There were but three collies on the Place, in those days. Lad; his
dainty gold-and-white mate, Lady; and their fluffy and fiery wisp of a
son, little Wolf.
When Wolf was a spoiled and obstreperous puppy of three months or so,
Lady was stricken with distemper and was taken to a veterinary
hospital. There, for something more than three months she was nursed
through the scourging malady and through the chorea and pneumonia which
are so prone to follow in distemper's dread wake.
Science amuses itself by cutting up and otherwise torturing helpless
dogs in the unholy name of vivisection. But Science has not yet
troubled itself to discover one certain cure or preventive for the
distemper which yearly robs thousands of homes of their loved canine
pets and guards. Apparently it is pleasanter for scientists to watch a
screaming dog writhe under the knife in a research laboratory than to
trouble about finding a way to abolish distemper; and thus of ridding
the dog world of its worst scourge.
This is a digression from our story. But perhaps it is worth your
remembering,--you who care about dogs.
Altogether, Lady was away from the Place for fifteen weeks.
And, in her absence, the unhappy Lad took upon himself the task of
turning little Wolf from a pest into something approaching a decent
canine citizen. It was no sinecure, this educating of the hot-tempered
and undisciplined youngster. But Lad brought to it an elephantine
patience and an uncannily wise brain. And, by the time Lady was brought
back, cured, the puppy had begun to show the results of his sire's
stern teachings.
Indeed, Lady's absence was the best thing that could have befallen
Wolf. For, otherwise, his training must needs have devolved upon the
Mistress and the Master. And no mere humans could have done the job
with such grimly gentle thoroughness as did Lad. Few dogs, except
pointers or setters or collies, will deign to educate their puppies to
the duties of life and of field and of house. But Lad had done the work
in a way that left little to be asked for.
When Lady came home, her flighty brain seemed to have forgotten the
fact that young Wolf was her once-adored son. Of her earlier capricious
devotion to him, no trace remained. She sniffed in stand-offish inquiry
at him; as at a stranger. And the scatterbrain pup remembered her no
better than she remembered him. There is a wide gulf in intelligence
between a three-month puppy and one six months old.
Yet,--perhaps because they were both excitable and mischievous and
loved romping,--and because each was a novelty to the other--mother and
son quickly formed a new friendship. From the more sedate and
discipline-enforcing Lad, the youngster turned eagerly to chum-ship
with this flighty gold-white stranger. And Lady, for similar reason,
seemed to find ten times as much congeniality and fun in romping with
Wolf as in playing with the less galvanically agile Lad.
In brief, Lady and little Wolf became inseparable companions;--this to
the semi-exclusion of Lad.
The great collie did not resent this exclusion; nor did he try to
regain his fast-slipping hold on Wolf's affections. Yet, in fashion
that was more pathetic than ludicrous, he sought to win back Lady's
waning affection. A bit clumsily, he tried to romp and gambol with her,
as did Wolf. He tried to interest her, as of yore, in following his
lead in break-neck forest gallops after rabbits or in gloriously
exhilarating swims in the fire-blue lake at the foot of the lawn. To
the pityingly on-looking Mistress and Master, he seemed like some
general or statesman seeking to unbend in the games and chatter of a
party of high school boys and girls.
But it was no use.
True, in the cross-country runs or the swirling charges after rabbits,
neither Lady nor Wolf could keep up with Lad's flying stride. And a
long swim, which scarce breathed Lad, would exhaust either or both of
them.
But, they were young; and he was middle-aged. And, as in human
relationships, that one sentence told the whole tragic story.
As well expect a couple of flyaway children to give up a game of tag in
order to listen to the solemn discourse of an elderly uncle; as to make
the fun-loving Lady and Wolf widen their selfish comradeship to include
in it the steadier and older and infinitely wiser Lad.
Perforce, Lad was thrown more and more on the society of the Mistress
and the Master. And, in their friendship, he was happy;--until he would
chance to see his mate and his little son playing in wild ecstasy with
a stick or ball, and would frisk bulkily over to join them. In a bare
second or two, the demeanor of both showed him just what a grossly
unwelcome interloper he was.
