GLUM GUNN’S REVENGE.
They had opened the menagerie in a certain large town. It was the
evening-exhibition, and Clare was going his round with his wand of
office, pointing to the different animals, and telling of them what he
thought would most interest his hearers, when another attendant, the
most friendly of all, came behind him, and whispered that Glum Gunn had
got hold of Abby, and must be going to do the dog a mischief. Clare
instantly gave him his wand, and bolted through the crowd, reproaching
himself that, because Abby seemed restless, he had shut him up: if he
had not been shut up, Gunn would not have got hold of him!
When he reached the top of the steps, there was Gunn on the platform,
addressing the crowd. It was plain to the boy, by this time not
inexperienced, that he had been drinking, and, though not drunk, had
taken enough to rouse the worst in him. He had the poor dog by the
scruff of the neck, and was holding him out at arm’s-length. Abdiel
was the very picture of wretchedness. Except in colour and size, he
was more like a flea than like any sort of dog--with his hind legs
drawn up, his tail tucked in tight between them, and his back-bone
curved into a half circle. In this uncomfortable plight, the tyrant
was making a burlesque speech about him.
“Here you see, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, resuming a little, for
a few fresh spectators were in the act of joining the border of the
crowd, “as I have already had the honour of informing you, one of the
most extraordinary productions of the vegetable kingdom. It is not
unnatural that you should be, as I see you are, inclined to dispute
the assertion. I am, indeed, far from being surprised at your
scepticism; the very strangeness of the phenomenon consists in his
being to all appearance neither more nor less than a dog. But when I
have the honour of leaving you to your astonishment, I shall have
convinced you that he is in reality nothing but a vegetable. I would
plainly call him what he is--a cucumber, did I not fear the statement
would demand of you more than your powers of credence, evidently
limited, could well afford. But when I have, before your eyes, cut the
throat of this vegetable, so extremely like an ugly mongrel, and when
those eyes see no single drop of blood follow the knife, then you will
be satisfied of the truth of my assertion; and, having gazed on such a
specimen of Nature’s jugglery, will, I hope, do me the honour to walk
up and behold yet greater wonders within.”
He ceased, and set about getting his knife from his pocket.
Clare, watching Gunn’s every motion, had partially sheltered himself
behind the side of the doorway. One who did not know Gunn, might well
have taken the thing for a practical joke, as innocent as it was
foolish, the pretended conclusion of which would be met by some
comical frustration, probably the dog’s escape; but Clare saw that his
friend was in mortal peril. With the eye of one used to wild animals
and the unexpectedness of their sudden motions, he stood following
every movement of Gunn’s hands, ready to anticipate whatever action
might indicate its own approach: he watched like the razor-clawed
lynx. While Gunn held Abdiel as he did, he could not seriously injure
him; and although he was hurting him dreadfully, his hate-possessed
fingers, like a live, writhing vice, worrying and squeezing the skin
of his poor little neck, it yet was better to wait the right moment.
When he saw the arm that held the dog drawn in, and the other hand
move to the man’s pocket, he knew that in a moment more, with a
theatrical cry of dismay from the murderer, the body of his friend
would be dashed on the ground, his head half off, and the blood
streaming from his neck. They were mostly a rather vulgar people that
stood about the platform, not a few of them capable of being delighted
with such an end to a joke poor without some catastrophe.
The wretch had stooped a little, and slightly relaxed his hold on the
dog to open his knife, when with a bound that doubled the force of the
blow Clare struck him on the side of the head. He had no choice where
to hit him, and his fist fell on the spot so lately torn by the claws
of Pummy. The tyrant fell, and lay for a moment stunned. Abdiel flung
himself on his master, exultant at finding the thing after all the
joke he had been trying in vain to believe it. Clare caught him up and
dashed down the steps, one instant before Glum Gunn rose, cursing
furiously. Clare charged the crowd: it was not a time to be civil!
Abdiel’s life was in imminent danger! That his own was in the same
predicament did not occur to him.
His sudden rush took the crowd by surprise, or those next the caravans
would, I fear, have stopped him. Some started to follow him, but the
portion of the crowd he came to next, had more in it of a better sort,
and closed up behind him. There all the women and most of the men took
the part of the boy that loved his dog.
“What be you a-shovin’ at?” bawled a huge country-man, against whom
Gunn made a cannon as he rushed in pursuit. “Aw’ll knock ’ee flat--aw
wull! Let little un an’ ’s dawg aloan! Aw be for un! Hit me an’ ye
choose--aw doan’t objec’!”
Every attempt Gunn made to pass him, the man pushed his great body in
his way, and he soon saw there was no chance of overtaking Clare. The
wings of Hate are swift, but not so swift as those of rescuing Love;
and Help is far readier to run to Love than to Hate.