A mildewed maxim runs: "You can't teach an old dog new tricks."
Some proverbs live because they are too true to die. Others endure
because they have a smug sound and because nobody has bothered to bury
them. The one about old dogs and new tricks belongs in both categories.
In a sense it is true. In another it is not.
To teach the average elderly dog to sit up and beg, or to roll over
twice, or to do other of the asinine things with which humans stultify
the natural good sense of their canine chums, is as hard as to teach a
sixty-year-old grave-digger to become a musical composer.
But no dog with a full set of brains is ever past learning new things
which are actually needful for him to learn. And, sad to say, many an
old dog, on his own account, picks up odd new accomplishments--exploits
which would never have occurred to him in his early prime. Nobody knows
why. But it has happened, numberless times.
And so it was with Sunnybank Lad.
Laddie had passed his twelfth birthday; when, by some strange freak, he
brought home one day a lace parasol. He had found it in the highroad,
on his way back to the Place after a sedate ramble in the forest. Now,
it was nothing new for the great collie to find missing articles
belonging to the Mistress or to the Master. Every now and then he would
lay at their feet a tobacco pouch or a handkerchief or a bunch of keys
that had been dropped, carelessly, somewhere on the grounds; and which
Lad recognized, by scent, as belonging to one of the two humans he
loved.
These bits of treasure trove, he delighted in finding and restoring.
Yes, and--though those who had never seen him do this were prone to
doubt it--he was certain to lay the recovered object at the feet of
whichever of the two had lost it. For instance, it never occurred to
him to drop a filmy square of lace-and-cambric at the muddied feet of
the Master; or a smelly old tobacco-pouch at the Mistress's little feet.
There was nothing miraculous about this knowledge. To a high-bred dog,
every human of his acquaintance has a distinctive scent; which cannot
be mistaken. Lad used no occult power inn returning to the rightful
owner any article he chanced to find on lawn or on veranda.
But the lace parasol was different. That, presumably, had fallen from
some passing motor-car, bound for Tuxedo or for the Berkshires. It did
not belong at the Place.
Lad happened to see it, lying there in the highway. And he brought it,
forthwith, to the house; carrying it daintily between his mighty jaws;
and laying it on the living-room floor in front of the astonished
Mistress. Probably, he laid it before her, instead of before the
Master, because she was the first of the two whom he happened to
encounter. It is doubtful if he realized that a parasol is a purely
feminine adjunct;--although the Mistress always declared he did.
She picked up the gift and looked it over with real admiration. It was
a flimsily beautiful and costly thing; whose ivory handle was deftly
carven and set with several uncut stones; and whose deep fringe of lace
was true Venetian Point.
"Why, Laddie!" she exclaimed, in wondering delight. "Where in the world
did you get this? Look!" she went on, as her husband came in from his
study. "See what Laddie brought me! I saw him coming down the drive
with something in his mouth. But I had no idea what it was. Isn't it a
beauty? Where do you suppose he--?"
"As long as motorists go around curves at forty miles an hour," decided
the Master, "so long their piled-up valuables are likely to be jostled
out of the tonneau. I found a satchel, last week, at the curve, up
there, you remember; and a hat, the week before. What are you going to
do about this thing?"
"Oh," said the Mistress, with a sigh of renunciation, "I suppose we'll
have to advertise it; and watch the 'Lost and Found' columns, too.
But--wouldn't it be glorious if nobody should see our advertisement
or--or ever advertise for it? It's so lovely! I hate to think it may
belong to somebody who can't appreciate it as I do."
Now, Laddie had lived on the Place for many more years than he could
remember. And he had spent the bulk of that time in studying the faces
and the voices and the moods of these two people whom he worshiped.
