was six months old, he came from his home in the Isle
of Wight into the possession of one of the family, with some member of
which he spent the remainder of his life.
While his master, who was a curate, was still living at home, Jet
started on the career that made him famous. Belonging to another member
of the family was a Blenheim puppy, of the kind now known as a Ruby.
Both the mites were fond of Pearl biscuits, and these were bought for
them in small quantities, as they did not come within the scope of the
lawful housekeeping arrangements. The little fat Peter was more than
once found busily engaged on the floor with a bag of his favourite
dainties, though this had been put well out of his reach, and his size
and shape forbade the idea of his having fetched it down. But one day
when the dining-room door was standing half open, Jet was seen to jump
on to the sideboard, shake and break the bag of biscuits, and, after
securing what he wanted for himself, push the lightened bag down to
the waiting Peter. At the first movement of the door Jet flew from his
perch, and by the time the visitor was in the room he was sitting in a
corner looking a model of innocence and ignorance. Peter, meanwhile,
ate hard, while there was still time, but _his_ lapses from virtue were
explained.
Before long Jet accompanied his master to a Midland town, where the
latter had rooms over a grocer’s shop. He speedily made himself at
home there, and was a favourite with every one in the house. A trick
of his puppyhood, not yet got rid of, was the love of tearing books
to pieces. Many times Jet was corrected for this crime, but when a
book lying on his master’s writing-table disappeared bodily he was not
even suspected. Not a sign of torn leaves pointed to his indulgence
in a forbidden pleasure. It was not till his master left the rooms a
year later that Jet’s delinquency was made clear. When a heavy set of
bookshelves was moved from its place, there, pushed carefully from view
behind them, lay the remains of the missing book. Every leaf was torn,
and it was evident that during some prolonged absence from home of his
owner Jet had had a long day’s enjoyment with them. That he had managed
to clear away every sign of the fragments said not a little for the
intelligence he had brought to bear on the matter. But this artistic
finish to his work was what made Jet a leader in his line.
There was trouble for the mistress of the house soon after Jet took up
his abode there. In her shop there were various trays of eggs, each
with its appropriate label. Some were marked “Real Fresh Laid,” and
only those in the mistress’s confidence knew that another place must be
sought for eggs that actually deserved this title. But from the latter
store one or more eggs disappeared daily. No one but those in the house
could go with such unfailing certainty to the choicest store. Many were
the conjectures, and suspicion at last fell on a maid-servant. But the
mistress one day felt an obstruction under a door mat, and lifting the
mat she saw a collection of egg-shells that gave her the clew to the
thief. Jet was undoubtedly the culprit, though how he had managed to
get at the contents of the egg-tray remained a mystery. The maid’s
character was cleared of suspicion, though it was pointed out to her
with some force that she had only her own slovenly habits of cleaning
to thank for having been suspected.
Jet at this time was a very independent little dog, as he was left to
his own devices while his master was engaged in the parish. Being of
a friendly disposition, he made many acquaintances among his fellows,
his chosen friend being a large spaniel, who lived in the yard of Jet’s
home. This spaniel was fastened up during the day to act as guardian
to the shop, and it was not till business hours were over that he was
let loose and allowed to rove at liberty. One day Jet had what might
well have been a serious encounter in the streets with a large mongrel,
and it was only the little thing’s nimbleness that saved him from the
chastisement the other was anxious to inflict. Jet’s master was absent
from home, so the dusky mite took refuge with his friend the spaniel,
whose house he refused to leave for the remainder of the day.
What was it that passed between the two dogs in those long hours they
spent together, before the time of relief for the larger one came? It
is a case in which we feel we would give much to be able to pierce the
unknown nature of their communications. As soon as the spaniel was
unfastened, he and Jet were seen to start off at once on an expedition
that looked like business. There was no aimless roving or barking. Jet
led the way, and his big friend followed. After some search they came
upon the mongrel, and without the slightest sign of hesitation the
spaniel made for him and proceeded to business. Jet meantime sat down
quietly on the pavement and awaited developments. The spaniel’s size
was in his favour, and he managed in the end to drive the enemy off the
field. As soon as this was done Jet joined him, and the two trotted
quietly back together. That the story of the mornings adventures had
by some means been conveyed by Jet to his friend, it seems scarcely
possible to doubt in view of their subsequent action.
Jet’s next change of residence took him back to the family house in
town, where he met his future mistress. He attached himself to her
from the first, and always remained devoted to her. Yet with this
one exception Jet’s greatest friend throughout life was himself. He
showed his capacity for affection in the strong and deep attachment
he displayed to his mistress, but outside this he was a self-centred
little epicurean, to whom personal comfort and the good things of this
life were of paramount importance. He showed a gentlemanly regard for
all members of the family, and was very popular with the servants. The
latter always spoke of him as “Little Master Jet,” for the custom begun
in jest soon grew into a habit. “Shall I take out little Master Jet?”
or “What will little Master Jet have for dinner?” came to be regarded
as a matter of course in speaking of him.
