THE ORDEAL OF THE RING
Finn's first winter was a mild one, and it passed without his
noticing anything remarkable in climatic conditions. But he was
aware of change when spring came. The Downs round Finn's home never
seemed to get really wet. The drainage of their chalky soil was
such that their surface could not hold much moisture, and outside
the Downs the world was as yet a closed book to Finn. But spring
asserted itself notably in his veins, and appeared to enter into a
partnership with his lusty youth, and wholesome, generous scale of
living, to speed the young Wolfhound's growth in wonderful style.
Long, slow trots along the Sussex highways and by-ways, behind the
bicycle of the Master or the Mistress, hardened Finn's round feet
without overstraining his young legs, for the reason that the pace
was always set with special reference to his capabilities in this
direction. Even in the winter nine-tenths of his waking hours were
spent in the open; yet so wise and constant was the supervision of
his life that he never knew what chill meant, and never lay on damp
ground, never missed a meal, and never suffered from the penalties
which attend overtaxed canine digestion, as surely as they attend
the same state in human beings.
[Illustration]
On the morning of his first birthday, Finn, with his sister
Kathleen and Tara and the Master, walked down to the little local
railway station and was weighed. He weighed 119 lbs., exactly 26
1/2 lbs. more than his sister, and thirteen pounds less than his
mother. With the standard pressed down upon his shoulder-bones he
stood within an eighth of an inch of thirty-five inches in height.
(The height of Wolfhounds is measured from the shoulder to the
ground, not from the head.) It must be remembered that although
some dogs reach their full development in one year from birth,
Irish Wolfhounds are not really fully developed before the end of
the second year, though they may be said to attain their full
height, and probably their full length, in about eighteen months.
After that, however, comes a good deal of what breeders call
"furnishing," which means filling out, general development of flesh
and muscle and coat, and an all-round hardening and "setting."
Chest and loin deepen and widen a good deal in the second year;
ribs, legs, jaws, tail, and neck all develop and strengthen greatly
during this period, under such favourable conditions as Finn
enjoyed. But he was a noble-looking young hound, even on this day
which, technically, saw the end of his whelphood.
And then came three more months of Sussex downland summer, the
hunting of innumerable rabbits, out-of-door days which were fifteen
hours long, and a steadily increasing amount of slow-road exercise,
for which Finn was still fortified by three good meals a day, and
those of the best that care and science could devise. In early
October the Master devised a new game, tolerably amusing in its
way, but rather lacking in point and excitement, Finn thought. A
ring was marked out in the orchard by means of a few faggots being
stuck into the ground at intervals, and in the centre of this ring
the Mistress of the Kennels would take up her stand as a sort of
director of ceremonies. Then, sometimes with the assistance of the
maidservant and the gardener, and sometimes a couple of village
lads, Tara and Kathleen and Finn would be led gravely round and
round, and to and fro, by the Master, while all their movements
were closely watched from the centre of the ring. At first Finn
found this a good deal of a nuisance, because he disliked having a
lead attached to his collar; his inclination was to pull against it
sideways. Before him always, however, he had the gracious example
of his beautiful mother, who never did more than keep the lead
nicely tight while she marched round, with her head well up, her
tail hanging in a graceful sweeping curve, and her whole body
radiantly expressive of alertness. Gradually it was borne in upon
Finn that these were matters which touched his reputation, his
pride, his belief in himself; that he, Finn, was being observed and
judged with regard to his appearance and deportment. Once possessed
of this idea, who so stately proud in all the Wolfhound world as
Finn? At the end of a week he could march as sedately as Tara
herself, or bound forward with the springy elasticity of a tiger-cat
at a touch on his flank from the Master's hand; stand erect on
his hind-feet, with one fore-paw on the Master's forefinger raised
shoulder high; or fall to attention with hind-quarters well set
out, fore-feet even and forward, head up, and tail correctly
curved, in the position of a thoroughbred hackney at rest. It was
great fun to find how easily commendation could be earned from the
Master in this simple manner, for Finn never realized that quite a
number of hours of patient instruction and practice had been
devoted to the attainment of this end.