Moreover, he had an intelligence that is not given to most dogs,--even
to collies--and a queer psychic twist to his brain that had puzzled his
owners as much as it had delighted them:
Watching the Mistress, now, with his classic head on one side and his
deep-set dark eyes fixed on her eager face, he saw that his roadway
gift had made her very happy. Also, that her caressing hand on his head
showed pride in what he had done. And this, as ever, thrilled the old
dog, to the very soul.
He wagged his plumed tail, in gladness, and thrust his nose into her
palm and began to "talk" in gleeful treble. To none but the Mistress
and the Master would Lad deign to "talk." And, none listening to him
could doubt he was trying to copy the human voice and human meanings.
"Dear old Laddie!" praised the Mistress, running her fingers through
his lion-like ruff. "GOOD Laddie! Thank you, ever so much! Nobody but a
very, VERY wonderful collie named Lad could have had the perfect taste
to pick out such a parasol. And now we're going to have a whole handful
of animal crackers, for reward."
The crooningly sweet voice, the petting, the gift of animal crackers of
which he was childishly fond--all these delighted Lad beyond measure.
And they confirmed him in the belief that he had done something most
laudable.
What he had done was to pick up a stray object, away from home, and
bring it to the Mistress. He knew that. And that was all he knew. But,
having won high praise for the deed, he resolved then and there to
repeat it.
Which proves that old dogs can be taught new tricks. And which started
all the trouble.
That afternoon, the Mistress and the Master went for a five-mile ramble
through the woods and over the mountains, back of the Place. With them
went old Laddie, who paced gravely between them. With them, also, went
Bruce, the magnificent dark sable collie of kingly look and demeanor;
who was second only to Lad in human traits and second to no living
animal in beauty. Bruce was glorious to look upon. In physique and in
character he had not a flaw. There was a strange sweetness to his
disposition that I have found in no other dog.
With Lad and Bruce, on this walk, raced Lad's fiery little golden son,
Wolf.
Of old, Lad had led such runs. Now, advancing age and increased weight
had begun to make him chary of throwing away his fading energies.
Wherefore, he walked between his two deities; and let the two younger
dogs do the galloping and rabbit chasing.
And he had his reward. For, as they neared the highroad on the way
home, Wolf and Bruce chanced to tree a squirrel. Thus, Lad was first to
reach the road with the two humans. Suddenly, he darted ahead of them;
and snatched up from the wayside the somewhat worn case of a thermos
bottle which had been discarded there or had fallen from a car-seat.
This he bore to the Mistress; fairly vibrating with pride in his own
exploit.
Noting his joy in the deed, she made much of the shabby gift; praising
and thanking Lad, inordinately; and forbearing to throw away the worn
case until the collie was out of sight.
Of late, as Laddie began to show signs of age, she and the Master had
taken to making more and more of him; to atone for his growing
feebleness and to anticipate the dark day which every dog-owner must
face;--the day when his voice and his caress can no longer mean
anything to the pet who once rejoiced so utterly in them.
All of which went to confirm Lad in the natural belief that anything
found on the road and brought to the Mistress would be looked on with
joy and would earn him much gratitude. So,--as might a human in like
circumstances,--he ceased to content himself with picking up trifles
that chanced to be lying in his path, in the highway, and fell to
searching for such flotsam and jetsam.
He began the hunt, next morning. Pacing gravely along the center of the
road, he headed toward the mile-distant village. By sheer luck, such
few automobiles as chanced along, at that hour, were driven by folk who
had heart enough to slow down or to turn aside for the majestically
strolling old dog. To the end of his long life, Lad could never be made
to understand that he was not entitled to walk at will in the exact
middle of the road. Perhaps his lofty assurance in taking such a course
made motorists check speed to spare him.
This morning, he had fared but a half-mile when he saw a car drawn up
at the edge of the road, beside a shaded bit of turf. Several people
had just descended from it; and were making preparations for an early
picnic lunch. One of them had finished depositing a basket on the
ground, at the side of the car farthest from the strip of sward where
the others were spreading a sea-rug and setting an impromptu table.