Whereat, after a wistfully miserable glance from one to the other of
the exclusive pair, Lad would trot slowly back to his human deities;
and, with a queerly sobbing little sigh, he would curl up at the
Mistress's feet.
"It's a shame, Laddie!" declared the Mistress, at one such time. "It's
a SHAME! Why, you are worth a million of those crazy playdogs! You're a
million times wiser and beautifuller and more lovable. Why do you
bother with them? Master and I are ever so much better company for you;
and we love to have you with us. Stay right here, and forget them."
Lad, perhaps, understood the actual meaning of one word in ten of the
advice. But he understood and loved the Mistress's sweet voice and the
caress of her cool little hand; and the sympathy in her tone. It all
meant much to Laddie. Very much indeed. And he laid his mighty head
against her knee; happy in the comfort of touch and voice.
Nevertheless, that wistful glint was ever lurking in his deep-set eyes,
nowadays. And his gayly trumpeting bark rang out less often and less
jubilantly than of old. He took to moping. And he spent more time than
before in his beloved "cave," under the music-room piano.
Moping and solitude are no more beneficial to dogs than to humans. The
Master racked his brain for some way of bringing the splendid collie
back to his olden spirits.
Luck, or fate, took the matter out of his hands.
The Mistress and the Master were invited to spend a week with some
friends whose house stood in an ultra-restricted residential park, high
up in the Catskills. By leaving the Place at sunrise, they could reach
the Park, by motor, in time for afternoon tea.
At dawn, the car was brought to the door. Its tonneau was piled with
luggage; and all was ready for a start as soon as the unappetizingly
early breakfast could be swallowed.
Wolf and Lady, after following the car from the garage to the door,
wearied of the uninspiring wait; and set forth at a hand-gallop for the
woods. There, at dawning, the dew would lie heavy. And wet ground ever
holds scent better than does dry. It would be easy to pick up and
follow rabbit trails, through the damp.
Lad made as though to follow them. He ran out of the house and half-way
up the drive in pursuit of their flashing gold-and-white flight.
Neither turned a head at sound of his following steps. Neither
slackened pace to include him in the hunt.
Always abnormally sensitive, the big collie noted this aloofness. And
he came to an irresolute halt. For a moment, he stared after the two
vanishing runaways; his plumed tail swaying ever so little, in
groundless expectation of an invitingly glance or yelp from Lady. Then,
tail and crest adroop, he turned slowly back toward the house.
From puppyhood, an odd trait of Lad's had caused amusement at the
Place. Whenever he was unhappy or considered himself ill-treated, it
was his way to hunt for something wherewith he might comfort himself.
For instance, as a pup, a scolding for some petty misdeed would send
him in search of his cherished flannel doll or his squeaking ball. In
later years, the car had taken the place of these babyhood comforters.
Lad cared more for motoring than for any other amusement. In moments of
stress he sometimes ran to the garage and curled himself up in the
tonneau; as though in hope someone might take pity on his unhappiness
and give him a drive. And, usually, somebody did.
Now, turning back, rebuffed, from the forest gallop, he caught sight of
the car. Not in the garage, either; but at the front door; where its
presence could mean nothing except an immediate ride.
With one high spring, Lad had cleared the ground and was over the
closed tonneau door and amid a ruck of luggage and rugs. The rear seat
was filled by a steamer-trunk, strapped tightly in place there. And the
bottom of the car was annoyingly crowded by bumpy bags and other gear.
Still, by the simple and ancestral process of turning himself around
several times, Lad was able to clear enough space on the floor to
permit of his lying down; albeit in a very compact bunch.
He settled himself into place on the floor with a satisfied jounce
which loosened a car-rug draped over the trunk. Down slithered the rug;
and fell athwart the dog's shaggy back and one of the bags. It was not
heavy enough to annoy Lad or hurt his feelings. And its draped folds
served as the top of a sort of cave for him. On the whole, Lad rather
enjoyed the rug's descent. It made his narrow resting-place snugger and
warmer on this chilly early morning. Patiently, Lad lay there; waiting
for the car to start.
