Toy Poodle
When the boys had finished laughing over this droll story, Mr. Hartshorn continued:
"The Dalmatian or coach dog comes from eastern Europe, and was bred long ago in Dalmatia, now an Austrian province. He was well known in England by 1800 and was used there as a stable dog and was trained to run with the horses and under the carriages. Here you will see them most often as mascots in fire engine houses. It's queer how fashions run in those things. He is always pure white, evenly covered with round black or brown spots.
"The last of this group is the schipperke. I don't believe you know him, for the breed isn't very common here. The name means 'little skipper,' and the dog has long been a favorite with the captains of Flemish and Dutch canal barges. The schipperke has no tail to wag. There," he concluded, "I guess I've filled you up with enough dog information for this trip. I don't want to overdo it."
"You couldn't overdo it for me," said Ernest Whipple. "Will you tell us about some of the other breeds another day?"
"And tell us more anecdotes?" chimed in Jack.
"I promise," said Mr. Hartshorn.
Ernest, Harry, and Theron were boys of the type that love to collect facts and figures, and they had recently been doing some reading on the subject ofthe breeds of dogs. They discussed the matter all the way home, becoming quite excited now and then over disputed points.
"Mr. Hartshorn said that Rags didn't belong to any regular breed," said Jimmie Rogers as the boys separated, "but I don't care. There ought to be a breed like him, anyway, 'cause there isn't any better dog anywhere. Rags is good enough for me."
"That's right," cried the other boys in chorus. "You stick to Rags. He's all right, whatever the books say. Good-by, Rags. So long, Jim."
By June both Romulus and Remus were in full health again and Mr. Whipple admitted that they began to look like real English setters. They were puppies still, full of fun and mischief, but their coats had lost some of their fuzzy, silky character and their bodies had lengthened and filled out. They had gained a greater control over their muscles and in their gambols about the yard they had acquired considerable speed. Sam Bumpus came down again to look at them and pronounced them likely-looking youngsters.
"They've got some growin' to do yet," said he, "but they're gainin' bone and speed every day, and the first thing you know you'll have two fine bird dogs, or I don't know what I'm talking about."
They also displayed increasing devotion to their masters and had begun to develop, to a certain extent, the qualities of watchdogs.
It was about this time that Jack Whipple made an extraordinary and alarming discovery. He noticed one day that Remus was having some sort of troublewith his mouth, as though he had perhaps got a piece of bone wedged in his teeth. He worked his jaws in a laughable manner and poked at them with his paw. Then he shook his head, ejected a small white object, and appeared relieved.
Thinking it must be a piece of bone, Jack picked it up and examined it. It was a tooth! He called Ernest, and after poking about in Rome, they discovered another tooth in the sawdust beside the food dish. They proceeded to examine both dogs, and in Romulus's mouth they found another loose tooth which came out in Ernest's fingers.
"Why," cried Jack, "they're losing all their teeth. How will they eat? How can they do anything?"
Ernest was equally puzzled, and that evening they told their father about it. He also seemed perplexed.
"I'm afraid I can't help you," said he. "You'd better consult Tom Poultice or Sam Bumpus. Perhaps there's some disease that loosens dogs' teeth. Possibly it's the result of the distemper. I understand there are sometimes after-effects of that, such as deafness, and it may cause a dropping of the teeth. You'd better see about it before it goes any further."
The boys had been planning for some little time to take the two dogs up to Sam's shack, since they now seemed old and strong enough to stand the journey, and it would be good fun for all concerned.So Ernest sent Sam word that they were coming, and on a bright, warm Saturday morning the four of them set out.
The sky was clear and blue, a light breeze tempered the warmth of the brilliant sunshine, and it was a joy just to be alive and out in the open. The boys had their hands full, for Romulus and Remus had never before enjoyed so much liberty, and they did not always answer promptly the recalling whistle. The world, this great, new world, seemed to hold so many sights and sounds and scents to interest a dog that their impulse was to keep going and searching and never turn back. But it was a pleasure just to watch the zest with which they investigated every thicket and hillock. As they trotted along, twisting and doubling and turning, their noses held now high, sniffing the breeze, now close to the ground, they seemed to develop something of that lithe grace of movement that characterized the actions of their mother and old Nan.
When they arrived at their destination, the dogs were at first much excited by the presence of so many others of their kind, but after a little while they were glad to take a long drink of water and to rest on the floor of the shack.
Sam, as usual, was smiling and cordial. "They're comin' on; they're comin' on," said he, patting theyoung dogs and observing their sinewy limbs, their sensitive nostrils, and their soft, intelligent eyes. "Been teachin' 'em to hunt on the way up?"
The boys were forced to admit that they had made little progress with the vocational training of Romulus and Remus.
"Well, there's plenty of time for that," said Sam. "They've got to get the sense of the fields and the woods first. You get 'em so they'll come when they're called, and a little later on I'll have time to take 'em in hand and teach 'em the fine points of the game. How have they been, anyway? They're lookin' as sound as nuts."
"They've been very well," answered Ernest, "except for one thing. We don't know what's the trouble, but their teeth are dropping out."
"Their teeth——" began Sam, and then burst into a roar of laughter, in which the boys presently joined, though they did not know why.
"Don't you worry about them teeth," said he, when he could speak again. "I'll bet it wasn't so very long ago that Jack here had the very same trouble. Didn't you know that dogs lose their first teeth the same as boys do? Sure thing. Some folks are a good deal troubled about it and pull out the loose teeth for fear the dogs will swallow them, but it ain't likely to hurt 'em if they do. Just let 'em alone and nature willlook out for 'em. New and stronger teeth will grow in their places and then they'll be fixed for life."
The boys, relieved to find that the matter was not serious, laughed again.
"I guess this joke's on father, too," said Ernest.
This trip to Sam's shack was the first of a number of excursions thither which Sam seemed to enjoy as much as the boys and the dogs. And when vacation time came and every day was like Saturday, Ernest and Jack Whipple came to understand better what it really means to have good dogs for constant companions. It was in these days that visits to the swimming hole over by the brickyard began, and Romulus and Remus were taught to enjoy the water as much as their masters did.