The man put the basket down in the road. Then he dived back into the
nether regions of the machine for more provender. And he was engaged in
this groping when Lad came in view, around a bend.
The big collie saw the basket standing there, unprotected and, so far
as he knew, ownerless. Gravely he stepped forward, lifted the heavy
receptacle by the handle and turned about with it; still moving with
dignified slowness. The table-setters were busy; and the car was
between him and them.
By the time the other member of the party succeeded in finding the
things he was seeking under the rear seat, Lad had rounded the bend and
was out of sight. To this day, none of the motorists has the remotest
solution to the mystery of the vanished lunch.
Lad had not stolen the basket. He would have suffered himself to be cut
in three, before sinking to theft or to any other sneaking act. He had
found a basket standing alone in the highroad, several feet away from
the nearest humans. He had no way of guessing it belonged to them. So
far as he was concerned, this was as much a lost article as had been
the gorgeous parasol. He had been praised to the skies for bringing the
parasol and the thermos case to the Mistress. He had every reason to
expect the same meed of praise for this new gift.
Indeed, to Lad's way of thinking, he might well hope for even higher
praise. For the parasol had been an odorless and foolish thing of no
apparent usefulness; while this basket exhaled most heavenly scents of
fried chicken and other delectable foods. Heavy as was the burden, it
did not occur to Lad to set it down. Fragrant as were its contents, it
did not occur to him to nose the cover off and sample them. There was
no tinge of snooping in his make-up. No, the basket was a gift for the
Mistress. And as such he was bearing it home to her.
"See what Laddie brought me, this time!" cried the Mistress, coming
into her husband's study, a few minutes later, and holding forth the
trophy. "It's full of food, too; and of course he never touched a
mouthful of it. But I gave him two of the frosted cakes, by way of
reward. He's ridiculously happy over them,--and over the fuss I made
about the basket."
"H'm!" mused the Master, inspecting the present. "Jostled off the
car-seat, as some fool of a driver took the curve at top speed! Well,
that same driver has paid for his recklessness, by the loss of his
lunch. It's funny, though--There's not a trace of mud or dust on this;
and even the food inside wasn't jostled about by the tumble. That curve
is paying us big dividends, lately. It's a pity no bullion trucks pass
this way. Still, parasols and picnic lunches aren't to be sneered at."
Lad was standing in the study doorway, eyes alight, tail waving. The
Master called him over and petted him; praising this newest
accomplishment of his, and prophesying untold wealth for the Place if
the graft should but continue long enough.
There was something pathetic in dear old Laddie's pleasure over the new
trick he had learned; or so it seemed to the two people who loved him.
And they continued to flatter him for it;--even when, among other
trophies, he dragged home a pickaxe momentarily laid aside by a road
mender; and an extremely dead chicken which a motor-truck wheel had
flattened to waferlike thickness.
Which brings us, by degrees to the Rennick kidnaping case.
Claude Rennick, a New York artist of considerable means, had rented for
the summer an ancient Colonial farmhouse high among the Ramapo hills;
some six miles north of the Place, There, he and his pretty young wife
and their six-months-old baby had been living for several weeks; when,
angered at a sharp rebuke for some dereliction in his work, Schwartz,
their gardener, spoke insultingly to Mrs. Rennick.
Rennick chanced to overhear. Being aggressively in love with his wife,
he did not content himself with discharging Schwartz. Instead, he
thrashed the stalwart gardener, then and there; and ended the drastic
performance by pitching the beaten man, bodily, out of the grounds.
Schwartz collected his battered anatomy and limped away to his home in
the hills just above. And, that night, he called into council his two
farmhand brothers and his wife.
Several characteristic plans of revenge were discussed in solemn
detail. These included the burning of the Rennick house or barn, or
both; the shooting of Rennick from among the hillside boulders as the
artist sketched; of waylaying him on his walk to the post-office, by
night, and crippling him for life; and other suggestions equally dear
to the hearts of rural malefactors.