He did not have long to wait. In another minute or two, the Mistress
and the Master came out from breakfast; and got into the front seat.
Then the car was breasting the winding slope of the drive, in first
speed; the faint jar of the engine sending undulations over the
mahogany-and-white coat of the stowaway dog. And, in a minute more,
they were out on the smooth highway, headed for the distant Catskills.
Now, Lad had not the remotest notion he was a stowaway. On the few
times when it had not been convenient to take him on drives, the Master
had always bidden him stay at home. And when, at such times, the dog
chanced already to be its the car, he had been ordered back to earth.
There, was no way for Lad to know, this morning, that neither of the
car's other occupants had seen him as he lay curled up on the floor,
three-quarters hidden under the fallen rug. The luggage had been
arranged in the tonneau, before breakfast. And nobody had given a
second glance at it since then.
The sun was rising over a new-made world, alive with summer glory and
thrilling with bird-songs. The air, later in the day, would be warm.
But, at sunrise, it was sharp and bracing. The mystic wonder and the
hush of dawn were still brooding over the earth. The hard white road
stretched out, like a winding river, between banks of dew-gleaming
verdure. The mountain-tops were glowing with the touch of the sun. In
the deeper valleys floated a shimmering dusk.
The car sped swiftly along the empty highway; slowing down only as it
spun through half-awakened villages; or checked its pace to allow a
sleepy boy to drive a straggling bunch of cows across the road to
pasturage.
For an hour or more, Lad lay cuddled under the rug in contented
laziness. Then the recumbent posture tired him; and he sat up. As a
rule, one or the other of his deities was wont to turn around, at
intervals, and speak to him or pet him. Today, neither of them paid him
the slightest attention. Still, the ride was a joy. And the surrounding
country was new and interesting. So Lad had a good time, in spite of
human neglect. After another hour or so, he curled up again, among the
bags, and fell to drowsing.
A six-hour run, over good roads, brought the car to Kingston, at the
gateway to the Catskills. Here, at a hotel entrance, the machine came
to a standstill. The Master got out, and turned to help the Mistress to
alight. It was the place they had decided on for luncheon. Another
three hours, at most, would carry them to their destination.
A negro boy, loafing aimlessly at the street corner, had begun to
whistle industriously to himself as the car slowed down. And he had
wakened into active motion. Apparently, he remembered all at once an
important mission on the other side of the street. For he set off at a
swinging pace.
His course took him so near the back of the car that he had to turn
out, a step or so, to avoid collision with it. He accompanied this
turning-out maneuver by another which was less ostentatious, but more
purposeful. Timing his steps, so as to pass by the rear of the car just
as the Master was busy helping his wife to descend, the youth thrust an
arm over the side of the tonneau, with the speed of a striking snake.
His hand closed on the handle of a traveling bag, among the heap of
luggage. Never slackening his pace, the negro gave a fierce yank at his
plunder, to hoist it over the closed door.
In that tourist-ridden city, bag-stealing offered much profit. In the
rare chance of detection when he was at work, the boy had only to plead
over-zeal in trying to earn an honest dime by helping lift the luggage
to the sidewalk.
It was a pretty bit of theft; and it betokened long and careful
practice. Thus,--from the thief's standpoint,--it was almost a pity the
brilliant effort was wasted. For wasted it was.
This young negro prided himself on his powers of speed and of silence,
in plying his trade. And, today, though he proceeded to excel in the
first of these qualities, he disgraced himself most woefully as
regarded the second.
For he jerked his hand out of the tonneau far faster than he had thrust
it in. As he did so, he woke the echoes with the most blood-curdling
screech his leathern lungs could compass.
As his dusky fingers had closed on the bag, something viselike and
relentless had fastened upon those same expert fingers; breaking two of
them, and rending the flesh of the lower hand.
Lad, in rising to his feet, after his pleasant nap, at the slowing of
the car, had been aware of that predatory hand; as it groped for the
bag. Now, from puppyhood, Lad had been taught to regard everything in
the car as under his own careful guardianship. Hence, he lunged forward
and sank his terrible white teeth deep into the groping fingers.
