fire-engine he would die of apoplexy, and seeing he'd lost his teeth, it
was lucky he had no taste for fighting; but, after his being so
condescending, I didn't say nothing.
"Anyway," says he, "every smooth-coated dog is better than any hairy old
camel like those St. Bernards, and if ever you're hungry down at the
stables, young man, come up to the house and I'll give you a bone. I
can't eat them myself, but I bury them around the garden from force of
habit and in case a friend should drop in. Ah, I see my mistress
coming," he says, "and I bid you good day. I regret," he says, "that our
different social position prevents our meeting frequent, for you're a
worthy young dog with a proper respect for your betters, and in this
country there's precious few of them have that." Then he waddles off,
leaving me alone and very sad, for he was the first dog in many days
that had spoke to me. But since he showed, seeing that I was a
stable-dog, he didn't want my company, I waited for him to get well
away. It was not a cheerful place to wait, the trophy-house. The
pictures of the champions seemed to scowl at me, and ask what right such
as I had even to admire them, and the blue and gold ribbons and the
silver cups made me very miserable. I had never won no blue ribbons or
silver cups, only stakes for the old Master to spend in the publics; and
I hadn't won them for being a beautiful high-quality dog, but just for
fighting--which, of course, as Woodstock Wizard III says, is low. So I
started for the stables, with my head down and my tail between my legs,
feeling sorry I had ever left the Master. But I had more reason to be
sorry before I got back to him.
The trophy-house was quite a bit from the kennels, and as I left it I
see Miss Dorothy and Woodstock Wizard III walking back toward them, and,
also, that a big St. Bernard, his name was Champion Red Elfberg, had
broke his chain and was running their way. When he reaches old Jimmy
Jocks he lets out a roar like a grain-steamer in a fog, and he makes
three leaps for him. Old Jimmy Jocks was about a fourth his size; but he
plants his feet and curves his back, and his hair goes up around his
neck like a collar. But he never had no show at no time, for the grizzly
bear, as Jimmy Jocks had called him, lights on old Jimmy's back and
tries to break it, and old Jimmy Jocks snaps his gums and claws the
grass, panting and groaning awful. But he can't do nothing, and the
grizzly bear just rolls him under him, biting and tearing cruel. The
odds was all that Woodstock Wizard III was going to be killed; I had
fought enough to see that: but not knowing the rules of the game among
champions, I didn't like to interfere between two gentlemen who might be
settling a private affair, and, as it were, take it as presuming of me.
So I stood by, though I was shaking terrible, and holding myself in like
I was on a leash. But at that Woodstock Wizard III, who was underneath,
sees me through the dust, and calls very faint, "Help, you!" he says.
"Take him in the hind leg," he says. "He's murdering me," he says. And
then the little Miss Dorothy, who was crying, and calling to the
kennel-men, catches at the Red Elfberg's hind legs to pull him off, and
the brute, keeping his front pats well in Jimmy's stomach, turns his big
head and snaps at her. So that was all I asked for, thank you. I went up
under him. It was really nothing. He stood so high that I had only to
take off about three feet from him and come in from the side, and my
long "punishing jaw," as mother was always talking about, locked on his
woolly throat, and my back teeth met. I couldn't shake him, but I shook
myself, and every time I shook myself there was thirty pounds of weight
tore at his wind-pipes. I couldn't see nothing for his long hair, but I
heard Jimmy Jocks puffing and blowing on one side, and munching the
brute's leg with his old gums. Jimmy was an old sport that day, was
Jimmy, or Woodstock Wizard III, as I should say. When the Red Elfberg
was out and down I had to run, or those kennel-men would have had my
life. They chased me right into the stables; and from under the hay I
watched the head groom take down a carriage-whip and order them to the
right about. Luckily Master and the young grooms were out, or that day
there'd have been fighting for everybody.
Well, it nearly did for me and the Master. "Mr. Wyndham, sir," comes
raging to the stables. I'd half killed his best prize-winner, he says,
and had oughter be shot, and he gives the Master his notice. But Miss
Dorothy she follows him, and says it was his Red Elfberg what began the
fight, and that I'd saved Jimmy's life, and that old Jimmy Jocks was
worth more to her than all the St. Bernards in the Swiss
mountains--wherever they may be. And that I was her champion, anyway.