This swimming hole, in fact, proved to be the accepted meeting place for most of the boys and dogs of Boytown, for it became a regular practice for the boys to bring their dogs and to invent various aquatic sports in which the dogs played an important part. Old Mike hated the water and could scarcely be induced to go in, but most of the others entered into the spirit of the game with zest. Little Alert proved to be a regular cork in the water, and even huge Hamlet splashed about in a dignified sort of way. But the general favorite was Rags. He could divefor stones, retrieve sticks, and even stand up in the water, with his fore feet pawing the air in a manner to bring laughter to the soberest. And he had a way of devising sport of his own, not always respecting the sanctity of the boys' clothing.
I don't know how it is with other boys, but it is certain that the constant association with faithful four-footed comrades was good for the boys of Boytown. Boys are often thoughtless to an extent that verges upon cruelty. They love to tease and often find amusement in inventing new trials for a much-enduring cat or dog. But once let them get the idea of comradeship and protection firmly fixed, and not infrequently a sort of chivalry appears to develop in their natures.
At least it was so with these boys. They quarreled and disputed and occasionally fought, as boys will, but there was no more torturing of animals, and with this came less bullying of little boys and teasing of little girls. Each boy felt the responsibility of protecting his own beloved dog, and with this came a sense of protection toward all animals. Mrs. Hammond, Theron's mother, was wise enough to observe and take advantage of this, and she organized the boys into a sort of Humane Society, with meetings every two weeks, and a set of rules and objects. They were pledged to do what they could to see that no dumb animal wasabused, and more than once they were able to dissuade a brutal teamster from beating an overburdened horse. In only one quarter did they totally fail. Dick Wheat on would neither join the Humane Society nor would he mend his ways in regard to his treatment of Gyp. But at least he never attempted to abuse any other animal whenever any of the boys were about, after having received a good licking at the hands of Jimmie Rogers for annoying Rags. That taught him a much needed lesson.
If every boy in America could be taught to be as kind to animals as these boys were, and to interest himself personally in their treatment, this would be a better world to live in.
So the summer vacation days passed, with plenty of outdoor fun, the boys forming an ever closer comradeship with their common interest, and Romulus and Remus gaining in strength and wisdom every day. For the most part they were healthy dogs and gave their masters little concern on that score, though sometimes their tendency to get into mischief required attention, for Mrs. Whipple was not reconciled to their presence about her house and it was necessary to keep watch lest they offend beyond the chance of pardon. The day they brought Delia to the verge of tears by tearing a clean sheet from the clothesline and clashing with it about a muddy yard would have produceda disastrous crisis if Mr. Whipple had not once more intervened.
Once or twice the two dogs had to be doctored again for worms, and in August came the pest of fleas. This was a source of annoyance to both boys and dogs, and Mrs. Whipple, when she found it out, was in constant fear lest the insects be introduced into the house. When Ernest or Jack discovered one on their own persons at night they left no stone unturned to capture and decapitate it.
As to the dogs, they suffered not a little. Their long coats made a splendid breeding place for the parasites and they wore themselves thin with scratching. Fleas are not a pleasant thing to talk about, but all dogs get them, especially the long-haired kinds, and not even frequent visits to the swimming hole will eradicate them.
It was Sam Bumpus who told the boys what to do about it. One day, when they went up to visit him, he refused to let Romulus and Remus into the shack or near his kennels.
"They're full of fleas," said he as he watched the dogs scratching nervously, "and I don't want 'em to be droppin' 'em around where my dogs'll get 'em. I have trouble enough with the varmints as 'tis. You ought to get rid of 'em. If you don't, they'll hang on till November and the dogs'll be no good for huntin'."
"But how do you get rid of them?" asked Ernest.
"Wash 'em in cresolin or cresoleum or whatever your druggist wants to call it. He'll know what you want when you tell him. Mix it with warm water and soapsuds and scrub 'em good. Then rub 'em dry. Do it outdoors on the grass. It's better than insect powder. It won't kill all the eggs, but it will drive the fleas off, and if you keep at it, and do it often enough, you'll get rid of 'em all. Besides, it gives the dogs some relief before the new ones can hatch. Better burn their beds once in awhile, too, to kill the eggs in 'em."
The boys faithfully followed Sam's instructions and were pleased to find the trouble greatly abated.
It was in August, too, that they took Romulus and Remus for their first trip to Willowdale. They were anxious to learn what Mr. and Mrs. Hartshorn and Tom Poultice would think of their dogs, and they were always glad of an excuse to visit the bull terriers and Airedales and to listen to doggy talk.
Luckily, Mr. Hartshorn was at home on this occasion, though they paid their respects first to Tom and the kennels before going up to the big house. Tom had not seen the two setters since they had recovered from the distemper, and he was pleased to be frankly enthusiastic.
"Well, I'll be blowed!" he exclaimed. "And arethese the same two dogs that I doctored in your barn last spring? They were sad enough looking pictures then. The bally rascals! They sure 'ave grown some. Hi'd like nothing better than to take 'em out some day myself on a bit of an 'unt. Look at the legs of 'em! Say, you've got two fine bird dogs there."
Naturally the boys were much pleased by Tom's praise of their beloved dogs, and they lingered for a time about the kennels while Tom pointed out to them the fine points in a setter's action and explained how their graceful, level gait enabled them to keep their noses out in front where they would catch the scent, and at the same time cover rough country at high speed.
"Hi've 'eard it said," remarked Tom, "that an 'unting pointer can travel at the rate of eighteen miles an hour and keep it up for two or three hours, and I guess a good setter's about as fast."
"My!" exclaimed Jack, joyfully, as they walked over to the house, "do you s'pose we've got the two very best dogs in the world, Ernest?"
"I don't know," said Ernest. "Maybe."
The ardor was cooled a trifle by Mr. Hartshorn. He examined Romulus and Remus in a minute, judicial, critical manner, and discovered a number of technical points in which they fell short of perfection.
"But," he added, "they're mighty good dogs, and you must remember that no dog is absolutely perfect from the show judge's standpoint. And if these come from as fine a working strain as you have led me to believe, it is remarkable that they should measure up so well by bench-show standards. Some of the finest show champions are second-rate dogs in the field, and some of the best hunting and field-tried dogs couldn't win a yellow ribbon on the bench. I should say that your dogs gave promise of developing both working and show qualities to a marked degree, and I shall watch their careers with great interest. You have a brace of fine dogs there, and no mistake."