By main force the youth tore free. With a second screech, he reeled
back from the unseen peril which had assailed him. But Lad would not
have it so.
There was a harsh-breathed growl, from down in the tonneau; and, on the
instant, a tawny giant shape came catapulting over the top of the shut
door and hurled itself upon the staggering negro.
The Master, turning at sound of the yell, was just in time to see the
attack. The collie,--supposedly ninety miles away, and peacefully
guarding the Place,--was hurtling through the air and crashing against
the chest of a gray-faced and pop-eyed young negro. To earth went the
two; in a cloud of dust; a second before the Master's sharp call
brought Lad reluctantly away from his prey, and just as a policeman and
a score of idlers came running up.
The thief did not wait to explain. No sooner did he see the Master
catch the infuriated dog by the ruff than he scrambled to his feet;
ducked under the policeman's arm and set off, around a corner, in
something better than record time. Somehow, the encounter had deprived
him of the nerve and the pluck to stand his ground and to explain that
he had merely been trying to help with the luggage. His only desire,
just then, was to put as many thousand miles as possible between
himself and the tawny demon that had assaulted him.
"Laddie!" gasped the Mistress, unbelieving, as the policeman and most
of the little crowd set off after the fugitive. "LADDIE! What in the
world--?"
"He--he must have been in the car, all the time," gabbled the Master,
brilliantly. "He must have jumped in, while we were at breakfast. See,
he's cleared a space for himself between two of the bags. He's been
there, all the time, and we never--"
"If he hadn't been there," suggested the Mistress, "we'd be looking now
for one or two pieces of luggage that had disappeared. When the Grays
went through here, one of their suitcases was--"
"But what in blazes are we going to do with him?" broke in the Master,
worriedly. "We can't take him all the way home. And I won't trust to
sending him by express. He might get backed onto a siding and be kept
there for days, without food or water. Besides, they won't let a dog go
by express unless he's in a crate. What are we to do?"
"Why," said the Mistress, stooping to stroke the silken head that
rested against her knee, "Why, Laddie seems to have settled that for
us, by coming along. He's surely paid his way. We'll have to take him
the rest of the trip. The Harmons will be glad to see him, I'm sure.
Everybody's always glad to see Laddie, wherever we go. Let's take him.
It's the only thing to do. We can explain to them how it happened."
And so, after more discussion, it was settled. Even as most things had
a way of being settled when the Mistress proposed them.
Three hours later, the car stopped before the entrance of a roomily
beautiful house in a roomily beautiful residence park, in the upper
Catskills.
The welcoming smiles on the faces of host and hostess suffered sudden
eclipse; as a huge mahogany-and-white collie stepped majestically from
the car at the heels of the two guests.
"This is Lad," introduced the Mistress. "I hope you don't mind our
bringing him. I can promise he won't be a bit of trouble to anybody. We
didn't mean to bring him. It just happened. This was the way:--"
While she was recounting the adventure to Mrs. Harmon, their host drew
the Master to one side.
"Say, old man," began Harmon, with visible discomfort, "please don't
misunderstand me or anything. But I'm a little bothered about just what
to do. This is the idea: There was a mad dog scare here in Daylight
Park, last month, when a Pom puppy snapped at some kids that were
teasing it. Then, a day or so later, a Persian cat had fits and chased
old Mrs. Cratchitt across a lawn and gave her a spell of palpitation of
the heart. And the next day an Angora goat that the Varian children had
as a pet got loose and chewed up several hundred dollars' worth of
lingerie off a line. Then the Clives' spaniel took to barking under
Rutherford Garretse's study window. And--"
"You needn't be afraid of Lad's doing any of those fool things,"
bragged the Master. "He behaves as well as any human. Better than most
of them. He--"
"That isn't the point," said his host, with growing uneasiness. "You
see, Daylight Park is run as a club. Home government and all that sort
of thing. Well, these livestock fracases raised such a row that the
club's Board of Governors has passed an ordinance, forbidding the
keeping of any pet animals in the whole park. Nothing bigger than a
canary bird can be harbored here. It's a hard-and-fast rule. It seemed
the only way to save our whole summer colony from disruption. You know
a livestock squabble can cause more ructions in a small community
than--"
"I see," mused the Master, staring glumly after Lad who was just
vanishing into the house in the wake of the Mistress and the unhappy
Mrs. Harmon. "I see. H'm!"