But one plan after another was vetoed. To burn any of the property
would cause Rennick nothing worse than temporary annoyance; as he
merely rented the farm. Daylight shooting was a dangerous and uncertain
job; especially since automobiles had opened up the district to
constantly passing outsiders. It was Schwartz himself who decided
against waylaying his foe by night. He had too recent memories of
Rennick's physical prowess to care about risking a second dose of the
same medicine. And so on with the other proposals. One and all were
rejected.
Then it was that Mrs. Schwartz hit upon an idea which promised not only
punishment, but profit. She had done washing for the Rennicks and she
had access to the house. She proposed that they steal the Rennick baby,
on the first night when opportunity should offer; carry him to a car
the brothers were to have waiting; and thence take him to her sister in
Paterson.
There, the youngster would be well cared for. In a family of not less
than seven children, the presence of an extra baby would not excite
police query. Her sister had more than once taken babies to board with
her, during their mothers' temporary absence in service or in jail. And
the newcomer could pass readily as one of these.
Negotiations could set in; and, if care were taken, a reward of at
least two thousand dollars might be extracted safely from the frantic
parents. Thus, the Rennicks could be made to sweat blood and money too,
in payment of the injuries wrought upon the aching frame of Schwartz.
At first, the three men sheered off from the plan. Kidnaping is a word
with an ugly sound. Kidnaping is a deed with ugly consequences.
Kidnaping is a crime whose perpetrators can hope for no atom of
sympathy from anybody. Kidnaping is perilous, past words.
But, deftly, Mrs. Schwartz met and conquered the difficulties raised.
In the first place, the baby would come to no harm. Her sister would
see to that. In the second, the matter of the reward and of the return
could be juggled so as to elude detectives and rural constables. She
had known of such a case. And she related the details;--clever yet
utterly simple details, and fraught with safety to all
concerned;--details which, for that very reason, need not be cited here.
Bit by bit, she went on with her outline of the campaign; testing each
step and proving the practicability of each.
The next Thursday evening, Rennick and his wife went, as usual, to the
weekly meeting of a neighborhood bridge club which they had joined for
the summer. The baby was left in charge of a competent nurse. At nine
o'clock, the nurse went to the telephone in reply to a call purporting
to be from an attendant at a New York hospital.
This call occupied the best part of twenty minutes. For the attendant
proceeded to tell her in a very roundabout way that her son had been
run over and had come to the hospital with a broken leg. He dribbled
the information; and was agonizingly long-winded and vague in answering
her volley of frightened questions.
Shaken between duty to her job and a yearning to catch the next train
for town, the nurse went back at last to the nursery. The baby's crib
was empty.
It had been the simplest thing in the world for Mrs. Schwartz to enter
the house by the unfastened front door, while one of her husband's
brothers held the nurse in telephone talk; and to go up to the nursery,
unseen, while the other servants were in the kitchen quarters. There
she had picked up the baby and had carried him gently down to the front
door and out of the grounds.
One of Schwartz's brothers was waiting, beyond the gate; with a
disreputable little runabout. Presently, the second brother joined him.
Mrs. Schwartz lifted the baby into the car. One of the men held it
while the other took his place at the steering wheel. The runabout had
started upon its orderly fourteen-mile trip to Paterson, before the
panic stricken nurse could give the alarm.
Mrs. Schwartz then walked toward the village, where her husband met
her. The two proceeded together to the local motion picture theater.
There, they laughed so loudly over the comedy on the screen that the
manager had to warn them to be quieter. At once, the couple became
noisily abusive. And they were ordered ignominiously from the theater.
There could scarcely have been a better alibi to prove their absence of
complicity in the kidnaping.
