WE spent three days deciding on a name for him. Stella suggested
Tiny, on account of his size. I pointed out that time might stultify
this selection of a title.
"I don't think so," said Eileen, supporting her sister. "That kind of
dog does not grow very big."
"What kind of dog is he?" I inquired swiftly.
Eileen said no more. There are problems that even girls of twenty cannot
solve.
A warm bath had revealed to us the fact that the puppy was of a dingy
yellow hue. I suggested that we should call him Mustard. Our son John,
on being consulted--against my advice--by his mother, addressed the
animal as Pussy. Stella continued to favor Tiny. Finally Eileen, who was
at the romantic age, produced a copy of Tennyson and suggested
Excalibur, alleging in support of her preposterous proposition that
It rose from out the bosom of the lake.
"The darling rose from out the bosom of the lake, too, just like the
sword Excalibur," she said; "so I think it would make a lovely name for
him."
"The little brute waded out of a muddy pond towing a brick," I replied.
"I see no parallel. He was not the product of the pond. Some one must
have thrown him in, and he came out."
"That is just what some one must have done with the sword," retorted
Eileen. "So we'll call you Excalibur, won't we, darling little Scally?"
She embraced the puppy warmly and the unsuspecting animal replied by
frantically licking her face.
However, the name stuck, with variations. When the puppy was big enough
he was presented with a collar, engraved with the name Excalibur,
together with my name and address. Among ourselves we usually addressed
him as Scally. The children in the village called him the Scalawag.
His time during his first year in our household was fully occupied in
growing up. Stella declared that if one could have persuaded him to
stand still for five minutes it would have been actually possible to
see him grow. He grew at the rate of about an inch a week for the best
part of a year. When he had finished he looked like nothing on earth. At
one time we cherished a brief but illusory hope that he was going to
turn into some sort of an imitation of a St. Bernard; but the symptoms
rapidly passed off, and his final and permanent aspect was that of a
rather badly stuffed lion.
Like most overgrown creatures he was top-heavy and lethargic and very
humble-minded. Still, there was a kind of respectful pertinacity about
him. It requires some strength of character, for instance, to wade along
the bottom of a pond to dry land, accompanied by a brick as big as
yourself. It was quite impossible, too, short of locking him up, to
prevent him from accompanying us when we took our walks abroad, if he
had made up his mind to do so.
The first time this happened I was going to shoot with my neighbors, the
Hoods. It was only a mile to the first covert and I set off after
breakfast to walk. I was hardly out on the road when Excalibur was
beside me, ambling uncertainly on his weedy legs and smiling up into my
face with an air of imbecile affection.
"You have many qualities, old friend," I said, "but I don't think you
are a sporting dog. Go home!"
Excalibur sat down on the road with a dejected air. Then, having given
me fifty yards start, he rose and crawled sheepishly after me. I
stopped, called him up, pointed him with some difficulty in the
required direction, gave him a resounding spank and bade him begone. He
responded by collapsing like a camp bedstead, and I left him.
Two minutes later I looked round. Excalibur was ten yards behind me,
propelling himself along on his stomach. This time I thrashed him
severely. After he began to howl I let him go, and he lumbered away
homeward, the picture of misery.
In due course I reached the crossroads where I had arranged to meet the
rest of the party. They had not arrived, but Excalibur had. He had made
a détour and headed me off. Not certain which route I would take after
reaching the crossroads, he was sitting very sensibly under the
signpost, awaiting my arrival. On seeing me he immediately came
forward, wagging his tail, and placed himself at my feet in the position
most convenient to me for inflicting chastisement.
I wonder how many of our human friends would be willing to pay such a
price for the pleasure of our company.
As time went on Excalibur filled out into one of the most terrifying
spectacles I have ever beheld. In one respect, though, he lived up to
his knightly name. His manners were of the most courtly description and
he had an affectionate greeting for all, beggars included. He was
particularly fond of children. If he saw children in the distance he
would canter up and offer to play with them. If the children had not met
him before they would run shrieking to their nurses. If they had they
would fall on Excalibur in a body and roll him over and pull him about.