He pondered for an instant, while his host shifted from foot to foot
and looked apologetic. Then the Master spoke again.
"The only way out, that I see," he hazarded, "is for me to drive back
home with Lad; and leave him there and come on here, tomorrow. I can--"
"Nothing of the sort!" protested Harmon, "There's an easier way than
that. Wittsville is only a mile or so from the Park gates. They've got
a fine boarding kennel there. Several of the Park's dogs were exiled to
it, when our ordinance went into effect. Jump into the car, and we'll
take your collie there in ten minutes. He'll be well treated. And you
and your wife can go to see him, every day you're here. Come along.
I--I hate to seem inhospitable about this thing. But you see for
yourself how it is. We--"
"Certainly," assented the Master. "I'll go in and get him and explain
to my wife. Don't let it make you feel uncomfortable. We both
understand."
Which accounts for the fact that Lad, within the next half hour, was
preparing to spend his first night away from home and from the two
people who were his gods. He was not at all happy. It had been an
interesting day. But its conclusion did not please Laddie, in any
manner.
And, when things did not please Lad, he had a very determined fashion
of trying to avoid them;--unless perchance the Mistress or the Master
had decreed otherwise.
The Master had brought him to this obnoxious strange place. But he had
not bidden Lad stay there. And the collie merely waited his chance to
get out. At ten o'clock, one of the kennelmen made the night rounds. He
swung open the door of the little stall in which Lad had been locked
for the night. At least, he swung the door halfway open. Lad swung it
the rest of the way.
With a plunge, the collie charged out through the opening portal,
ducked between the kennelman's legs, reached the open gate of the
enclosure in two more springs; and vanished down the road into the
darkness.
As soon as he felt the highway under his feet, Lad's nose drooped
earthward; and he sniffed with all his might. Instantly, he caught the
scent he was seeking;--a scent as familiar to him as that of his own
piano cave; the scent of the Place's car-tires.
It had taken Harmon and the Master the best part of ten minutes to
drive through the park and to the boarding kennels. It took Lad less
than half that time to reach the veranda of the Harmon house. Circling
the house and finding all doors shut, he lay down on the mat; and
settled himself to sleep there in what comfort he might, until the
Mistress and the Master should come down in the morning and find him.
But the Harmons were late risers. And the sun had been up for some
hours before any of the household were astir.
If Lad had been the professionally Faithful Hound, of storybooks, he
would doubtless have waited on the mat until someone should come to let
him in. But, after lying there until broad daylight, he was moved to
explore this new section of the world. The more so, since house after
house within range of his short vision showed signs of life and
activity.
Several people passed and repassed along the private roadway in front
of the Harmons' door; and nearly all of these paused to peer at Lad, in
what seemed to the collie a most flattering show of interest.
At last, the dog got to his feet, stretched himself fore-and-aft, in
true collie fashion; and trotted down the paved walk to the road. There
for a moment, he stood hesitant. As he stood, he was surveying the
scene;--not only with his eyes, but with those far stronger sense
organs, his ears and his nostrils. His ears told him nothing of
interest. His nose told him much. Indeed, before he had fairly reached
the road, these nostrils had telegraphed to his brain an odor that not
only was highly interesting, but totally new to him. Lad's experience
with scents was far-reaching. But this smell lay totally outside all
his knowledge or memory.
It was a rank and queer smell;--not strong enough, out there in the
open, to register in a human-brain; but almost stingingly acute to the
highly sensitized dog. It was an alluring scent; the sort of odor that
roused all his curiosity and seemed to call for prompt investigation.
Nose to ground, Lad set off to trace the smell to its source. Strong as
it was, it grew stronger and fresher at every step. Even a mongrel
puppy could have followed it. Oblivious to all else, Lad broke into a
canter; nose still close to earth; pleasurably excited and keenly
inquisitive.