Then there came a mid-October morning when, in place of the early
scamper on the Downs, Finn and Kathleen were given a light
breakfast a little before daylight arrived, and after that were
treated to an unusually elaborate grooming. Finn had an exciting
sense of impending change and adventure, and even Tara seemed moved
to a stately kind of restlessness which kept her pacing the den as
though performing a minuet, instead of sitting or lying at her
ease. Tara seemed to be a good deal moved and excited when two
bright nickel chains, with queer little tin medals attached to
them, were produced, and fitted on two new green collars for Finn
and Kathleen. She nosed these chains with great interest, for they
roused all kinds of vague memories in her, and anticipations, too,
which she could not define to herself. (Finn and Kathleen had never
seen dog chains before, and paid very little heed to them now.
Their necks and shoulders had never tasted the irk of the state
which is called being "tied up.") The Master drew the attention of
the Mistress of the Kennels to Tara's interest in the chains, and
then he stroked the great bitch's head as he said--
"Never any more, old lady. You have done your share, and shall
never be hustled about at shows again; so just lie down and go to
sleep. The Missis will be home to see you again this evening. Be a
good girl, and wish your son and daughter luck!"
Tara watched them wistfully as they all filed out of the stable-yard
gateway to the road, and then, with the philosophy born of
honoured age and matronhood, returned to the den and lay down with
her muzzle on the Master's slippers.
Finn was weighed on the station platform that morning, and turned
the scale at 139 lbs., with nine months still before him for
"furnishing."
"Of course, one has to remember that not a single chance has been
missed with Finn," said the Master. "His development is probably
some months ahead of the average hound of his age, but it is pretty
good at that; yes, I think it is pretty good."
And then a train came roaring into the station, and Finn and
Kathleen, who up till now had only occasionally seen trains from a
distance, lowered their tails, and pulled back a little on their
chains. The Master had a pleasant way with people like railway
guards, and this particular train had not very many people in it.
Accordingly the two young hounds presently found themselves in a
passenger compartment, the door of which was locked. So chains were
removed, and while Finn stood with his nose against the glass of
one window, Kathleen, facing the other way, had her nose against
the opposite window. When the train started, with a jerk, Finn had
his first abrupt sensation of travel, and he did not like it at
all. It seemed to him that the ground was suddenly snatched from
under him, and then he saw trees and posts and houses flying bodily
past him. He barked loudly at one little flying house, which seemed
almost to brush the window against which his nose rested, and the
Mistress of the Kennels laughed at him as she placed a hand
caressingly on his neck. Now Finn detested being laughed at. He did
not know what it meant, and when the Master laughed _with_ him,
during a frolic of any kind, he liked the sound very much. But
being laughed at always made the hair stir uncomfortably on his
shoulder-blades. As the culprit in this case was the Mistress of
the Kennels, he did not even look at her angrily; but when Tara
laughed at him, as she often had done in the past, he always
protested with a sort of throaty beginning of a growl, which was
not so much really a growl as an equivalent for the sound humans
make and describe as "Tut, tut!" or "Tsh, tsh!" Finn did not again
bark at a flying house or tree; but, though the whole experience
interested him very much, he was greatly puzzled by some of the
phenomena connected with this railway journey.
In due course, but not before Finn had become comparatively blase
as a traveller, and more than a little weary of the whole thing,
the chains were put on again, and the hounds were led out from the
train into the midst of a crowd of strange people. Finn had no idea
that there were anything like so many people in the world as he
found pressing about him now, and many of them were leading dogs on
chains. Finn's attitude towards these strange dogs was one of
considerable reserve. He was very self-conscious; rather like a
young man from the country who suddenly and unexpectedly found
himself in the midst of some fashionable crush in London; an
exceedingly well-bred young man, of remarkably fine figure; a
sportsman of some prowess, too; but one who felt that he had not
been introduced to any of the members of the noisy, bustling
throng, and fancied that every one else was conscious of the fact.
New experiences were crowding thick and fast upon Finn and Kathleen
just now. After rubbing shoulders with this astonishing crowd for
some minutes, they found themselves face to face for the first time
in their lives with a flight of steps. True, they each felt a
soothing hand on their shoulders, a hand they knew and loved, but
the thing was disconcerting none the less. At first glance these
steps obviously called for small leaps and bounds as a mode of
progression. And yet, when one took ever so small a leap, one's
nose inevitably came into sharp contact with the legs of strange
humans who climbed in front; a distinctly unpleasant experience,
because undignified, and implying a desire for familiarity which
Finn by no means felt.