Then, she cried over me most beautiful, and over Jimmy Jocks, too, who
was that tied up in bandages he couldn't even waddle. So when he heard
that side of it, "Mr. Wyndham, sir," told us that if Nolan put me on a
chain we could stay. So it came out all right for everybody but me. I
was glad the Master kept his place, but I'd never worn a chain before,
and it disheartened me. But that was the least of it. For the
quality-dogs couldn't forgive my whipping their champion, and they came
to the fence between the kennels and the stables, and laughed through
the bars, barking most cruel words at me. I couldn't understand how they
found it out, but they knew. After the fight Jimmy Jocks was most
condescending to me, and he said the grooms had boasted to the
kennel-men that I was a son of Regent Royal, and that when the
kennel-men asked who was my mother they had had to tell them that too.
Perhaps that was the way of it, but, however, the scandal got out, and
every one of the quality-dogs knew that I was a street-dog and the son
of a black-and-tan.
"These misalliances will occur," said Jimmy Jocks, in his old-fashioned
way; "but no well-bred dog," says he, looking most scornful at the St.
Bernards, who were howling behind the palings, "would refer to your
misfortune before you, certainly not cast it in your face. I myself
remember your father's father, when he made his debut at the Crystal
Palace. He took four blue ribbons and three specials."
But no sooner than Jimmy would leave me the St. Bernards would take to
howling again, insulting mother and insulting me. And when I tore at my
chain, they, seeing they were safe, would howl the more. It was never
the same after that; the laughs and the jeers cut into my heart, and the
chain bore heavy on my spirit. I was so sad that sometimes I wished I
was back in the gutter again, where no one was better than me, and some
nights I wished I was dead. If it hadn't been for the Master being so
kind, and that it would have looked like I was blaming mother, I would
have twisted my leash and hanged myself.
About a month after my fight, the word was passed through the kennels
that the New York Show was coming, and such goings on as followed I
never did see. If each of them had been matched to fight for a thousand
pounds and the gate, they couldn't have trained more conscientious. But
perhaps that's just my envy. The kennel-men rubbed 'em and scrubbed 'em,
and trims their hair and curls and combs it, and some dogs they fatted
and some they starved. No one talked of nothing but the Show, and the
chances "our kennels" had against the other kennels, and if this one of
our champions would win over that one, and whether them as hoped to be
champions had better show in the "open" or the "limit" class, and
whether this dog would beat his own dad, or whether his little puppy
sister couldn't beat the two of 'em. Even the grooms had their money up,
and day or night you heard nothing but praises of "our" dogs, until I,
being so far out of it, couldn't have felt meaner if I had been running
the streets with a can to my tail. I knew shows were not for such as me,
and so all day I lay stretched at the end of my chain, pretending I was
asleep, and only too glad that they had something so important to think
of that they could leave me alone.
But one day, before the Show opened, Miss Dorothy came to the stables
with "Mr. Wyndham, sir," and seeing me chained up and so miserable, she
takes me in her arms.
"You poor little tyke!" says she. "It's cruel to tie him up so; he's
eating his heart out, Nolan," she says. "I don't know nothing about
bull-terriers," says she, "but I think Kid's got good points," says she,
"and you ought to show him. Jimmy Jocks has three legs on the Rensselaer
Cup now, and I'm going to show him this time, so that he can get the
fourth; and, if you wish, I'll enter your dog too. How would you like
that, Kid?" says she. "How would you like to see the most beautiful dogs
in the world? Maybe you'd meet a pal or two," says she. "It would cheer
you up, wouldn't it, Kid?" says she. But I was so upset I could only wag
my tail most violent. "He says it would!" says she, though, being that
excited, I hadn't said nothing.
So "Mr. Wyndham, sir," laughs, and takes out a piece of blue paper and
sits down at the head groom's table.
"What's the name of the father of your dog, Nolan?" says he. And Nolan
says: "The man I got him off told me he was a son of Champion Regent
Royal, sir. But it don't seem likely, does it?" says Nolan.
"It does not!" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," short-like.
"Aren't you sure, Nolan?" says Miss Dorothy.
"No, miss," says the Master.
"Sire unknown," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," and writes it down.
"Date of birth?" asks "Mr. Wyndham, sir."
"I--I--unknown, sir," says Nolan. And "Mr. Wyndham, sir," writes it
down.
"Breeder?" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir."
"Unknown," says Nolan, getting very red around the jaws, and I drops my
head and tail. And "Mr. Wyndham, sir," writes that down.
"Mother's name?" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir."
"She was a--unknown," says the Master. And I licks his hand.