He ran along the private road for perhaps a hundred yards. Then, he
wheeled in at another paved walk and ran up a low flight of veranda
steps. The front door of a house stood invitingly open to the cool air
of the morning. In through the doorway went Lad; unheeding the gobbling
call of a maid-servant who was sweeping the far end of the veranda.
Lad did not know he was committing trespass. To him an open door had
always meant permission to enter. And the enticingly rank scent was
tenfold stronger indoors than out. Across a hallway he trotted, still
sniffing; and up a flight of stairs leading to the second story of the
house.
At the stairhead, a room door stood wide. And into this room led the
odor. Lad went in. He was in a large and sunlit room; but in the most
disorderly room he had ever set eyes on. The room needed airing, too.
For all its four windows were closed, except one which was open for
perhaps six inches from the top.
Lad circled the room, twice; from door to windows, and thence to center
table and around the walls; pausing at one window sill and again at the
threshold; picking his way daintily over heaps of litter on the floor.
Yes, the room was full of the scent. But, whence the scent emanated,
Lad could not, for the life of him, tell. The room gave him no clew.
And, after a few minutes of futile investigation, he turned to depart.
At the stairhead, he came upon the same servant he had seen sweeping
the veranda. She cried: "Shoo!" at him and brandished her broom. Lad,
in offended dignity, stalked past her and out of the house.
His quest having proven vain, he betook himself to the Harmons',
arriving there as the Mistress and the Master emerged upon the veranda
in company with their hosts. In wild delight, Lad scampered up to the
Mistress; his whole stately body wriggling in eager welcome, his tiny
white forepaws patting at her feet, his muzzle thrusting itself into
her cupped hand.
"Why, Lad!" she cried. "Laddie! We were so worried about you. They just
phoned from the kennels that you had gotten away. I might have known
you'd find your way to us. We--"
She got no further. Up the walk, from the road, came running an
apoplectically red and puffing man of late middle age;--a man whose
face bore traces of lather; and who was swathed in a purple bathrobe.
Flapping slippers ill-covered his sockless feet.
The Master recognized the fast-advancing newcomer. He recognized him
from many pictures in newspapers and magazines.
This was Rutherford Garretse, world-famed author and collector; the
literary lion and chief celebrity of the summer colony at Daylight
Park. But what eccentricity of genius could account for his costume and
for this bellicose method of bearing down upon a neighbor's home, was
more than the Master could guess.
Nor did the visitor's first words clear up the mystery. Halting at the
foot of the steps, Rutherford Garretse gesticulated in dumb anguish,
while he fought for breath and for coherent speech. Then, disregarding
Harmon's wondering greeting, the celebrity burst into choking staccato
speech.
"That dog!" he croaked. "That--that--DOG! The maid saw him go into the
house. Saw him go up to my study. She was afraid to follow, at first.
But in a few minutes she did. She saw him coming out of my study!
COME!!! I demand it. All of you. COME!"
Without another word, he wheeled and made off down the road, pausing
only to beckon imperiously. Marveling, the group on the veranda
followed. Deaf to their questions, he led the way. Lad fell into line
behind the perplexed Mistress.
Down the road to the next house, stalked Rutherford Garretse. At the
doorway, he repeated his dramatic gesture and commanded:
"COME!"
Up the broad stairs he stamped. Behind him trailed the dumfounded
procession; Laddie still pattering happily along with the Mistress. At
the open door of a large room at the stairhead, the author stood aside
and pointed in silent despair through the doorway.
"What's up?" queried Harmon, for perhaps the tenth time. "Is
anything--?"
His question ended in a grunt. And, like the others, he stared aghast
on the scene before him.
The room, very evidently, was a study. But much of its floor, just now,
was heaped, ankle high, with hundreds of pages of torn and crumpled
paper.
The desk-top and a Sheraton cabinet and table were bare of all
contents. On the floor reposed countless shattered articles of glass
and porcelain; jumbled together with blotters an pastepot and shears
and ink-stand and other utensils. Ink had been poured in grotesque
pattern on rugs and parquetry and window curtains.