Whereat Jack and Ernest felt better.
"You promised to tell us something about setters and other bird dogs," Ernest reminded him.
"Well," said Mr. Hartshorn, "I'm not sure that I know so very much about them. I used to do a little shooting years ago, but your friend Bumpus undoubtedly knows a lot more about the game than I do."
"Oh, yes," said Ernest, "he does know a lot about hunting and training dogs, but I mean about the breeds themselves, their history and the sort of things you told us about some of the other breeds."
"Well," said Mr. Hartshorn, "I'll do the best I can. The development of the setter is an interestingstory, but first we'll have to go back to the spaniels. Spaniels, you know, are still classed as shooting or gun dogs, and are used for that to some extent, and the setter's ancestor was a spaniel.
"The spaniel first came from Spain or France and there are still many kinds on the continent of Europe. But the spaniel has been known for a long time in England, too, and the kinds we know here are those of British development. Mrs. Hartshorn has already told you about the English toy spaniels, so I will omit those.
"In the early days, the breeds weren't divided up as they are to-day, but were known as large and small land spaniels and water spaniels. The oldest of the land spaniels of England now in existence is the Sussex spaniel. You won't see any in the United States, I think.
"The clumber spaniel you can see in our shows, but he also is more popular among the sportsmen and fanciers of England than here. He is the heaviest of the spaniels. The cocker spaniel is the most popular kind in this country. His name comes from the fact that he was used in England for many years for hunting woodcock. He is smaller than the others. The field spaniel is much like a large-sized cocker, weighing about twice as much. Finally there is the curly, brown Irish water spaniel, which is really more closelyrelated to the retriever and the poodle than to the other spaniels.
"Though spaniels are sporting dogs, they have always been enjoyed quite as much for their companionship, and they have an enviable reputation for fidelity. There is a story told of a spaniel of the time of the French Revolution which reminds one of Greyfriars Bobby. This dog belonged to a magistrate who was condemned for conspiracy and was thrown into prison. By means of his coaxing and pretty ways, the spaniel at last won the heart of one of the jailers and managed to get in to his master. He never left him after that, even crouching between his knees when the magistrate was guillotined. He followed the body to its burial and tried to dig into the grave. Obliged at last to abandon hope of ever seeing his master again, he refused to eat, and died at length, of hunger and exposure, on his master's grave.
"Another sad story of devotion is that of a spaniel belonging to the gamekeeper of the Rev. Mr. Corseillis of Wivenhoe, Essex, England. This dog's name was Dash, and he was his master's constant companion at night, when he was able to render valuable service in helping to detect poachers. When the old gamekeeper died, nothing could persuade Dash to accompany his successor on his rounds. He divided his time between the grave and the room in which his masterhad died, and at last he, too, died of a broken heart.
"Let me give you a more cheerful one before we pass on to the setters. Once when Mrs. Grosvenor of Richmond went to visit a relative who owned some pet cats, she took her Blenheim spaniel with her. The cats, who were selfish, spoiled creatures, were too many for the small spaniel, and they succeeded in driving him out of the house. But he refused to acknowledge defeat. He proceeded to establish an alliance with the gardener's cat, a big, husky Tom, and when the time was ripe, the two of them attacked and routed their common enemy, after which the spaniel was let alone.
"Now we come to the setters. In some respects they are our finest gun dogs. They came from one of the old land spaniels that was taught to crouch when finding game and they were called setting spaniels until about 1800. Since then the breed has been greatly improved. There are three well-known varieties, English, Irish, and Gordon, all first-class dogs.
"A man named Laverack in Shropshire, England, was the one who did the most to develop the English setter. He bred them from 1825 to 1875 and produced the standard strain. Later a man named Llewellyn promoted the strain and added new blood.You will still hear the names Laverack and Llewellyn applied to different types of English setters. This English variety is the most popular and numerous of the three.
"I don't want to make any unpleasant comparisons, but to my mind the Irish setter is the handsomest of the family, though as a sporting dog he does not rank with the English setter. His shape is very nearly the same as that of the English setter, but his coat is always a wonderful red-brown, almost golden when the sun shines on it, often very dark, but with no black spots.
"The Gordon setter is the heaviest of the three and comes from a strain developed a century ago by the Duke of Richmond Gordon, a Scotchman. The color is always rich black and tan.
"These are not the only bird dogs, however. There are the retrievers and the pointer, besides some European breeds, but I'm going to save them for another time. I've got to get ready to catch a train now, and besides, I'm afraid of giving you this sort of information in too large a chunk."
Mr. Hartshorn bade them good-by and went upstairs. The boys remained a few minutes longer with Mrs. Hartshorn, who had taken a great fancy to Romulus and Remus, and then they set off for home in the hot sun of the afternoon.
On the way back from Thornboro that day something happened that gave a new direction to the thoughts and aspirations of Ernest and Jack Whipple. They had gone somewhat out of their way to a woods road that was shadier and cooler than the highway and Romulus was nosing and sniffing about in the underbrush quite a little distance to the left. Ernest whistled, but Romulus apparently did not hear. He seemed to be darting about in the bushes with unusual eagerness.
"What has he found, do you s'pose?" asked Jack.
"Let's go and see," said Ernest.
The two boys and Remus turned out of the road and approached the spot where Romulus was hunting. Suddenly there was a whir of wings and a dark object flashed upward and disappeared among the trees.
For a moment Romulus and Remus both stood rigid, with heads and tails outstretched. Then they broke and disappeared in the woods. It was some little time before the boys could get them back againand started along the homeward road. The boys, breathless with running, had not spoken to each other, but now Ernest said:
"It was some kind of a bird, Jack. Did you notice?"
"Yes," said Jack. "Why, Ernest, they know how to hunt already."
"I guess it's instinct," said Ernest. "And did you see them point? They really did, for a minute, just like Sam's Nan, or the pictures in the books."
"Oh, Ernest," cried Jack, "we must take them hunting. Do you s'pose we could?"