"Dam unknown," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," and writes it down. Then he
takes the paper and reads out loud: "'Sire unknown, dam unknown, breeder
unknown, date of birth unknown.' You'd better call him the 'Great
Unknown,'" says he. "Who's paying his entrance fee?"
"I am," says Miss Dorothy.
Two weeks after we all got on a train for New York, Jimmy Jocks and me
following Nolan in the smoking-car, and twenty-two of the St. Bernards
in boxes and crates and on chains and leashes. Such a barking and
howling I never did hear; and when they sees me going, too, they laughs
fit to kill.
"Wot is this--a circus?" says the railroad man.
But I had no heart in it. I hated to go. I knew I was no "show" dog,
even though Miss Dorothy and the Master did their best to keep me from
shaming them. For before we set out Miss Dorothy brings a man from town
who scrubbed and rubbed me, and sandpapered my tail, which hurt most
awful, and shaved my ears with the Master's razor, so you could 'most
see clear through 'em, and sprinkles me over with pipe-clay, till I
shines like a Tommy's cross-belts.
"Upon my word!" says Jimmy Jocks when he first sees me. "Wot a swell you
are! You're the image of your grand-dad when he made his debut at the
Crystal Palace. He took four firsts and three specials." But I knew he
was only trying to throw heart into me. They might scrub, and they might
rub, and they might pipe-clay, but they couldn't pipe-clay the insides
of me, and they was black-and-tan.
Then we came to a garden, which it was not, but the biggest hall in the
world. Inside there was lines of benches a few miles long, and on them
sat every dog in America. If all the dog snatchers in Montreal had
worked night and day for a year, they couldn't have caught so many dogs.
And they was all shouting and barking and howling so vicious that my
heart stopped beating. For at first I thought they was all enraged at my
presuming to intrude. But after I got in my place they kept at it just
the same, barking at every dog as he come in: daring him to fight, and
ordering him out, and asking him what breed of dog he thought he was,
anyway. Jimmy Jocks was chained just behind me, and he said he never see
so fine a show. "That's a hot class you're in, my lad," he says, looking
over into my street, where there were thirty bull terriers. They was all
as white as cream, and each so beautiful that if I could have broke my
chain I would have run all the way home and hid myself under the horse
trough.
All night long they talked and sang, and passed greetings with old pals,
and the homesick puppies howled dismal. Them that couldn't sleep
wouldn't let no others sleep, and all the electric lights burned in the
roof, and in my eyes. I could hear Jimmy Jocks snoring peaceful, but I
could only doze by jerks, and when I dozed I dreamed horrible. All the
dogs in the hall seemed coming at me for daring to intrude, with their
jaws red and open, and their eyes blazing like the lights in the roof.
"You're a street dog! Get out, you street dog!" they yells. And as they
drives me out, the pipe clay drops off me, and they laugh and shriek;
and when I looks down I see that I have turned into a black-and-tan.
They was most awful dreams, and next morning, when Miss Dorothy comes
and gives me water in a pan, I begs and begs her to take me home; but
she can't understand. "How well Kid is!" she says. And when I jumps into
the Master's arms and pulls to break my chain, he says, "If he knew all
as he had against him, miss, he wouldn't be so gay." And from a book
they reads out the names of the beautiful high-bred terriers which I
have got to meet. And I can't make 'em understand that I only want to
run away and hide myself where no one will see me.
Then suddenly men comes hurrying down our street and begins to brush the
beautiful bull-terriers; and the Master rubs me with a towel so excited
that his hands trembles awful, and Miss Dorothy tweaks my ears between
her gloves, so that the blood runs to 'em, and they turn pink and stand
up straight and sharp.
"Now, then, Nolan," says she, her voice shaking just like his fingers,
"keep his head up--and never let the judge lose sight of him." When I
hears that my legs breaks under me, for I knows all about judges. Twice
the old Master goes up before the judge for fighting me with other dogs,
and the judge promises him if he ever does it again he'll chain him up
in jail. I knew he'd find me out. A judge can't be fooled by no
pipe-clay. He can see right through you, and he reads your insides.
The judging-ring, which is where the judge holds out, was so like a
fighting-pit that when I come in it, and find six other dogs there, I
springs into position, so that when they lets us go I can defend myself.
But the Master smooths down my hair and whispers, "Hold 'ard, Kid, hold
'ard. This ain't a fight," says he. "Look your prettiest," he whispers.
"Please, Kid, look your prettiest"; and he pulls my leash so tight that
I can't touch my pats to the sawdust, and my nose goes up in the air.