In one corner lay a typewriter, its keys twisted and its carriage
broken. Books--some of them in rare bindings,--lay gutted and
ink-smeared, from one end of the place to the other.
Through the daze of general horror boomed the tremblingly majestic
voice of Rutherford Garretse.
"I wanted you to see!" he declaimed. "I ordered everything left as it
was. That mess of papers all over the floor is what remains of the
first draft of my book. The book I have been at work on for six months!
I--"
"And it was the dog, there!" sputtered the maid-servant; emotion riding
over discipline. "I c'n swear the room was neat and all dusted. Not a
blessed thing out of place; and all the paper where Mr. Garretse had
stacked 'em in his portfolio, yonder. I dusted this study and then the
dining room. And then I went out to sweep the veranda; like I always
do, before breakfast. And maybe ten minutes later I see this brute trot
out of Mr. Harmon's place, and along the road, and come, asnuffing up
the steps and into the house. And when I followed him upstairs and
scatted him out, I saw the room looking like it is, now; and I yells to
Mr. Garretse, and he's shaving, and--"
"That will do, Esther!" snapped the author. "And, now, sir--"
"But, Mr. Garretse," put in the Mistress, "Lad never did such a thing
as this, in all his life! He's been brought up in the house. Even as a
puppy, he was--"
"The evidence shows otherwise," interrupted Garretse, with a visible
struggle at self-control. "No human, unless he were a maniac, would
have done such a wantonly destructive thing. No other animal has been
here. The dog was seen entering and leaving this room. And my work of
six months is not only destroyed by him, but many of the very best
pieces in my glass-and-porcelain cabinet."
"But--"
"I consented to stay on at Daylight Park, only on the solemn assurance
of the Governors that no animal should be allowed again within the Park
precincts. I detest animals. Particularly dogs. And now I see my
dislike is not mere prejudice. May I ask what the owners and--and the
harborer--of the cur mean to do about this outrage? Notice, please,
that I am speaking with studied moderation, in asking this vital
question. I--"
"It is my fault,--or rather, it is a mistake,--that Lad is in the
Park," spoke up the Master. "Mr. Harmon is wholly innocent in the
matter. I can testify to that. If there is any fine or other penalty in
connection with my dog's being here, I'm ready to settle for it. But if
you expect me to believe that Laddie did all this weird damage to your
manuscript and your collection and your room,--why, that's absurd!
Utterly absurd! Lad, never in his life,--"
"The courts will think otherwise!" blazed Garretse, losing a fraction
of his hard-held selfmastery. "And the case shall go through every
court in the land, since you persist in this idiotic denial of a proven
fact. I warn you, I shall--Look there!" he broke off, furiously,
leveling a shakily vehement forefinger at Lad. "Watch him! He's
prowling around, even now, in search of more things to injure. He--"
The author finished his sentence by catching up a heavy metal
paperweight and drawing it back as if for a throw. His muscles flexed.
The Mistress moved, as by accident, between the raging man and the dog.
The Master, for the moment, lacked presence of mind to do even that
much for his canine chum's safety. He was too much taken up in glaring
unbelievingly at Lad.
The sedate collie, after following the bevy of excited humans upstairs,
had stood gravely, just inside the threshold; looking with keen
interest from one to the other of the gesticulating and noisy group.
Then, as a sharp whiff of that same baffling scent assailed his nose,
he began a new tour of the room.
The odor was fresher than before. And Lad's curiosity was roused to the
full. He sniffed to right and left, exploring the floor rubbish with
inquiring muzzle, and circling the despoiled writing desk.
It was then that Garretse called attention to him. And it was then that
Lad's nose suddenly pointed skyward. In another moment, he had bounded
eagerly toward one of the windows,--the window that was slightly open
from the top.
From that direction, the scent now came; and it was more potent than at
any earlier time in his quest.
Even as the astonished eyes of the group followed Lad window-ward,
those same eyes were attracted by a partial darkening of the open space
at the window's top.
Into the room, through the narrow aperture wiggled a hairy form, moving
with eel-like speed.
Thence, it leaped to the floor. For the fraction of a second, the
intruder crouched there; peering about, to determine into what company
his jump had landed him.