"Sam could, anyway," said the older boy. "He said he'd train them."
The rest of the way home they talked of nothing but hunting and the wonderful achievements that were in store for the two dogs.
Mr. Whipple approved the plan to have Romulus and Remus trained. A good dog, in his eyes, was a dog that was good for something, and he recognized the value of a well-trained bird dog though he had no desire to see the boys become too fond of hunting themselves.
"All right," said he, "take them up to Bumpus and let him train them, but you boys must promise not to ask to handle a gun yourselves. You're not old enough, for one thing, and besides, your motherdoesn't approve of shooting. It's a dangerous business at best. Remember, now, no nonsense about guns."
The boys, willing to postpone that question till some future time, readily promised, and on a Saturday morning in September, soon after the reopening of school, they took the dogs up to Sam's shack.
"Remember," said Sam, "I ain't promisin' anything. You never can tell what kind of a bird dog a setter will make till you've tried him out. I've got a lot of other things to attend to this fall, too. But I'll do the best I can, and you mustn't be impatient if they ain't all finished off in two weeks. Now we'll take 'em out for their first lesson."
That first lesson proved to be a rather tedious affair to Ernest and Jack. Nothing was said about birds or guns, pointing or retrieving. Sam's chief aim was to get the dogs to obey his word and whistle as well as they obeyed those of the boys, and the latter were forced to keep silent while he gradually gained the mastery over the two lively young dogs. Sam displayed, in this, much greater patience than the boys did, but still it was pleasant to be out in the fields this fine September day and to watch the dogs as they came to respond more and more readily to the commands of their trainer. At first, indeed, there was but one command, expressed by a sharp whistle or bythe words "Come here, boy!" Sam seemed determined to add no further commands until he had secured unfailing and prompt obedience to this one. But, slow as the process was, it was really remarkable what progress was made in a few short hours.
At noon they took the dogs back to the shack to enjoy a rest and a dry bone apiece, while Sam cooked and served a delicious luncheon of buckwheat cakes, bacon, and cocoa. Then, after he had enjoyed a pipe or two and they had listened to some of his tales of dogs and hunting, they started out again.
This time Sam fastened a cord of good length to the dogs' collars, something they were not used to.
"I'll need to use this later on," said he, "and they've got to get used to the feel of it first. They've got to learn to stand it without pullin', and to answer the signals."
Again he exhibited extraordinary patience, for the dogs resented this unaccustomed restraint and seemed possessed to pull at their leads and try to break away. It took a good two hours to break them to this simple harness. Then Sam took it off and went all over the first lesson again, which at first the dogs appeared to have forgotten.
"Well, as the minister says, here endeth the first lesson," said Sam when the shadows of late afternoonbegan to lengthen, and they turned back again toward the shack. The boys now realized that they were very tired.
"Do you think they'll ever learn?" asked Jack, somewhat plaintively.
"Why, sure," said Sam. "I've seen worse ones than these. They're high spirited, as good dogs ought to be, and a bit heady, but they'll learn. They've done very well, so far."
Still doubting, but somewhat encouraged, the boys prepared to take their departure. In order that the training might go on uninterrupted it was necessary to leave Romulus and Remus in Sam's care, and it is a question which felt the worse about the separation, the boys or the dogs. Ernest and Jack knew that their pets would be in good hands and kindly treated, but it was hard to say good-by. As for the dogs, they set up a howling and crying, when they found they were being deserted.
"They'll soon get over that," said Sam. "They'll begin to take an interest in the other dogs pretty soon, and then they'll feel more at home."
Thus reassured, the boys started off down the road without their four-footed comrades, but the insistent wails that followed them were very heart-rending, and two big tears rolled down Jack's round cheeks. And it was several days before they could get used to thedesolate, deserted look of Rome or become reconciled to the absence of their playmates.
They could hardly wait for the next Saturday to come, when they could go up again to Sam's shack and visit their beloved dogs. Romulus and Remus were overjoyed at seeing them again, and it was some time before Sam could get them quieted down sufficiently to take them out for another lesson. He had been training them during the week, and the boys now heard him addressing them with strange words. He placed their check-cords on again, and this time the dogs did not seem to resent it so much. Indeed, they seemed to look upon it as the preliminary of a good time, which, as Sam explained, was the idea he had tried to impress on them.
"Hie-on!" cried Sam, and the dogs started off at a bound.
"To-ho!" he called. This meant to stop abruptly, and this command the dogs, hoping for a good run, did not obey so readily. A quick tug at the check-cord reminded them of the meaning of the command, and soon they stopped more promptly at the words.
"Come in," said Sam, and the dogs approached him.
"Charge!" said Sam. "Down!" After several attempts the dogs reluctantly obeyed and crouched at his feet.
"Heel!" he cried, and after several repetitions of the order they took their places quietly behind him.
"They're always a little slower the first thing in the mornin'," Sam explained, "before they've run off some of their deviltry. They'll improve as they go along."
And improve they did. In the afternoon Sam took them out without the check-cord and kept perseveringly at them until they would "hie-on" and "to-ho" and "charge" and "heel" with reasonable promptness.
"By next week I hope to show you something more," said Sam.
"When will you shoot over them and teach them to point?" asked Ernest.
"Oh, not for some time yet," said Sam. "They've got to learn the a b c of it first. Next I shall try to teach them to answer my hand. First I'll call and wave at the same time, and then just wave. Then they've got to learn to range—to go whichever direction I want 'em to and turn when I want 'em to. Then I'll give 'em lessons in retrievin'."
But before another Saturday had come around, Sam had discovered something—something which affected the whole future career of Remus.
Ernest and Jack had duties to perform that Saturday which engaged them the entire morning, and they were unable to go up to Sam's until afternoon. Theirvisit was consequently a short one and they had but little time to spend with Sam in the field. They found, however, that the training had been progressing satisfactorily. Sam was allowing the dogs to range in ever widening circles, and on the whole they were obeying his commands in a promising manner. They were beginning to retrieve objects, also, not as a hit-or-miss game after the manner of Rags, but in answer to the commands "Go fetch it," and "Pick it up." Moreover, the dogs were less homesick now that they had begun to take an interest in their occupations and to become acquainted with the other dogs. They seemed to understand, too, that Ernest and Jack had not utterly deserted them but might be expected to appear at almost any moment.