However, an end came to the steps at length, and then, after
walking some distance in the open road, and being allowed to run
loose for a few minutes in a quiet street, full of strange, strong
smells and a curious absence of air, Finn and Kathleen were led
into a large building, bigger than the orchard at home, and
containing, besides countless humans, all the dogs that ever were
in all the world, all talking incoherently, and together. At least,
that was how it struck Finn and Kathleen. As a matter of fact,
there were some thousands of dogs in the Crystal Palace that day,
for it was the opening day of the great annual Kennel Club Show;
the biggest society event of the year among dogs. It was a more
exclusive assembly than any of the purely human sort, because every
dog, among all the thousands there assembled, was an aristocrat
with a pedigree as long as his body. There was not a parvenu among
them all; and there are no human assemblies about which that may be
said.
It is difficult to conceive precisely how great an ordeal it was
for Finn and Kathleen to face, when they were led down the length
of this great building to their own particular bench among the
other Irish Wolfhounds, of whom there were some thirty or forty
present. For fifty yards or more they walked down an aisle between
double rows of benches, every yard of which was occupied by
terriers of one sort and another, all yapping and barking at the
top of their respective registers. Be it remembered that Finn and
Kathleen, up till that morning, had never been at close quarters
with more than one dog at a time, and had never seen more than
about a dozen dogs outside their own breed altogether. The noise of
barking, the pungency and variety of smells, and the crowded
multiplicity of doggy personalities were at first overpowering, and
Finn and his sister walked with lowered tails, quick-shifting eyes,
raised hackles, and twitching skin. But pride of race, and the
self-confidence which goes with exceptional strength, soon came to
Finn's aid, and by the time he reached his own bench, his tail was
carried high and muzzle also, though he walked with unusual
rigidity, and at heart was far from comfortable.
Though the benches were continuous, the space allotted to each dog
was divided from that of the next dog by a strong galvanized iron
net-work, and each dog's chain was fastened to the back of his
bench. When the Wolfhounds were benched, Finn had his sister upon
his right, and (though he never suspected it) his redoubtable sire,
the great Champion Dermot Asthore, on his left. On Kathleen's right
was a big rebel of a dog with an angry eye, named Wolf Tone. Facing
them, on the other side of their aisle, was a long row of their
cousins, the Deerhound family; while behind them, and out of sight,
was an even longer row of their cousins on the other side: the
Great Dane family. Farther on, beyond Champion Dermot Asthore, who
sat in the rear of his bench wrapped in a cloak of kingly
isolation--he disliked shows very much, and now, late in his great
career, was thoroughly weary of them--was a row of five and twenty
distant connections of Finn's, belonging to the Russian Wolfhound
or Borzois family. Finn had noticed these white and lemon coloured
curled darlings as he was led along to his own bench, and his
nostrils had wrinkled with scorn as he noted their "prettiness,"
the snipey sharpness of their long muzzles, the extraordinary
slimness and delicacy of their legs, the effeminate narrowness of
their chests, and the toyish blue ribbons that decorated some of
their collars. Mentally, he granted these fashionable darlings
fleetness, but absolutely withheld from them the killing powers
they are credited with. "Bah!" one may imagine Finn muttering to
himself. "Foxy tails, weasel's faces, terrier's legs--you are
almost toys!"
Heavy-coated, massive old Dermot Asthore took no more notice of
Finn than of the rest of the show. He was supremely bored, and,
being perfectly aware that the show lasted three days, his
immediate prospect disgusted him. One fancied that on the few
occasions upon which he did open his mouth at all, his remark was
always the same--"Tcha! And at my time of life, too!" But Finn was
not otherwise neglected. The Mistress of the Kennels had a little
camp-stool, and on this she sat mid-way between Finn and Kathleen.
Finn also had the Master's hand-bag in his section of the bench;
and that was rather nice and companionable. Also, the Master
himself seemed seldom to be far away. He flitted to and fro,
generally in conversation with somebody, and always followed, for
so long as he was in sight, by the eyes of Finn and Kathleen. In
his hand he carried a yellow book which told him the names of every
dog in all that vast assemblage of canine princes and lordlings,
with details, too, as to their exalted ancestry.