Meanwhile, the two brothers continued quietly on their journey toward
Paterson. The baby slept. His bearer had laid him softly on the floor
of the car. A few drops of paregoric, administered by Mrs. Schwartz as
the child awoke for an instant on the way to the gate, insured sound
slumber. The joggling of the car did not rouse the tiny sleeper; as he
lay snugly between the feet of the man into whose care he had been
given.
The first six miles of the easy journey were soon traversed. Then, with
a pop and a dispiritedly swishing sound, a rear tire collapsed. Out
into the road jumped both men. Their nerves were none too steady. And,
already, in fancy they could hear all the police cars in New Jersey
close at their heels. It behooved them to change tires in a hurry, and
to finish their nerve-twisting trip.
The driver vaulted over the side nearest him and began to explore the
under-seat regions for a jack. The other man picked up the baby and
hurried to the rear of the runabout to detach the spare tire from its
dusty rack. Manifestly, he could not unstrap the tire while he was
carrying a baby in his arms. So he set down his burden at the roadside,
near him.
Then, still obsessed by fear of pursuit, he hit on a safer scheme.
Picking up the sleeper again, he carried the warm little bundle to the
far side of the road, some thirty yards beyond, and deposited it there,
behind a dwarf alder bush which screened it from any stray automobilist
who might be passing. Thus, in case of pursuit, he and his brother
would merely be changing tires; and would know nothing of any missing
baby.
Failing to find a jack under the seat, the driver climbed over into the
adjoining field in search of two or three big stones to serve the same
purpose in holding up the axle. For several minutes the men worked fast
and tensely; blind and deaf to anything except the need of haste.
Thus it was that neither of them saw a tawny-and-snow collie,--huge and
shaggy except for a pair of absurdly tiny white forepaws,--come pacing
majestically along the road from the direction in which they were
heading. The car lamps played but faintly upon the advancing Lad; for
the dimmers had been applied.
The big dog was taking his usual before-bedtime stroll. Of old, that
evening stroll had been confined to the Place's grounds, a quarter-mile
beyond. But, lately, his new obsession for finding treasures for the
Mistress had lured him often and oftener to the highway.
Tonight, as for a day or so past, he had drawn blank in his quest. The
road had been distressingly bare of anything worth carrying home. But,
now, as he moved along, his near-sighted eyes were attracted by a dim
blur of white, behind a bush, at the road-edge; just within the dim
radiance of the car-lamps. Even sooner than he saw this, his keen
nostrils had told him of human presence there. He shifted his course to
investigate.
Standing over the compactly-fastened swathing of clothes, Laddie bent
down and sniffed. It was a human. He knew that; in spite of the thick
veil that covered the slumberer's face. But it was also a bundle. It
was a bundle which might well be expected to delight the Mistress
almost as much as had the parasol;--far more than had the defunct
chicken.
Daintily, with infinite gentleness, Lad fixed his teeth in the loosest
portion of the bundle that he could find; and lifted it. It was
amazingly heavy, even for so powerful a dog. But difficulties had never
yet swerved Lad from any set purpose. Bracing his strength, he turned
homeward, carrying the burden between his mighty jaws.
And now, he was aware of some subtler feeling than mere desire to bring
the Mistress one more gift. His great heart had ever gone out in loving
tenderness toward everything helpless and little. He adored children.
The roughest of them could take unpardonable liberties with him. He
would let them maul and mistreat him to their heart's content; and he
reveled in such usage; although to humans other than the Mistress and
the Master, he was sternly resentful of any familiarity.
His senses told him this bundle contained a child;--a baby. It had been
lying alone and defenseless beside the road. He had found it. And his
heart warmed to the helpless little creature which was so heavy to
carry.
Proudly, now, he strode along; his muscles tensed; moving as if on
parade. The bundle swinging from his jaws was carried as lovingly as
though it might break in sixty pieces at any careless step.
The spare tire was adjusted. The men glanced nervously up and down the
road. No car or pedestrian was in sight. The driver scrambled to his
place at the wheel. His brother crossed to the alder bush behind whose
shelter he had left the baby. Back he came, on the run.