But when it came time to go home Sam detained them for a moment.
"I've got to tell you something," said he, scratching his chin and looking a bit unhappy, "and I don't believe you'll like it much."
"Oh," cried Ernest, "can't you keep the dogs?"
"I can keep Romulus," said Sam, "but I've got to ask you to take Remus back. I've given him every chance and I find he's hopeless as a bird dog. He learns quick enough—quicker than Romulus if anything. But he's got no nose, none at all, and a setter with no nose is about useless in the field. It wouldbe a waste of time to try to train him, and when we got on the birds he would only get in Romulus's way and spoil him. So I guess you'll have to take him back and let me go ahead with the good one."
"Why, what do you mean?" inquired Jack, struggling to hide his disappointment. "Can't he smell?"
"Oh, I s'pose he can tell spoiled fish when he gets it, but he don't catch the scent of anything on the air. I guess it was the distemper that did it. He had it worse than Romulus and it often spoils their noses when they have it hard enough. I'm sorry, but it can't be helped and it can't be cured."
For a few minutes Jack stood silent, pressing his lips together. Then suddenly he knelt down beside Remus and hugged him passionately.
"I don't care whether you've got a nose or not, Remus," he cried. "I don't want to go hunting, ever. Noses don't matter. You're the best dog in the whole world, anyhow."
And so they took Remus back with them that afternoon, leaving Romulus behind, howling mournfully for his brother.
Such reports as they received from Sam indicated that the training of Romulus proceeded with fair rapidity during the fall. They were not able to go up to his shack very often for one reason or another, and Jack, at least, was not so anxious to do so as hehad been. Remus lived in solitary luxury in Rome and was in some danger of being spoiled by the petting he received from his loyal master.
Romulus, so Ernest learned, could now retrieve at command and would bring back a dead pigeon or other bird without rumpling its feathers. He would also range in obedience to a wave of Sam's hand and was gradually learning to stand fast and hold his point when he flushed a covey of birds. Finally Sam took out his gun to shoot over him, and the rest of his training was to be chiefly that persistent practice which finally makes perfect.
It was decided that Romulus should remain with Sam until snow fell, but one night there came a scratching and a whining at the door and a series of peculiar short little barks so persistently kept up that they awakened both the boys. They slipped on their dressing gowns and slippers and stole downstairs.
At the door they found Romulus with a broken bit of rope tied to his collar.
"Why," cried Jack, "it's Romulus. See, he must have broken away."
"He came all the way home alone in the dark," said Ernest. "How do you s'pose he ever found his way?"
Romulus seemed to understand that it was not the time to make a noise, for though he kept leaping onthe boys in an access of delight and making little sounds in his throat that were almost human, he refrained from the loud, joyous barking that he would have indulged in if it had been daytime. Remus had heard him, however, and was making a considerable commotion in Rome. So the boys took Romulus quietly out to his brother, who greeted him with paw and tongue and voice, and bidding both dogs goodnight, they went back to the house.
So it was decided that if Romulus so much desired his own home, he should be deprived of it no longer. Sam came down in a day or two to find out about it.
"I thought he'd probably run home," said he, "but I wanted to make sure. I guess we'd better leave him here now. I'm pretty near through with him for this fall, anyway. You just bring him up once in awhile so I can take him out and not let him forget what I've learned him."
Meanwhile the affairs of Boytown were going on much as usual. Autumn passed in golden glory, with nutting expeditions in October in which sometimes as many as a dozen boys and a dozen dogs joined forces. As they started out through the town streets, Mr. Fellowes, the news dealer and stationer, said it looked as though a circus had come to town.
Such things, however, were of common and regular occurrence. Only two episodes of that season deserveto be specially recorded. One was a dog fight which for a time brought the dog-owning fraternity of Boytown into ill repute.
For some time several of the boys had been bragging, as boys will, about the prowess in battle of their particular dogs, and this narrowed down at length to an unsettled controversy between Monty Hubbard and Harry Barton. Monty maintained that the Irish terrier was the greatest dare-devil and fighter in the canine world, and he quoted books and individuals to prove it. Harry, on the other hand, insisted that the bulldog's grit and tenacity were proverbial, and loudly asserted that if Mike once got a grip on Mr. O'Brien's throat, it would be good-by, Mr. O'Brien.
It is only fair to the boys to state that it was the Irish terrier that started the fracas on his own initiative. He was a scrappy terrier, always ready to start something, and it usually required considerable vigilance to keep him out of trouble. But it must be confessed that on this particular occasion his master did not exert the usual restraint.
It happened out on the road that Ernest and Jack so often took when they visited Sam Bumpus or Trapper's Cave. Mr. O'Brien had been annoying the other dogs for some little time, rushing and barking at them and inviting a friendly encounter. He was not vicious, but he loved a tussle. Finally Mike the bulldog,usually so long-suffering, lost patience and turned on Mr. O'Brien with a menacing snarl that seemed to mean business. For a moment the Irishman stood still in surprise, while Mike, his head held low, waited with a stubborn look in his eyes.
Irish Terrier
That was clearly the time for interference, but I regret to say that instead of interfering, the boys grouped themselves about with feelings of not unpleasant anticipation. I further regret to say that Ernest Whipple was one of the most interested.
Suddenly Mr. O'Brien, recovering from his surprise, returned to the attack with an impetuous rush whichnearly bowled Mike over. But Mike was heavier than Mr. O'Brien and stood very solidly on his four outspread feet. He merely turned about and presented a terrifying front to his more active antagonist. Again Mr. O'Brien rushed, seeking a hold on Mike's big, muscular neck.
For a time Mr. O'Brien seemed to be having the best of it. He took the offensive and seemed to be on all sides of Mike at once. The bulldog's ear was bleeding and Harry urged him to retaliate.
Suddenly Mike raised his huge bulk and bore down the lighter dog beneath his weight. Then he began methodically seeking the vice-like hold that would have meant the last of Mr. O'Brien.
Just at that moment, however, a diversion occurred.