There was millions of people a-watching us from the railings, and three
of our kennel-men, too, making fun of the Master and me, and Miss
Dorothy with her chin just reaching to the rail, and her eyes so big
that I thought she was a-going to cry. It was awful to think that when
the judge stood up and exposed me, all those people, and Miss Dorothy,
would be there to see me driven from the Show.
The judge he was a fierce-looking man with specs on his nose, and a red
beard. When I first come in he didn't see me, owing to my being too
quick for him and dodging behind the Master. But when the Master drags
me round and I pulls at the sawdust to keep back, the judge looks at us
careless-like, and then stops and glares through his specs, and I knew
it was all up with me.
"Are there any more?" asks the judge to the gentleman at the gate, but
never taking his specs from me.
The man at the gate looks in his book. "Seven in the novice class," says
he. "They're all here. You can go ahead," and he shuts the gate.
The judge he doesn't hesitate a moment. He just waves his hand toward
the corner of the ring. "Take him away," he says to the Master, "over
there, and keep him away"; and he turns and looks most solemn at the six
beautiful bull-terriers. I don't know how I crawled to that corner. I
wanted to scratch under the sawdust and dig myself a grave. The
kennel-men they slapped the rail with their hands and laughed at the
Master like they would fall over. They pointed at me in the corner, and
their sides just shaked. But little Miss Dorothy she presses her lips
tight against the rail, and I see tears rolling from her eyes. The
Master he hangs his head like he had been whipped. I felt most sorry for
him than all. He was so red, and he was letting on not to see the
kennel-men, and blinking his eyes. If the judge had ordered me right out
it wouldn't have disgraced us so, but it was keeping me there while he
was judging the high-bred dogs that hurt so hard. With all those people
staring, too. And his doing it so quick, without no doubt nor questions.
You can't fool the judges. They see inside you.
But he couldn't make up his mind about them high-bred dogs. He scowls at
'em, and he glares at 'em, first with his head on the one side and then
on the other. And he feels of 'em, and orders 'em to run about. And
Nolan leans against the rails, with his head hung down, and pats me. And
Miss Dorothy comes over beside him, but don't say nothing, only wipes
her eye with her finger. A man on the other side of the rail he says to
the Master, "The judge don't like your dog?"
"No," says the Master.
"Have you ever shown him before?" says the man.
"No," says the Master, "and I'll never show him again. He's my dog,"
says the Master, "and he suits me! And I don't care what no judges
think." And when he says them kind words, I licks his hand most
grateful.
The judge had two of the six dogs on a little platform in the middle of
the ring, and he had chased the four other dogs into the corners, where
they was licking their chops, and letting on they didn't care, same as
Nolan was.
The two dogs on the platform was so beautiful that the judge hisself
couldn't tell which was the best of 'em, even when he stoops down and
holds their heads together. But at last he gives a sigh, and brushes the
sawdust off his knees, and goes to the table in the ring, where there
was a man keeping score, and heaps and heaps of blue and gold and red
and yellow ribbons. And the judge picks up a bunch of 'em and walks to
the two gentlemen who was holding the beautiful dogs, and he says to
each, "What's his number?" and he hands each gentleman a ribbon. And
then he turned sharp and comes straight at the Master.
"What's his number?" says the judge. And Master was so scared that he
couldn't make no answer.
But Miss Dorothy claps her hands and cries out like she was laughing,
"Three twenty-six," and the judge writes it down and shoves Master the
blue ribbon.
I bit the Master, and I jumps and bit Miss Dorothy, and I waggled so
hard that the Master couldn't hold me. When I get to the gate Miss
Dorothy snatches me up and kisses me between the ears, right before
millions of people, and they both hold me so tight that I didn't know
which of them was carrying of me. But one thing I knew, for I listened
hard, as it was the judge hisself as said it.
"Did you see that puppy I gave first to?" says the judge to the
gentleman at the gate.
"I did. He was a bit out of his class," says the gate gentleman.
"He certainly was!" says the judge, and they both laughed.
But I didn't care. They couldn't hurt me then, not with Nolan holding
the blue ribbon and Miss Dorothy hugging my ears, and the kennel-men
sneaking away, each looking like he'd been caught with his nose under
the lid of the slop-can.
We sat down together, and we all three just talked as fast as we could.
They was so pleased that I couldn't help feeling proud myself, and I
barked and leaped about so gay that all the bull-terriers in our street
stretched on their chains and howled at me.
"Just look at him!" says one of those I had beat. "What's he giving
hisself airs about?"