When the time came for Jet’s lawful owner to leave home, there was
trouble with the determined little spaniel. He clung resolutely to the
mistress he had chosen, and no bribes would draw him from her side.
Even his favourite dainties had no charm for him, when their enjoyment
meant leaving the shelter he had taken up. Finally the schoolroom
party, of which Jet’s friend was the eldest member, clubbed their money
together and bought him at his original price. The rules in the house
were stringent about pets, but Jet, finding the hours long when his
mistress was at lessons, refused to be bound by them. He even made good
his place in the drawing room, sacred to the elders. Here he one day
found his owner’s grandmother in tears on her couch. Springing up to
her, he expressed his sympathy with rose-leaf tongue and silky paws in
such dainty fashion that from that moment his position was assured.
No dog ever had a stronger sense of fun than Jet. He dearly loved a
practical joke, and showed the nicest discrimination in the choice of
the pranks he played on the different members of the household. He
was a capital jumper, and very quick in his movements, and no sooner
did he see one of his older friends lean forward in his chair in the
excitement of conversation than a rapid spring would carry him into the
space behind the speaker. The instant he had accomplished this he would
to all appearance fall into such a ridiculously sound slumber that
he was deaf to all blandishments addressed to him. But no sooner had
he been lifted from his perch than he was as wide awake as ever, and
evidently well pleased with the successful carrying out of his coup.
The trick for the younger ones was of a different nature, as it was no
fun to usurp a place that was instantly ceded to him. A tiny scratch
at the door would demand admission to the schoolroom, but when it was
thrown open for him, there was no Jet to be seen. A few minutes later
the same signal would be made, and always with the same result. His
dusky colour and his rapid movements aided him in his flight, but if
his victim waited inside the door to catch him, not a sound would be
heard until she had resumed her seat. At last Jet’s excitement could no
longer be controlled, and a bark from his place of concealment would
betray his presence. These tricks were entirely of his own devising,
but his young owners soon taught him the usual accomplishments, and he
would beg or trust to order. But he was sometimes called upon for his
performances when he did not feel inclined for them. Then no power on
earth would move him. It was no uncommon sight for one of his young
instructors to be on her knees, scolding and propping Jet up, in the
vain hope of getting a regulation beg from him. Time after time Jet
would fall a little backboneless heap on the floor, really a much
better piece of acting than the stereotyped trick he was asked for.
His walks on the chain, with his mistress in town, were a model of
propriety. But with the youngest member of the schoolroom party,
whenever the honour of his guardianship was confided to her, the result
was very different. Then mad rushes at fat-legged children, and shrill
barks at nervous passers-by came to heighten the pleasures of the walk,
and it is to be feared that they were not altogether displeasing to
his small guardian. It was only play, and the young things at either
end of the lead had not yet learned to take life seriously.
It was on the occasion of his chosen mistress’s first dance that Jet
again showed his distinguishing talent. He always loved bright colours
and evening dress, and when he saw his mistress in all the glories of
her first ball dress, he showed his admiration in the most flattering
way by walking backwards in front of her with little yelps of approval.
When she left him his owner kissed her thanks to the discerning mite,
and whispered to him not to be dull, but to enjoy himself. This
injunction Jet proceeded to carry out.
He was left in the dining room, where a meal had been put on the
table for the master of the house, who was not expected home till
a late hour. When he arrived he received a warm welcome from Jet.
Everything looked cosy and inviting to a tired traveller, but it
seemed the parlourmaid had been forgetful. Butter and cheese had both
been forgotten. True, both cheese and butter dish were on the table,
but neither of them had been used. Thinking it too late to disturb
the household, the meal was made without them. The next morning the
mistress of the house, having been told of the oversight, mentioned it
to the parlourmaid. But the maid indignantly denied the imputation. She
was certain she had put both butter and cheese ready for the master.
Could Jet know anything about it? It seemed improbable, for neither the
meat nor any of the other dishes on the table had been touched, and
these would have been much more to his taste than the missing things.
There was not the faintest paw-mark to suggest his having been on the
table, and the two empty dishes seemed to say that nothing had been
laid on them. Later it was discovered that the cheese was missing from
the larder, but nothing explained the mystery until the remains of
the nibbled cheese were discovered in a rounded recess in the dining
room where the sideboard stood. It had been so cleverly concealed that
it only came to light when the sideboard itself was moved. With its
discovery Jet’s crime was made clear. He had evidently jumped on the
table to investigate, and with his usual discrimination refraining from
touching what would have proclaimed his guilt at once, he had eaten the
butter and cleaned the dish so that no trace of his work was left. Then
he must have pushed the cheese from the table, taking care to leave no
sign behind, and after finishing his meal on it, put it cleverly out of
sight.