He was a gray monkey, small, infinitely aged and withered of aspect.
His paws and forearms were black with half-dry ink. Here and there, all
over his fuzzy gray body, ink-blobs were spattered. In one skinny paw
he still clutched the splintered fragment of a Satsuma vase.
By the time the gaping humans could get a single good look at the
monkey, Lad was at him. Here at last was the solution of that
mysterious scent, so new to the collie.
Lad galloped toward the wizened and malodorous gray bunch; more intent
on investigation than on attack. The monkey did not wait for him. With
an incredibly agile leap, he was on the spattered window curtains and
swarming up to the rod at the top. There he squatted, well out of
reach; grimacing horribly and chattering in simian wrath.
"It's--it's a devil!" stammered Rutherford Garretse; his nearsighted
eyes squinting as he sought to take in the motley details of the
creature's appearance. "I--"
"It's Mrs. McMurdle's pest of a monkey, sirs" blithered the maid.
"Asking your pardon. The one she made such a fuss about sending away,
last month, when all beastees was barred from the Park. It must 'a'
strayed back from where she sent it to, the crafty little nuisance!
It's--"
"Incidentally," said the Master, "it is the creature that wrecked your
room. See the ink on it. And that bit of porcelain it's brandishing at
us looks like a match for some of these smashed bits on the floor. It
got in here, I suppose, through that window, earlier,--and--"
"No," corrected the Mistress, wiser at deduction. "Through the doorway,
downstairs. From somewhere outside. Probably while the maid was dusting
the dining-room. It came in here and began destroying things; as
monkeys love to. And Laddie struck its trail and followed it up here.
It heard Lad coming and it got out through the window. Then, just now,
something outside scared it; and it climbed back in again. I wonder
if--"
As she talked, the Mistress had moved toward the nearest window.
"See?" she finished, in triumph, as she pointed out and down.
On the patch of back lawn, below, stood a very much flustered old lady,
her worried gaze upraised to the study. In one hand she carried a
leash, in the other a half-peeled banana.
"It's Mrs. McMurdle!" exclaimed Harmon. "The maid was right. She must
have disobeyed the ordinance and had the miserable monkey hidden in her
house all the time. It must have gotten out, this morning; and she
hunted around till she saw it perched on the top of the window cornice.
I suppose it dived back in here, at sight of her. She--"
"Come on, Laddie!" whispered the Mistress, under cover of a new
outbreak of multiple talk. "YOU'RE acquitted, anyhow. And the rest of
the scene is really no business of ours. The sooner we get you to the
boarding kennels again, the less chance there is of trouble. And Master
and I will come to see you there, every single day, till we go back
home."
A week later, the car turned in again at the gates of the Place. This
time, Lad rode in state atop the flat trunk on the rear seat. As the
car halted at the veranda, he sprang to earth without waiting for the
tonneau door to be opened.
For, dashing toward him from the direction of the lake, Lady hove in
sight. Behind her, and trotting more leisurely, came Wolf. At sight and
scent of her returned mate, Lady fairly squealed with delight. She
whirled up to Lad, frantically licking his face and spinning about him
with little staccato yelps of joy.
Lad was deliriously happy. Not only was he at home again; but Lady was
welcoming him with an effusion that she had not shown him for many a
sorrowful month. He could not understand it. Nor did he try to. He was
content to accept the miracle; and to rejoice in it with all his great
honest heart.
Knowing nothing of feminine psychology, he could not realize that a
week of Puppy Wolf's sole and undiluted companionship had bored Lady
horribly and had begun to get on her nerves;--nor that she had learned
to miss and yearn for the big, wise, ever-gentle mate whom she had so
long neglected.
It was enough for Lad to know that he was no longer a neglected
outsider, in the Place's canine family; but that his worshiped mate was
wild with joy to see him again.
"Look!" said the Master. "The old chap has forgiven her for every bit
of her rottenness to him. He's insanely happy, just because she chooses
to make much of him, once more."
"Yes," assented the Mistress, cryptically "Sometimes dogs are
pitifully--human!"