"Because he's got one blue ribbon!" says another of 'em. "Why, when I
was a puppy I used to eat 'em, and if that judge could ever learn to
know a toy from a mastiff, I'd have had this one."
But Jimmy Jocks he leaned over from his bench and says, "Well done, Kid.
Didn't I tell you so?" What he 'ad told me was that I might get a
"commended," but I didn't remind him.
"Didn't I tell you," says Jimmy Jocks, "that I saw your grandfather make
his debut at the Crystal--"
"Yes, sir, you did, sir," says I, for I have no love for the men of my
family.
A gentleman with a showing-leash around his neck comes up just then and
looks at me very critical. "Nice dog you've got, Miss Wyndham," says he;
"would you care to sell him?"
"He's not my dog," says Miss Dorothy, holding me tight. "I wish he
were."
"He's not for sale, sir," says the Master, and I was _that_ glad.
"Oh, he's yours, is he?" says the gentleman, looking hard at Nolan.
"Well, I'll give you a hundred dollars for him," says he, careless-like.
"Thank you, sir; he's not for sale," says Nolan, but his eyes get very
big. The gentleman he walked away; but I watches him, and he talks to a
man in a golf-cap, and by and by the man comes along our street, looking
at all the dogs, and stops in front of me.
"This your dog?" says he to Nolan. "Pity he's so leggy," says he. "If he
had a good tail, and a longer stop, and his ears were set higher, he'd
be a good dog. As he is, I'll give you fifty dollars for him."
But before the Master could speak, Miss Dorothy laughs and says: "You're
Mr. Polk's kennel-man, I believe. Well, you tell Mr. Polk from me that
the dog's not for sale now any more than he was five minutes ago, and
that when he is, he'll have to bid against me for him."
The man looks foolish at that, but he turns to Nolan quick-like. "I'll
give you three hundred for him," he says.
"Oh, indeed!" whispers Miss Dorothy, like she was talking to herself.
"That's it, is it?" And she turns and looks at me just as though she had
never seen me before. Nolan he was a-gaping, too, with his mouth open.
But he holds me tight.
"He's not for sale," he growls, like he was frightened; and the man
looks black and walks away.
"Why, Nolan!" cries Miss Dorothy, "Mr. Polk knows more about
bull-terriers than any amateur in America. What can he mean? Why, Kid is
no more than a puppy! Three hundred dollars for a puppy!"
"And he ain't no thoroughbred, neither!" cries the Master. "He's
'Unknown,' ain't he? Kid can't help it, of course, but his mother,
miss--"
I dropped my head. I couldn't bear he should tell Miss Dorothy. I
couldn't bear she should know I had stolen my blue ribbon.
But the Master never told, for at that a gentleman runs up, calling,
"Three twenty-six, three twenty-six!" And Miss Dorothy says, "Here he
is; what is it?"
"The Winners' class," says the gentleman. "Hurry, please; the judge is
waiting for him."
Nolan tries to get me off the chain on to a showing-leash, but he shakes
so, he only chokes me. "What is it, miss?" he says. "What is it?"
"The Winners' class," says Miss Dorothy. "The judge wants him with the
winners of the other classes--to decide which is the best. It's only a
form," says she. "He has the champions against him now."
"Yes," says the gentleman, as he hurries us to the ring. "I'm afraid
it's only a form for your dog, but the judge wants all the winners,
puppy class even."
We had got to the gate, and the gentleman there was writing down my
number.
"Who won the open?" asks Miss Dorothy.
"Oh, who would?" laughs the gentleman. "The old champion, of course.
He's won for three years now. There he is. Isn't he wonderful?" says he;
and he points to a dog that's standing proud and haughty on the platform
in the middle of the ring.
I never see so beautiful a dog--so fine and clean and noble, so white
like he had rolled hisself in flour, holding his nose up and his eyes
shut, same as though no one was worth looking at. Aside of him we other
dogs, even though we had a blue ribbon apiece, seemed like lumps of mud.
He was a royal gentleman, a king, he was. His master didn't have to hold
his head with no leash. He held it hisself, standing as still as an iron
dog on a lawn, like he knew all the people was looking at him. And so
they was, and no one around the ring pointed at no other dog but him.
"Oh, what a picture!" cried Miss Dorothy. "He's like a marble figure by
a great artist--one who loved dogs. Who is he?" says she, looking in her
book. "I don't keep up with terriers."
"Oh, you know him," says the gentleman. "He is the champion of
champions, Regent Royal."
The Master's face went red.