The hold Jet had by this time secured in the family affection was
proved by the fact that his mistress’s parting injunction to enjoy
himself was held to be the cause of the crime, and it was decreed that
the delinquent was not to be punished.
It may be easily believed that the kitchen was no place for such a
fascinating dog. Visits to the cook were found to injure his digestion,
and they were sternly forbidden. The study, however, was on the ground
floor, for the house being built on a hill, the windows of the back
room opened on to the large garden common to all the houses of the
long row. A visit to the study often gave Jet his opportunity. While
his own mistress was in the schoolroom Jet would go to the study with
her mother. One morning, having omitted to close the door after her,
his temporary guardian found that Jet had left her. Calling to him she
saw a little dusky form creep noiselessly from the front kitchen, pass
the open door without a sound, and make his way upstairs. A second
later an excited and noisy little dog came clattering downstairs, and
rushed into the study with every manifestation of joy at having found
out where she was. The cleverness of his acting here again saved him
from punishment for disobedience to orders.
Jet, as I have said, was fed with great care, and such unwholesome
dainties as bones of birds were forbidden him. But it was often noticed
that when he came in from a run in the big gardens he had been eating
something. One day he was so uncomfortable that, dropping concealment,
he came to his mistress for assistance. A fine bone had worked its way
into his upper lip. His mistress was puzzled as to how it came there,
but concluded that some cat must have taken it into the gardens. A few
days later the croquet things were wanted, and as soon as the box was
opened, Jet’s supply of bones stood revealed. There in a corner was a
little hoard of grouse bones.
[Illustration: THE ARTISTIC THIEF
JET]
The box stood in the small space between the top of the kitchen stairs
and the door that led into the gardens. The bones must have been taken
from the plates as they were brought from the dining room, and the
half-open box that stood invitingly near offered a ready place of
concealment. In Jet’s many unattended excursions into the gardens he
must have visited his store and taken some out for present enjoyment,
but never by a sniff as he passed at any other time did he betray their
presence. Doubtless he heard with complacency, touched by grief at the
loss of his store, the admiration expressed for his talents and his
self-restraint.
Only once was Jet surprised in the act. An open larder door and
an eager attentive collie, gazing with longing at an upper shelf,
surprised him out of his usual attention to details. The larder floor
was sunk, and from the top of the unguarded steps it was the work of
a moment for Jet to jump on to the opposite shelf. Here he proceeded
to lift the wire covering from a couple of ducks, and not having made
good his bearings previously, he was discovered busily employed by
the kitchen authority, when she returned to close the door against
intruders.
At this time it was a much disputed point between the respective
owners of the collie and the spaniel as to which dog was the culprit
in the matter of stealing toast from the breakfast table before any
one was down in the morning. Jet’s exploit in the larder was held to
settle the question, and he was gently cuffed and sternly spoken to
on the subject. But Jet was not of those who suffer wrong patiently.
The following morning an imperious little barking creature made his
appearance in the kitchen and induced one of the maids to go with him
to the dining room. Here the collie was found helping himself to
toast, and it would be hard to say whether Jet or his mistress was the
better pleased at the discovery.
Jet’s appearance gained him a great deal of attention, and added to
his self-importance. His way of receiving any expression of admiration
from strangers was quite his own. A blank, unseeing stare of haughty
indifference came over him, and just the tip of a pink tongue suggested
intentional rudeness if the attentions were too pressing. A quick
look of intelligence at his own people that passed like a flash
claimed their sympathy in his performance, and in this Jet was rarely
disappointed.
As a young and very healthy dog, Jet had very keen senses and a good
memory. His knowledge of locality was above the common, and though he
travelled much he was never lost, either in town or country. If his
mistress lost him, she knew it was wilful behaviour on his part, and
that when the welcome call was heard at the door, a repentant mass of
silky black hair would soon be asking pardon at her feet. Once, indeed,
his owner thought he had strayed. She had taken him with her to stay
at a friend’s house in a strange part of London, and they arrived at
their destination in a thick fog. Almost immediately Jet demanded
to be let out, and so insistent was he that at last the front door
was opened for him. Straight out into the fog he rushed, and as time
passed without his return his mistress gave him up for lost. But Jet,
doubtless, had been satisfying a natural curiosity as to the nature of
his surroundings, and in due course a calm little dog came back, as if
thick fog and strange houses were a matter of no moment to him.
In the country the pleasures of a walk had nothing sedate about them.
Jet hunted the country round, in spite of the drawbacks attached to his
long love-locks. Often, when his short nose had to trace the scent, and
the pace was hot, his beautiful ears would get under his front paws.