The Mistress of the Kennels was studying a similar book, and if
Finn, whose muzzle at this time was just above her shoulder, could
have read, he would have seen that she was busy with the Irish
Wolfhound section of the catalogue. This showed her that there were
three separate classes for Irish Wolfhound dogs, and three for
bitches of the same breed--Open, Limit, and Novice; with first,
second, and third prizes to be won in each class. The Open classes
were for all and any Irish Wolfhounds of each sex; the Limit
classes were for such as had not previously won more than six first
prizes; and the Novice classes were for hounds that had never won a
first prize in any show. There was also a junior class for hounds
of both sexes under the age of eighteen months. In the Open dog
class there appeared the names of no fewer than two fully-fledged
champions, and two other fully developed hounds that were already
within measurable reach of championship honours; besides several
other Wolfhounds of high repute and proved prowess as prize-winners
at shows. In the Open bitch class there was one champion entered,
and four or five others of whom great things had been predicted. In
the other classes it was evident that competition would be brisk.
In the Limit class, for example, were several hounds well past
maturity who had already won at other shows as many as four and
five first prizes. The Novice classes included the names of some
extremely promising hounds, several of whom had already won second
and third prizes elsewhere. In the junior class there were four
other entries, besides those of Finn and Kathleen. But Finn and
Kathleen had been boldly entered right through, in all classes for
which they were eligible. Old breeders who had not seen them smiled
over the breeder's enthusiasm in entering fifteen months old
youngsters in Open classes, where they would meet old champions,
whose very names carried great weight, both with the judges and the
public.
A young Irish Wolfhound, lying down among the straw of his bench,
is a very deceptive animal. When he is, say, three years old, his
beard and brows, massive shoulders, and set, assured expression
give one fair warning of the commanding presence he will display
when he rises. But when he is yet young he looks a much lesser
creature than he is when seen on a show bench, particularly if, as
so often happens, he makes a kind of nest for himself in the straw.
Most of the people specially interested in Wolfhounds paused
opposite Finn's place, and made some passing remark about: "Fine
head, that!" "Good muzzle that youngster has!" or if they noticed
one of his forelegs over the straw: "Wonderful heavy timbers,
those!" But they paid no very particular heed really to the hounds
from the cottage beside the Downs. Now and again, however, an old
breeder, passing leisurely along the benches, would pause when he
had passed Kathleen, and, after a quick glance back, return to
Finn's place, looking up his number in the catalogue, and gazing at
the young hound with a gravely calculating eye. "Fifteen months
old!" muttered one of these, glancing to and fro between his
catalogue and Finn. "H'm! By old Dermot--Tara. Yes. Finn. Ah!" And
so on down the benches. Finn had a notion that these men knew a
good deal; they had a knowledgeable way with them. Finn would have
obeyed them readily. That was how their manner impressed him.
By the time Finn had to some extent exhausted the first novelty of
his surroundings, and was contemplating the desirability of
sleeping off some of its effects--the number of new impressions he
had formed that morning was at least equal to those of a human's
first visit to a great picture gallery--the Master came along with
something of a rush, chains were unsnapped, and Finn and his sister
were taken down from the bench. A number of other Wolfhounds were
leaving the bench at the same time, and being led in the direction
of a fenced-in judging ring (square in shape, by the way) at one
end of the building. The dog classes for Irish Wolfhounds were
about to be judged, and the Mistress of the Kennels brought
Kathleen along, though her sex was not to be judged for some time,
because she knew the youngster would be unhappy if left alone on
the bench. The Master was leading Finn, and, before they entered
the ring, he passed his hand solicitously over the dog's immature
brows and beard once or twice, even as a very young man may be
noticed to tug at his moustache with a view, presumably, to making
the very most of it. The Mistress found a place for herself beside
the ring with Kathleen, which not only gave her a good view of the
judging, but also showed her plainly to all in the ring. This was
for Finn's especial benefit. And then the Master walked into the
ring with Finn, and took up his place next to the lady who led the
grand old hound who had sired Finn--Champion Dermot.
In the centre of the ring, accompanied by a busy steward with a
sheaf of notes in his hand, stood the Judge of Irish Wolfhounds; a
man grown grey, white-haired indeed, in the study of dog-folk, and
one of whom it might be said that, by his own single-hearted
efforts, he had saved the breed of Irish Wolfhounds from becoming
extinct in the middle of last century, and accomplished a great
deal of the spade work which has brought the modern breed to its
present flourishing state. No man living could claim to know more
of Irish Wolfhounds than this white-haired Judge, who stood in the
centre of a ring formed by all the greatest aristocrats of the
historic breed.