"'Tain't there!" he blithered. "'Tain't there! 'Tain't rolled nowheres,
neither. It's been took! Lord! What're we goin' to--?"
He got no further. His brother had scrambled down from the seat; and
pushed him aside, in a dash for the alder. But a few seconds of frantic
search proved the baby was gone. The two men glared at each other in
silent horror. Then by tacit impulse they got into the car.
"It couldn't 'a' walked off, could it?" gurgled the driver. "They can't
walk, can they;--not at six months? Not far, anyhow?"
"It--it was took!" sputtered his brother between chattering teeth.
Another moment of scared silence. Then the driver rallied his awed
faculties. Stepping on the self-starter, he brought the runabout into
motion, and headed down the road.
"Where are you goin'?" queried the other. "No use a-keepin' on, this
d'rection. It--"
"If it was took," answered the driver, truculently, "'twasn't took by
no car. We'd 'a' heard a car or we'd 'a' saw it. If it had been took by
two or three folks a-walkin', we'd 'a' heard 'em blat to each other
when they seen the kid layin' there. That means it was took by one
person, all alone. He didn't pass us, while we was workin'. Then,
unless he's took to the fields, he's a-goin' the same way we are. An'
we're due to overhaul him. There'll only just be one of him; and
there's two of us. I ain't aimin' to lose my slice of that two
thousand; without hittin' a single lick to get it. If he--SUFFERIN'
PINK SNAKES!"
In his sudden dismay, he drove down both feet on the pedals. The
indignant car stalled. Through the blackness ahead, the white ray from
the lamps had picked up a weird object. And the two brethren stared at
it, slack-jawed.
Walking sedately on, in front of the stalled runabout, and in the exact
centre of the dusty road, moved an animal. Huge and formless it bulked,
as it receded into the fainter glow of light. It might have been
anything from a lion to a bear; in that uncertain glimmer. But, the
lamps' rays played strongly enough on one detail of the apparition to
identify it, past doubt, to both the dumfounded onlookers. They saw,
clearly enough, a white bundle suspended from the monster's
jaws;--unquestionably the bundle which had been laid behind the alder.
For perhaps ten seconds the men sat moveless, gaping goggle-eyed. Then,
the driver murmured in a faraway voice:
"Did you--did you--was you fool enough to think you seen anything? Was
you, Eitel?"
"I-I sure seen SUTHIN', Roodie," quavered Eitel. "Suthin' with--with
the kid in its mouth. It--"
"That's good enough for me!" announced the heroic Roodie, stamping
again on the self-starter.
"If we both seen it, then it was THERE. And I'm goin' after it."
In another brace of seconds the lights once, more picked up the dark
animal with its white bundle. Eitel shrank back in his seat. But Roodie
put on another notch of gas. And, coming closer, both recognized the
strange bundle-carrier as a dark-hued collie dog.
The identification did little to ease their feeling of incredulous
mystification. But it banished their superstitious dread. Both of them
were used to dogs. And though neither could guess how this particular
dog happened to be stealing the twice-stolen baby, yet neither had the
remotest fear of tackling the beast and rescuing its human plunder.
Roodie brought the abused runabout to another jerky stop within a few
inches of the unconcerned collie. And he and Eitel swarmed earthward
from opposite sides of the machine. In a trice, Roodie had struck Lad
over the head; while Eitel grabbed at the bundle to drag it away from
the dog.
Now, the weight of years was beginning to tell on Laddie. But that
weight had not robbed him of the ability to call, at will, upon much of
his oldtime strength and bewildering swiftness. Nor had it in any way
dampened his hero-spirit or dulled his uncannily wise brain.
He had been plodding peacefully along, bearing home a wonderful gift--a
gift oftener confided to the care of storks than of collies--when he
had been attacked from two sides in most unprovoked fashion. He had
been struck! His blood surged hot.