On wet afternoons, in the nursery, my own family used to play at dentist
with him, assigning to Excalibur the rôle of patient. Gas was
administered with a bicycle pump, and a shoehorn and buttonhook were
employed in place of the ordinary instruments of torture; but Excalibur
did not mind. He lay on his back on the hearth rug, with the principal
dentist sitting astride his ribs, as happy as a king.
He was particularly attracted by babies; and being able by reason of his
stature to look right down into perambulators, he was accustomed
whenever he met one of those vehicles to amble alongside and peer
inquiringly into the face of its occupant. Most of the babies in the
district got to know him in time, but until they did we had a good deal
of correspondence to attend to on the subject.
Excalibur's intellect may have been lofty, but his memory was
treacherous. Our household will never forget the day on which he was
given the shoulder of mutton.
One morning after breakfast Eileen, accompanied by Excalibur,
intercepted the kitchen maid hastening in the direction of the potting
shed, carrying the joint in question at arm's length. The damsel
explained that its premature maturity was due to the recent warm weather
and that she was even now in search of the gardener's boy, who would be
commissioned to perform the duties of sexton.
"It seems a waste, miss," observed the kitchen maid; "but cook says it
can't be ate nohow now."
Loud but respectful snuffings from Excalibur moved a direct negative to
this statement. Eileen and the kitchen maid, who were both criminally
weak where Excalibur was concerned, saw a way to gratify their
economical instincts and their natural affection simultaneously. The
next moment Excalibur was lurching contentedly down the gravel path with
a presentation shoulder of mutton in his mouth.
Then Joy Day began. Excalibur took his prize into the middle of the
tennis lawn. It was a very large shoulder of mutton, but Excalibur
finished it in ten minutes. After that, distended to his utmost limits,
he went to sleep in the sun, with the bone between his paws.
Occasionally he woke up and, raising his head, stared solemnly into
space, in the attitude of a Trafalgar Square lion.
The bone now lay white and gleaming on the grass beside him. Then he
fell asleep again. About four o'clock he roused himself and began to
look for a suitable place of interment for the bone. By four-thirty the
deed was done and he went to sleep once more. At five he woke up and
pandemonium began. He could not remember where he had buried the bone!
He started systematically with the rose beds, but met with no success.
After that he tried two or three shrubberies without avail, and then
embarked on a frantic but thorough excavation of the tennis lawn. We
were taking tea on the lawn at the time, and our attention was first
drawn to Excalibur's bereavement by a temporary but unshakable
conviction on his part that the bone was buried immediately underneath
the tea table.
As the tennis lawn was fast beginning to resemble a golf course we
locked Excalibur up in the washhouse, where his hyena-like howls rent
the air for the rest of the evening, penetrating even to the
dining-room. This was particularly unfortunate, because we were having a
dinner party in honor of a neighbor who had recently come to the
district, no less a personage, in fact, than the new lord-lieutenant of
the county and his lady. Stella was naturally anxious that there should
be no embarrassments on such an occasion, and it distressed her to think
that these people should imagine that we kept a private torture chamber
on the premises.
However, dinner passed off quite successfully and we adjourned to the
drawing-room. It was a chilly September evening and Lady Wickham was
accommodated with a seat by the fire in a large armchair, with a cushion
at her back. When the gentlemen came in Eileen sang to us. Fortunately
the drawing-room is out of range of the washhouse.
During Eileen's first song I sat by Lady Wickham. Her expression was one
of patrician calm and well-bred repose, but it seemed to me she was not
looking quite comfortable. I was not feeling quite comfortable myself.
The atmosphere seemed a trifle oppressive: perhaps we had done wrong in
having a fire after all. Lady Wickham appeared to notice it too. She sat
very upright, fanning herself mechanically, and seemed disinclined to
lean back in her chair.
After the song was finished I said:
"I am afraid you are not quite comfortable, Lady Wickham. Let me get you
a larger cushion."
"Thank you," said Lady Wickham, "the cushion I have is delightfully
comfortable; but I think there is something hard behind it."
Apologetically I plucked away the cushion. Lady Wickham was right; there
was something behind it.
It was Excalibur's bone!