"Move them round, please," he said quietly. "Keep them moving as
freely as possible."
Finn was the only hound in that ring under two and a half years of
age, and Finn was just fifteen months old, a child among the
acknowledged leaders and chieftains of his race. One noticed it in
the comparative angularity and leggyness of his build. He carried
less flesh than the others, was far less set; in a word, they had
"furnished," and Finn had not. The Mistress of the Kennels, from
her place beside the ring, noticed these things, and sighed for the
soaring ambition which had led to the entering of this tyro in Open
class.
"Finn, boy!" said she, in an impressive, long-drawn whisper, as
Finn passed her place. The youngster's ears lifted, and his fine
neck curved superbly as he looked round at the Mistress. And just
then the Master bent over him, whispering close beside his ear
certain nonsense words which were associated in Finn's mind with
certain events, like rabbit-hunting and racing on the Downs.
"Chu, chu, chu--u--u--, Finn!" whispered the Master. And that was a
nonsense word connected with two things only: the unexpected rising
of a rabbit ahead, and the new game in which Finn had been led
round a ring with Tara and Kathleen in the orchard at home. And, to
be sure, there was the Mistress of the Kennels looking on all the
time, and Finn and the Master walking round, and other dogs, and----
And it was thus that Finn passed a Judge at a dog show for the
first time. It was thus that he realized that it was a show; that
he, Finn, was being judged, compared with others of his kind. From
that moment Finn showed the best that was in him to show, with an
air as kingly as that of any of his warrior ancestors in the
ancient days when they were the friends and defenders of kings, the
companions in sport of great chieftains. When next Finn approached
the Judge in the march round, the Master touched his flank, and he
rose up to his full towering height, his fore-paws higher than a
man's head, and the Master pretended to rebuke him with: "Down,
Finn! Down, you rascal!" But Finn knew well, by his tone, that all
was well, and his own appearance most imposing. The Judge, in the
centre of the ring, chewed the end of his pencil reflectively, and
now and again he said, "That will do, thank you!" to some
exhibitor, and that exhibitor withdrew from the ring with his
hound, wearing an elaborately assumed air of indifference or
relief, and feeling much real chagrin. Occasionally the Judge would
merely wave his hand for the same purpose, with a nod to some
particular exhibitor.
During about the fifth or sixth march round the Judge waved his
hand and nodded to the Master with a murmured remark. The Master's
face fell, and, as he drew abreast of the opening in the side of
the ring, he moved out slowly with Finn. To him then came a
steward, fussily official. He was not to withdraw from the ring, it
appeared, but only to take up his stand in one corner of it with
Champion Dermot Asthore, Champion Munster, and a magnificent hound
named Cormac. The Judge was making notes on slips of paper now, and
in another minute or so the ring was empty, save for the three
hounds mentioned and Finn.
And now there came the most searching sort of examination of these
four Wolfhounds, who were drawn up in a row before the Judge.
Teeth, eyes, claws, all were in turn closely scrutinized by the man
who had weighed and studied such matters for the half of a century.
Muscles and joints were carefully felt, and all in a manner which
no self-respecting hound could take exception to; with the assured,
gentle, knowledgeable touch which soothes and inspires confidence
in all animal folk. Then the four hounds must walk round once more
in single file. Then they must run to and fro, singly. And, lastly,
they must stand together to have the measuring standard applied to
their shoulders. Young Finn was the last to come under the
standard; and the Judge measured him four times over before he
would admit himself correct in pronouncing Finn full 35 1/4 inches
at the shoulder: "And I may say, sir, the biggest hound I ever
measured. Fifteen and a half months, you say? Tcha! Remarkable;
_re_-markable, sir." And this Judge knew more about Irish
Wolfhounds than any other man living.
Cormac's master was told that he could stand aside, and a murmur
went round the ring of spectators to the effect that Cormac was the
winner. Then Champion Munster was told to stand aside, and the
crowd placed him second. And then the Judge spent five reflective
minutes in pondering over Champion Dermot Asthore, the most famous
Irish Wolfhound of his day, and young Finn, his son, and the son of
beautiful Tara. The crowd wondered which of these two was to have
third prize, the celebrated old champion or the tyro.