There was no Law governing such a case. So, as usual in new crises, Lad
proceeded to make his own Law and to put it into effect.
A deft turn of the head eluded Eitel's snatching hand. With the
lightness of a feather, Lad deposited the bundle in the soft dust of
the road. In practically, the same gesture, the dog's curving eye-tooth
slashed Eitel's outstretched wrist to the bone.
Then, staggering under a second head-blow from Roodie, the collie
wheeled with lightning-swift fury upon this more hostile of his two
assailants.
Hurling himself at the man's throat, in silent ferocity, he well-nigh
turned the nocturnal battle into a killing. But Roodie's left arm, by
instinct, flew up to guard his threatened jugular.
Through coat and shirt and skin and flesh,--as in the case of Lady's
slayer,--the great dog's teeth clove their way; their rending snap
checked only by the bone of the forearm. The impetus of his
eighty-pound body sent the man clean off his balance. And together the
two crashed backward to the ground.
Lad was not of the bulldog breed which seeks and gains a hold and then
hangs on to it with locked jaws. A collie fights with brain as much as
with teeth. By the time he and Roodie struck the earth, Lad tore free
from the unloving embrace and whizzed about to face the second of his
foes.
Eitel had taken advantage of the moment's respite to seize with his
uninjured hand his slashed wrist. Then, on second thought, he released
the wounded wrist and bent over the baby; with a view to picking him up
and regaining the comparative safety of the car's floor. But his
well-devised maneuver was not carried out.
For, as he leaned over the bundle, extending his hands to pick it up,
Lad's teeth drove fiercely into the section of Eitel's plump anatomy
which chanced to be presented to him by the stooping down of the
kidnaper. Deep clove his sharp fangs. Nor did Eitel Schwartz sit down
again with any degree of comfort for many a long day.
With resounding howls of pain, Eitel thrashed up and down the road;
endeavoring to shake off this rear attack. The noise awakened the baby;
who added his wails to the din. Roodie got dizzily to his feet; his
left forearm useless and anguished from the tearing of its muscles:
"Shut up!" he bellowed. "You want to bring the whole county down on us?
We--"
He ceased speaking; and lurched at full speed to the car and to the top
of its single seat. For, at sound of his voice, Lad had loosed his grip
on the screeching Eitel and whirled about on this earlier adversary.
The man reached the car-seat and slammed the door behind him, perhaps a
sixth of a second too soon for Lad to reach him.
Eitel, warned by his brother's bawled command, made a rush for the
other side of the machine and clambered up. He was a trifle less
fortunate than had been Roodie, in making this ascent. For Lad's
flashing jaws grazed his ankle and carried away in that snap a sample
of Eitel's best town-going trousers.
Thus, on the seat of the car, swaying, and clutching at each other,
crouched the two sore-wounded brethren; while Lad ravened about the
vehicle, springing upward now and, again in futile effort to clear the
top of the closed door.
Far down the road shone the lights of an approaching motor. Eitel
dropped into the driving seat and set the runabout into motion. Once
more, the dread of pursuit and of capture and of prison danced
hideously before his frightened mental vision.
Barely missing the crying baby, as the runabout jerked forward, he made
a fruitless attempt to run down the raging collie. Then he addressed
himself to the business of getting himself and his brother as far out
of the way as possible, before the oncoming car should reach the scene
of strife.
As a matter of fact, the other car never reached this spot. Its
occupants were two youths and two damsels, in search of a sequestered
space of road where they might halt for a brief but delectable "petting
party," on their way to a dance in the village. They found such a
space, about a furlong on the thither side of the curve where the
runabout had stopped. And they advanced no farther.
Lad, for a few rods, gave chase to the retreating Schwartzes. Then, the
heavy exertions of the past minute or two began to exact toll on his
aging body. Also, the baby was still whimpering in a drowsy monotone,
as the paregoric sought to renew its sway on the racket awakened brain.