"Here, there, what are you doin'?" demanded a man's hoarse voice, and Sam Bumpus came striding into the thick of it. Without the slightest fear or hesitation, though such an act was decidedly not without danger, he darted in and seized the dogs by their collars, one in each hand, and displaying wonderful strength of arm he dragged them apart. If Mike had succeeded in getting his hold, if Sam had come up a minute later, he could not have done it. As it was, he held the snarling, struggling dogs at arm's length, shook them, and then ordered their masters to take them in charge and keep them apart.
Ernest had never seen Sam angry before; he was usually the embodiment of even-tempered good humor. But he was angry now. His jaws snapped and his eyes flashed, and he seemed to be itching to give somebody a good spanking. At last he spoke.
"I thought you boys was fond of dogs," he said. "I thought you made a great fuss about bein' kind to animals. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves, settin' two good dogs on to fight each other. Don't you know no better? Dogs are built to fight, and they ought to know how to when it's necessary, but any man or boy that starts 'em fightin' for sport is a coward."
Without another word he turned and vanished into the woods. The boys made no comments, either, and I am glad to say that most of them were about as ashamed of themselves as boys can be. By common consent the afternoon's expedition was abandoned and the company dispersed.
But that was not all of it. The story of the dog fight leaked out, and there was more than one home in Boytown in which a boy was warned that if anything of that kind happened again there would be no more dogs in that family. And Monty Hubbard received something even more impressive than a lecture. Mrs. Hammond, when she heard of it, was wise enough to say nothing until the matter hadcooled down somewhat. Then she took occasion to set forth her views in a way that the boys never forgot, and there was never another encouraged dog fight in that town.
The other incident which I spoke of was the strange disappearance of Romulus. One morning he was gone and he did not return home all that day. Ernest searched for him in vain and went to bed that night with a very heavy heart. The next day Romulus did not appear, nor the next. Acting on his father's advice, Ernest placed an advertisement in the paper and offered a reward, but without result. Little by little Ernest was forced to give up hope, and a very disconsolate boy he was. Jack and Remus did their best to console him, but he grieved night and day. No one could suggest what had become of Romulus.
Then, on the evening of the fifth day, a slight scratching was heard at the door, and a low whine. Ernest, who was studying his lessons, heard it first. Dropping his book on the floor, he rushed out, closely followed by Jack and Mr. Whipple. There lay Romulus on the door mat, "all in," as Sam Bumpus would have said. He was so weak and weary that he could hardly rise, and the wonder was that he had been able to drag himself home. A piece of rope attached to his collar showed that he had broken loose from somewhere, and bleeding feet testified to thedistance he had come. Ernest lifted him in his arms and buried his face in the dog's shaggy coat, and Romulus responded as well as he could with a warm, moist tongue and a wagging tail.
After they had given him a dinner of warm broth and had made him comfortable in Rome, Mr. Whipple succeeded at last in dragging Ernest away.
"He'll be all right now," said Mr. Whipple. "He's exhausted, but he'll soon recover from that. He's a young dog, you know."
"But where could he have been?" wondered Jack.
"It's my belief that he was stolen," said Mr. Whipple. "Someone who knew he was a valuable dog stole him, but I doubt if we shall ever learn who it was. But he must have been taken some distance away. He looks as though he might have traveled thirty miles or more."
"How do you s'pose he ever found his way back?" asked Jack.
Mr. Whipple shook his head. "Dogs are wonderful creatures," said he.
There are parts of Connecticut in which winter is likely to be a rather moist and miserable season, but Boytown was situated in the hills where it was colder and dryer. It lay in the snow belt, as Mr. Whipple used to say. Consequently, winter was, for these boys, a season which offered as many opportunities for outdoor sport as summer—coasting, skating, and all the rest of it.
A favorite pastime with Ernest and Jack Whipple was what they called snowshoeing. They wore no snowshoes or skiis, to be sure, but they pretended they did, and they enjoyed trudging off over the snow-covered fields and through the woods with their dogs, with their eyes ever on the alert for the tracks of birds and wild animals. It was Sam Bumpus who taught them how to distinguish these tracks, and whenever they found an unfamiliar one they took the news to him and learned what animal had made it. He showed them where a flock of quail had spent the night in a close circle on the lee of a stone wall or a corn shock and he told them about the quail's interestinglife history. He showed them how some birds hop and some, like the crow and the blackbird and the starling, walk like a man or a chicken. He taught them to know the tracks of the squirrel, the rabbit, and the white-footed mouse, and even the fox and the raccoon, and one day he showed them where an owl's wings had brushed the snow when he swooped down to catch a mouse whose lacy little trail ended abruptly. Jack thought that was a sad little story for the snow to tell.
Often they wanted no other object than merely to be out in the open, with the constant possibility of finding rare tracks, but sometimes they walked with a more definite purpose—to take Romulus up to Sam's for a little training to refresh his memory, or, when a longer trip was possible, to pay a visit to Tom Poultice and the Hartshorns. They were always welcome there.
It was on one of these visits in January that Mr. Hartshorn made good his promise to tell them something about the breeds of gun dogs other than setters and spaniels.
"I thought you must have forgotten about that," said he. "What memories you youngsters have—for some things. Well, suppose we see how much we know about the pointer. He is the dog, you know, that contests with the English setter the title of mostpopular and efficient gun dog. I won't attempt to settle the matter. Each breed has its loyal advocates, and at the field trials sometimes a pointer wins and sometimes a setter.
"The pointer is a wonderfully symmetrical, lithe, athletic dog, with remarkable nose, bird sense, and action. Like the setter he has been trained to point and retrieve. He strains back to hound origin, probably, but was developed as a distinct breed in Europe long ago, doubtless with the help of setter and foxhound crosses. Some pointers are wonderfully stanch. I knew of one who held the same point without moving for an hour and a quarter, while an artist painted his portrait, and I once heard of one who caught a scent while halfway over a fence, and hung there by his fore paws till the birds were flushed.
"Then there are several varieties of retrievers that are also bird dogs. In this country we have the retrievers proper, the Labrador dog, and the Chesapeake Bay dog, though none of them are very common. They are all probably of spaniel origin.