But a silent somersault was all that happened; he paid no attention to
the pain, in the eagerness of his pursuit. The larger dogs were always
ready to follow up Jet’s discoveries, and though when they looked over
stones or banks the tiny leader had to jump on the obstacles, he was
always to the front.
Jet was always ready to lead his followers into mischief. If he did not
fight himself, he liked seeing others fight, and was never tired of
having the sheep chased in the park at his suggestion. A young collie
was a great ally of his, and Jet was once watched as he collected
a brood of young chickens and set the other dog to drive them into
the river. At this point his owner intervened, and Jet was hurried
away from the Highland farm where his exploit had taken place. Years
afterwards, when Jet’s happy little life was ended, his mistress was
again in the neighbourhood, and heard from the lips of a stranger
staying at the farm the history of the little black dog’s mischievous
performance, which on a former visit he had watched from a window.
When Jet and his mistress first went to live in the country, the latter
began to keep chickens. These lived in a stable, and a small hole
cut in the door let them in to nests and safety. There were great
cacklings in the mornings, which raised their owner’s hopes high, but
it was seldom indeed that an egg was found. Jet’s mistress, who was new
to country occupations and was keenly interested in the success of her
chickens, studied books on the subject, and watched her unsatisfactory
hens with care. There was never a sign of a broken egg-shell about the
place, and she therefore scouted the idea with scorn that Jet should be
interested in the matter. One day, however, she called Jet to her when
she had in her hand an egg that was to be cut up for her canaries. Jet
came running up in answer to the call, but no sooner did he see the egg
than he fell on his back, with waving paws in the air, a self-convicted
criminal.
The question now was as to how the mischief had been wrought. Many were
the theories suggested, but one after another they were all felt to be
untenable. A few days afterwards Jet’s old friend the collie had to be
fastened up, as a disagreeable neighbour had a still more disagreeable
gamekeeper, and the latter threatened to shoot all dogs found on his
land. This proved to be Jet’s undoing.
As soon as he was let out in the morning, Jet made his way to the
stable, squeezed his small body through the door, and without
destroying the friendly relations between him and the mothers, secured
his morning feast of eggs. Leaving no trace of his meal, he was seen
to come out, bearing a shell in his mouth, and look round for the
collie. He then went back and brought away every remnant of shell that
would have borne evidence against him. But no friendly collie came
at his call to eat up the little pile of broken shell and thus bring
the enterprise to its usual successful ending. Jet had done his part
with all the finish of an accomplished conspirator, but the egg-shells
remained as a witness against him. When his mistress paid her usual
after-breakfast visit to the chicken yard, Jet showed no disposition to
accompany her.
The tiny creature had a brave heart, and before he left his London
home he saved the house from being robbed. Along the row of houses ran
a parapet that led past some of the bedroom windows, of which Jet’s
mistress’s room was one. While the family were downstairs at dinner,
Jet was lying on the bed in this room. A man who came creeping along
the parapet stopped at the window and prepared to effect an entrance.
But Jet was on the alert, and springing from the bed he barked his
loudest, thereby causing the burglar to move on, and in time bringing
his family up to see what dire misfortune could have happened to him.
But though resolute in doing his duty, Jet had no taste for acting
guard, and never again would he be left alone in that room.
He was about two and a half years old when he first went with his
family to the seaside. He had not seen the sea since he left his first
home at the age of six months, but he greeted the sight of it as that
of an old friend. His first performance was to lead a younger but much
larger dog into difficulties over the slippery seaweed-covered rocks.
To Jet’s slight form and active ways these presented no difficulty; but
he insisted on the other dog following him until, the puppy’s strength
and courage both failing, he came to a standstill in a spot perilously
near the advancing waves. Then Jet was satisfied, and hastened back to
his friends to tell them their assistance was needed. While he watched
the rescue there was an air of self-possessed interest and innocent
enjoyment about him that he always displayed on these occasions.
The hour of bathing was not one of unmixed enjoyment for Jet. He had
no idea of risking his dainty form in the vast expanse of water, and
resisted all invitations to join in his friends’ pleasure. But when he
saw his mistress plunge into unknown dangers, he no longer hesitated.
With a spring and a splash he resolutely faced the peril for himself,
and swam out to her assistance. After this, Jet’s devotion was not put
to the test again.
No one realised that the active little creature had passed the prime
of life till an accident brought the sad fact home to his friends. He
seemed to do no more than give a passing sniff at a dead rat, but the
whiff of strychnine was enough to give him slight spasms and fits, from
which it took him long to recover. Never again was Jet to enjoy life
with the same irresponsible freedom that had marked his earlier days.
When his sight began to weaken, he was very tetchy about its being
noticed, for his ardent little spirit could not brook the restraining
limits of a semi-invalid existence. Yet he lived to a good old age, and
only left his many friends when sixteen summers had brought him the
varied joys of which he had known how to make the most.