At last the Judge drew back, saying: "That will do, thank you!"
The crowd surged round the notice-board. Excitement ran high now,
for this was the most important Wolfhound class of the whole show,
and the stewards were approaching the board to pin up the winning
numbers. The Master glanced across at the Mistress of the Kennels,
and stooped then to fondle Finn's ears, and murmur nonsense words
to him. Then he, too, pressed forward to the notice-board, and read
the awards, thus:--
1st...No. 247.
2nd...No. 248.
3rd...No. 261.
V.H.C...No. 256.
H.C...No. 259.
Not daring to be quite certain, the Master drew out the little
medal from beside Finn's collar, and read again on it Finn's
number: 247. By this single judgment, then, Finn was declared
winner of the Open class for Irish Wolfhound dogs, and that meant
that, unless a bitch could be found to beat him, Finn also won the
Challenge Shield for best Irish Wolfhound in the Show. Champion
Dermot Asthore, his sire, came second, Champion Munster third,
Cormac very highly commended, and a dog called Patrick highly
commended.
A moment later the Mistress of the Kennels was in possession of the
great news, and her arms were about Finn's neck, while Finn nosed
the momentarily neglected Kathleen's muzzle.
"You great, beautiful Finn, do you know you are first? Do you know
you've beaten all the champions?" she said. And Finn nuzzled her
shoulder and wondered why she was in any doubt about his
recognition of a thing so obvious. But it was a very great triumph
all the same; the greatest triumph that had ever fallen to a
breeder of Irish Wolfhounds, as some of those who hastened to
congratulate the Master now were careful to point out.
"For a fifteen months' novice, you know, against two champions, and
a hound like Cormac--wonderful!" they said. But all were agreed
that Finn justified the award. "He's the tallest hound in the
breed, now," said the Judge, as he passed that way, and lingered to
pass his hand over Finn's shoulder; "and he will be the biggest and
finest if he lives; distinctly the finest Irish Wolfhound I have
ever handled, and--I've handled most of them." Higher tribute from
such a Judge no dog could earn. The Master flushed with pleasure
and pride as he heard it, and turned to receive the congratulations
of the exhibitors of Champions Dermot Asthore, and Munster.
In the Limit and Novice classes Finn was awarded first place as a
matter of course. There was nothing there to beat him. And then
came the judging of the bitch classes, in which Kathleen did
extraordinarily well for so young a hound, and in such "good
company," as the saying goes. She won third prize in the Open
class, second in the Limit, and first in the Novice. And then four
other young hounds filed into the ring with Finn and Kathleen to be
judged in the junior class. The other four young hounds were of a
very good sort, but they had not the development, the bone, muscle,
and stature of Finn and Kathleen, and there was not much hesitation
in the decision which placed Finn first, Kathleen second, and a
youngster called Connemara third.
And then Finn had to be judged beside the winner in the Open class
for bitches, to decide who should be given the Challenge Shield for
the best Irish Wolfhound in the Show. And this was a task which
tried the white-haired Judge's patience for a long time. The female
was Champion Lady Iseult of Leinster, and one of the most beautiful
hounds of her sex ever seen. She was fully matured, and her
reputation was world-wide. Judged on "points," as breeders say, she
was very near to perfection. Technically, it was difficult to find
fault in her, unless that she was a shade too straight in her
hocks, a fault that often goes with great stature in a hound.
Finn's hocks were curved like an Arab stallion's, springy as a
cat's. The Judge tested the two hounds side by side, again and
again, and in every way he could think of, but without coming to a
decision between them. At last, after passing his hand down the
hocks of the Lady Iseult, he asked that they might both be run,
quickly as possible, while led. That seemed to guide him a good
deal. But it was clear that the conscientious old Judge and breeder
was not yet fully satisfied. Finally, he had the opening to the
rings closed, and a hurdle brought in. Then the Lady Iseult was
invited to run at and leap the hurdle. She did so, and with a good
grace, returning docilely enough to her master. Then the Master
loosed Finn, and the Mistress of the Kennels called him from the
far side of the ring. Finn bounded forward with the elasticity of a
cat, and cleared the hurdle with a perfect spring and fully two
feet to spare. The Judge stroked his imperial, laid a hand on the
shoulders of both hounds, and said--
"The young dog has it--the finest hound I ever saw!"
[Illustration]