"The Labrador dog is supposed to have come from Labrador, but we don't know much about his history before 1850, when he was introduced into England and was trained and used as a sporting dog. The wavy-coated retriever, called also the flat-coated retriever, became popular among British sportsmen andfanciers about 1870. He has a wavy coat, longer than that of the Labrador dog. The curly-coated retriever, less common in England than the wavy, has seldom been shown here. He is characterized by short, crisp curls all over his body, with the exception of the head, strongly suggesting the presence of poodle or Irish water spaniel blood in his make-up. The Chesapeake Bay dog originated in Maryland and possesses many of the traits of the retrievers. He probably sprang from Labrador ancestors, crossed with tan-colored hounds.
"Finally we come to a very interesting dog, one that you would love if you knew him—the wire-haired pointing griffon. He is a new dog with us, but an old one in France, Holland, Belgium, and Germany. He is a splendid bird dog, useful for all kinds of game, and a natural pointer and retriever. He is medium-sized, symmetrical, and well built, with a wiry coat, and has a face something like an otter hound or an Airedale. And there you have all the prominent gun dogs."
"What is an otter hound?" asked Ernest.
Mr. Hartshorn laughed. "You are insatiable," said he. "Some day I'll tell you about the otter hound and all the other members of the hound family, but not to-day. You've had enough."
It was partly the prospect of gaining information ofthis sort that made the trips to Willowdale so attractive to the boys, partly a genuine liking for Mr. and Mrs. Hartshorn, and partly the fun of talking with Tom Poultice and watching the Airedales and bull terriers. But more than all I think it was the homelike, hospitable character and doggy atmosphere of the big house. It was a place where everybody loved dogs and took as much interest in them as though they were people, and where any dog lover was welcome. Consequently, their visits there were more frequent than Mrs. Whipple thought was quite proper.
"You'll wear out your welcome," she warned. But somehow they didn't seem to.
It was during these winter days that they heard a good deal of talk about dog shows, both from Mr. and Mrs. Hartshorn and from Tom Poultice. Tom, indeed, was as much interested in the show dogs as if they had been his own and he was never tired of talking of their achievements on the bench and of their possible future triumphs. Mr. Hartshorn owned a string of winners of both his breeds that were famous throughout the country and that included several great champions. Tom, who nearly always took the dogs to the shows and stayed with them, knew every little point about them as well as the points of their rivals.
"Of course, it's a bloomin' gamble," he would say. "So much depends on whether your dog or the other one is in the best condition. That's why I've been doing so much fussing over them this winter. You can't be too careful. An upset stomach may mean a staring coat and may spoil a dog's chances. And then again you may run up against a new judge with hideas of 'is own, and then all your reckoning goes to smash. It's a great game, boys."
And so they were wont to go out to the kennels and watch Tom grooming the dogs and listen to his wise talk about points and judging. These were busy days for him, for some of the biggest shows take place in the winter and the early spring, and he had to keep the dogs in constant condition.
It was from Tom that they learned the names of famous dogs of various breeds, of instances when great champions had been beaten by unknown newcomers, and of the rising and setting stars of dogdom, but it was from Mr. Hartshorn that they gained a clear idea of what a dog show was like. He described to them the crowded halls, the long rows of dogs of many breeds chained in little stalls on benches, the arrangement of novice and puppy and limit and open classes for the different breeds, and all the rest of it.
"The dogs are taken to the show ring in classes,"said he, "and the judge for that breed sizes them up, feels of them, examines eyes, teeth, and hair, compares posture and spirit and all the other things that count, figures it all up according to a scale of points, and then hands out ribbons to the winners—a blue ribbon for first prize, a red one for second, and a yellow one for third. Cash prizes go with the ribbons usually. There are also special trophies for special winnings, such as the best American-bred dog of the breed, or the best brace, and there is the contest between the winners of the different classes in each breed. Finally, in some of the big shows, there is a special trophy for the best dog of any breed in the show. This contest is usually held at the end of the show, or perhaps before the packs of hounds and beagles are judged, and it is always an exciting time. Every exhibitor hopes to win one of the specials, but most of the dogs are trying for their championship titles."
"How do they win a championship?" asked Ernest.
"A dog becomes a champion," answered Mr. Hartshorn, "when he has won fifteen points in authorized shows. These points are granted according to the size of the show. At the biggest shows the winner of a first prize gets three points; at the smaller shows, where he has less competition, he gets two points or one point. An official record is kept of them all."
"The New York show is the biggest of all, isn't it?" asked Ernest.
"Yes," said Mr. Hartshorn. "It is usually held in Madison Square Garden in February—four days including Washington's Birthday. It's too long a time for the dogs to be benched, but there are so many of them that it is impossible to get through the judging in less time. Sixteen or eighteen hundred dogs are shown there, worth I don't know how many thousands of dollars, and the crowds of spectators are big in proportion. You get an idea at one of those shows how many people are interested in dogs. The New York show is run by the Westminster Kennel Club, and because it's the biggest of all its trophies are greatly coveted. The dog that is adjudged the best of all breeds at the New York show becomes the champion of champions of the United States."
"Oh, my!" sighed Jack, "I wish I could see a dog show like that."
"You will, some day," said Mr. Hartshorn. "And who knows but that you may have a dog benched there and carry away some blue ribbons and a silver cup."
"Anyway," said Ernest, "you'll tell us all about this next one, and what your dogs win, won't you, Mr. Hartshorn?"
"You may depend upon that," said he.
When the other boys learned what was afoot they all became mightily interested in the bench-show game and in the prospects of the Willowdale entries at New York. One or two of them had subscribed to papers devoted to the dog fancy and these were handed about until the boys had familiarized themselves with the names of some of the old champions and the newer dogs of whom great things were expected. Heated discussions ensued, but all were agreed in wishing luck to the Willowdale dogs.
They were a bit disappointed when they learned that Mr. Hartshorn had decided to send down only four of the bull terriers and five Airedales, but Tom Poultice explained the reason for this.
"It costs five dollars for each entry of each dog, and wot's the use of entering dogs that don't stand a chance? Ch. Earl of Norfolk is getting old and 'e's all out of coat, and it wouldn't be fair to 'im to show 'im that way. We've picked the ones we're going to win with."