The dog turned pantingly back to the bundle; pawed it softly, as though
to make sure the contents were not harmed; then once more picked it up
gingerly between his reddened jaws; and continued his sedate homeward
journey.
The Mistress and the Master were sitting on the veranda. It was almost
bedtime. The Master arose, to begin his nightly task of locking the
lower windows. From somewhere on the highroad that lay two hundred
yards distant from the house, came the confused noise of shouts. Then,
as he listened, the far-off sounds ceased. He went on with his task of
locking up; and returned in a minute or two to the veranda.
As he did so, Lad came walking slowly up the porch steps. In his mouth
he carried something large and white and dusty. This he proceeded to
deposit with much care at the feet of the Mistress. Then he stood back;
tail waving, dark eyes mischievously expectant.
"Another dividend from the curve!" laughed the Master. "What is it,
this time? A pillow or--?"
He broke off in the middle of his amused query. For, even as he turned
his flashlight on the dusty and blood-streaked bundle, the baby began
once more to cry.
The local chief of police, in the village across the lake, was making
ready for bed, when a telephone summons brought him back to his lower
hallway.
"Hello!" came the Master's hail, over the wire. "Chief, has there been
any alarm sent out for--for a missing baby?"
"Baby?" echoed the Chief. "No. Have you lost one?"
"No. I've found one. At least, Laddie has. He's just brought it home.
It is dressed in unusually costly things, my wife says. There was a
white baby-blanket strapped around it. And there are dust and streaks
of fresh blood on the blanket. But the baby himself isn't hurt at all.
And--"
"I'll be over there, in fifteen minutes," said the Chief, alive with
professional interest.
But in ten minutes he was on the wire once more.
"Has the baby blanket got the monogram, 'B.R.R', on one corner?" he
asked excitedly.
"Yes," answered the Master. "I was going to tell you that, when you
hung up. And on--"
"That's the one!" fairly shouted the Chief. "As soon as you finished
talking to me, I got another call. General alarm out for a kidnaped
baby. Belongs to those Rennick people, up the Valley. The artists that
rented the old Beasley place this summer. The baby was stolen, an hour
ago; right out of the nursery. I'll phone 'em that he's found; and then
I'll be over."
"All right. There's another queer point about all this. Our dog--"
"Speaking of dogs," went on the garrulous Chief, "this is a wakeful
evening for me. I just got a call from the drug store that a couple of
fellows have stopped there to get patched up from dog-bites. They say a
dozen stray curs set on 'em, while they were changing a tire. The
druggist thought they acted queer, contradicting each other in bits of
their story. So he's taking his time, fixing them; till I can drop in
on my way to your house and give 'em the once over. So---"
"Do more than that!" decreed the Master, on quick inspiration. "What I
started to tell you is that there's blood on Lad's jaws; as well as on
the baby's blanket. If two men say they've been bitten by dogs--"
"I get you!" yelled the other. "Good-by! I got no time to waste, when a
clew like that is shaken in front of me. See you later!"
Long before the Chief arrived at the Place with triumphant tidings of
his success in "sweating" the truth from the mangled and nerve-racked
Schwartzes, the two other actors in the evening's drama were miles away
among the sunflecked shadows of Dreamland.
The baby, industriously and unsanitarily sucking one pudgy thumb, was
cuddled down to sleep in the Mistress's lap. And, in the depths of his
cave under the living-room piano, Lad was stretched at perfect ease;
his tiny white forepaws straight in front of him.
But his deep breathing was interrupted, now and then, by a muttered
sigh. For, at last, one of his beautiful presents had failed to cause
happiness and praise from his gods. Instead, it had apparently turned
the whole household inside out; to judge by the noisy excitement and
the telephoning and all. And, even in sleep, the old dog felt justly
chagrined at the way his loveliest present to the Mistress had been
received.
It was so hard to find out what humans would enjoy and what they
wouldn't!