When Mr. and Mrs. Hartshorn and Tom Poultice started out in the big car for New York, with two of Mrs. Hartshorn's Poms on the back seat with her, they were followed by the envious longings of most of the boys of Boytown. But the boys did not have to wait for their return to learn about the results of the judging. They bought New York papers whichreported the show fully, and they devoured every word of the reports. Many of the familiar names appeared among the winners, and the Willowdale dogs captured their full share of the honors. Even Mrs. Hartshorn's Tip won two red ribbons, while that splendid bull terrier, Willowdale's White Hope, was adjudged the best American-bred dog of his breed exhibited by his breeder, and gathered up enough extra points to secure his championship title. But the climax in their rejoicing was reached when they read that the new Airedale, Bingo's Queen Molly, had gone right through her classes to reserve winners in an entry of over one hundred of the best Airedales in the United States.
It was, in short, a great four days for Willowdale. The Hartshorns returned on Sunday, having arranged for the shipment of the dogs on Saturday, and they graciously invited the whole gang up on the following Saturday to admire the conquering heroes and their shining trophies and to learn all about what happened from the lips of Mr. and Mrs. Hartshorn and Tom Poultice, who, by the way, wore a grin that appeared to have become permanent.
"Didn't I tell you that Molly was the genooine harticle?" was his frequently repeated comment.
It was unthinkable that, after all this, the boys should speedily lose interest. On the contrary, dogshows remained the foremost topic of conversation for a month, until one day Herbie Pierson had an inspiration.
"Say, fellers," he exploded one morning, bursting in upon a group of his friends in front of the schoolhouse, "let's get up a dog show of our own."
Just then the bell rang, which was rather unfortunate for all concerned. The teachers found the boys strangely inattentive that day and preoccupied, and more than one of them had to be reprimanded for whispering or for passing notes.
As soon as they obtained their freedom they plunged at once into a discussion of Herbie's fascinating plan, and in an incredibly short time they had arranged the essential details. The Easter recess was selected as the most fitting time for the Boytown Dog Show and a committee was appointed, consisting of Herbie Pierson, Harry Barton, and Ernest Whipple, to select a suitable place and make the necessary arrangements.
After considerable discussion it was decided that the Morton barn would make an ideal show hall, provided they could gain Mr. Morton's consent. It was one of the largest barns in the town proper and it was for the most part unoccupied, Mr. Morton having disposed of his horses when he bought his car.
Mr. Morton was the president of the First NationalBank, and a person of great dignity and importance, of whom the boys stood somewhat in awe. But they had set their hearts on getting his barn, and so they screwed up their courage and called on him at his home one afternoon after banking hours.
He turned out to be not such a formidable personage after all. In fact, he was amused by the diffidence of the delegation that called on him, and even more amused when Harry Barton, who had been chosen spokesman, outlined their plan and requested the use of his barn.
"I'll let you hold your show in my barn on two conditions," said he, after asking several questions. "First, you must promise to clean up thoroughly after it's all over. Second, will you allow me to enter Li Hung Chang in competition?"
Li Hung Chang was the blue-gray chow that followed at Mr. Morton's heels wherever he went, spent his days at the bank, and never had a word to say to any other dog. To this request the committee granted a ready and joyful request. And it gave them another idea—to invite the adult dog owners of Boytown, as well as the boys, to exhibit their dogs.
A meeting of the Humane Society was called to receive the report of the committee's success and to arrange further details. It was voted to charge an entrance fee of fifty cents for each dog shown andtwenty-five cents admission for spectators, the proceeds to be donated to the local chapter of the Red Cross of which Mrs. Hammond was an active member.
Since there were hardly two dogs in Boytown of the same breed, it did not seem possible to arrange for classes as in the big shows, so it was decided to make it a free-for-all contest, with first, second, and third prizes. Another committee was appointed to obtain these prizes from Boytown merchants and to secure the services of Mr. Hartshorn as judge.
Mr. Hartshorn, when approached on the matter, quite readily gave his consent, and the boys did not have great difficulty in obtaining the prizes when they explained that the show would be for the benefit of the Red Cross. In fact, Mr. Pierson, Herbie's father, who was a jeweler, was unexpectedly generous. He promised a silver cup for the first prize—not a large one, but real silver—to be engraved later with the name of the show, the date, and the name of the winning dog. The boys were so enthusiastically grateful for this that they expressed the hope that Herbie's Hamlet might win the trophy himself.
For six months past Ernest Whipple had been delivering evening papers for Mr. Fellowes, the news dealer, and had become quite a close friend of his employer's. This was due to the fact that Mr. Felloweshad once had a brindle bull terrier that had met an untimely death and whose memory ever remained fresh in his heart. The dog's name had been Bounce, and Mr. Fellowes found in Ernest a willing listener to his tales of Bounce's sagacity, courage, and fidelity. He was a genuine dog lover and enjoyed having Ernest bring Romulus in to see him, for the boy's dog nearly always accompanied him on his paper route. Mr. Fellowes had become much interested in the activities of the Humane Society and had become acquainted with most of the dogs of Boytown, and when Ernest told him about the plan for a show he expressed a wish to have some part in it. Ernest was not a member of the prize committee, but when he reported that Mr. Fellowes wished to donate a dog collar, it was unanimously voted to accept it as second prize. The third prize was a twenty-pound box of dog biscuit offered by Mr. Dewey, the grocer.
The Boytown Dog Show was scheduled for Wednesday of Easter week, and the days preceding it were busy ones for the members of the Boytown Humane Society. They called on every owner of a dog in town, both boys and grown-ups, and succeeded in obtaining entry fees from a good proportion of them. In the end, they had twenty-six entries, ranging from Herbie Pierson's Great Dane down to Mrs. Peabody's little Peke, and they saw to it that every one of these dogs was benched on the day of the show.
On Monday morning the citizens of Boytown were amused to find tacked to trees, billboards, and telephone poles in different parts of the town a score or more home-made posters announcing the show, and advertisements appeared in the local papers. The posters were somewhat crudely done, perhaps, in red and black ink, but they left no doubt as to their import, and it is safe to say that there wasn't a single resident of Boytown who did not soon know of the coming exhibition. The posters read as follows: