CHAPTER III. No Trespassing!
There were four of them; two gaudily-clad damsels and two men. The men,in their own way, were attired as gloriously as the maidens they wereescorting. The quartet added generously to the glowing beauty of thesummer day.
Down the lake they came, in a canoe modestly scarlet except for asingle broad purple stripe under the gunwale. The canoe's tones blendedsweetly with the pink parasol and blue picture hat of one of the women.
Stolid and unshaven fishermen, in drab scows, along the canoe's route,looked up from their lines, in bovine wonder at the vision ofloveliness which swept resonantly past them. For the quartet werewarbling. They were also doing queer musical stunts which are fondlymiscalled "close harmony."
Thus do they and their kind pay homage to a divine day on a fire-bluelake, amid the hush of the eternal hills. Lesser souls may findthemselves speaking in few and low-pitched words, under the holy spellof such surroundings. But to loftier types of holiday-seekers, thebenignant silences of the wilderness are put there by an all-wiseProvidence for the purpose of being fractured by any racket denotingcare-free merriment;--the louder the merrier. There is nothing soracket-breeding as a perfect day amid perfect scenery.
The four revelers had paddled down into the lake, on a day'spicnicking. They had come from far up the Ramapo river; beyond Suffern.And the long downstream jaunt had made them hungry. Wherefore, as theyreached mid-lakes they began to inspect the wooded shores for anattractive luncheon-site. And they found what they sought.
A half-mile to southward, a gently rolling point of land pushed outinto the lake. It was smooth-shaven and emerald-bright. It formed thelower end of a lawn; sloping gently downward, a hundred yards or more,from a gray old house which nestled happily among mighty oaks on aplateau at the low hill's summit.
The point (with its patch of beach-sand at the water's edge, and withcomfortable shade from a lakeside tree or so), promised an idealpicnic-ground. The shaven grass not only offered fine possibilities foran after-luncheon snooze; but was the most convenient sort of place forthe later strewing of greasy newspapers and Japanese napkins and woodenplatters and crusts and chicken bones and the like.
Moreover, a severely plain "No Trespass" sign, at the lake-margin,would serve as ideal kindling for a jolly little camp-fire. There isalways a zest in using trespass boards for picnic fires. Not only arethey seasoned and painted in a way to cause quick ignition, but peoplelaugh so appreciatively, when one tells, afterward, of the bit ofjovial audacity.
Yes, this point was just the place for luncheon and for siesta. Itmight have been made to order. And by tacit consent the two paddlerssent their multi-chrome canoe sweeping toward it. Five minutes later,they had helped the girls ashore and were lifting out the lunch-basketand various newspaper parcels and the red-and-purple cushions.
With much laughter and a snatch or two of close harmony, the lunch wasspread. One of the men picked out a place for the fire (against thetrunk of a two-century oak; perhaps the millionth noble old tree to bethreatened thus with death from care-free picnickers' fires) and theother man sauntered across to the trespass board to annex it forkindling.
Everything was so happy and so complete and everyone was having such aperfect time! Into such moments Fate loves best to toss Trouble. And,this day, Fate played true to form.
As the fire-maker's hand was laid on the trespass board, even as hisinconsequential muscles were braced to rip it loose from its post,--asqueal from the girl in the blue picture hat and the Nile-greengeorgette waist, checked his mirthful activities.
Now, there was nothing remarkable in the fact that the chromatic lasshad squealed. Indeed, she and her equally fair companion had beensquealing at intervals, all morning. But there was nothing coquettishor gay about this particular squeal. It savored rather of a screech. Inits shrill note was a tiny thread of terror. And the two men wheeledabout, to look.
The blue-hatted girl had paused in her dainty labor of helping tospread out the lunch; in order to peep inquisitively up the slopetoward the tree-framed house above. It might be fun, after eating, tostroll up there and squint in through the veranda windows; or,--if noone was at home, to gather an armful of the roses that clambered overone end of the porch.
During that brief exploratory glance, her eye had been caught bysomething moving through the woods beyond.
Behind the house, these woods ran up to the highroad, a furlong above.A driveway led twistingly down from the gate-lodge, to the house. Alongthis drive, was pacing a dog.
As the girl caught sight of him, the dog halted in his lazy stroll andstood eagerly erect, his nose upraised, his tulip ears pricked. Soundor scent, or both, had been arrested by some unusual presence. And hepaused to verify the warning.
As he stood there, an instant, in the shade-flecked driveway, the girlsaw he was a collie; massive, graceful, majestic; in the full strengthof his early prime; his shaggy coat of burnished mahogany-and-snowglinting back the showers of sun-rays that filtered down through theleaves.
Before the watching girl could take further note of him, the dog'saspect of tense listening merged into certainty. With no further shadowof doubt as to direction, he set off at a sweeping run past the houseand toward the point.
He ran with head down; and with tawny ruff abristle. There wassomething in his lithe gallop that was as ominous as it was beautiful.And, nervous at the great collie's approach, the girl squealed.
It had been a dull morning for Lad. The Mistress was in town for theday. The Master was shut up in his study, hard at work. And, for once,he had not remembered to call Lad to a resting place on the study rug;before closing the door on the outside world. Alone and bored, thecollie had wandered into the woods; in quest of possible rabbits tochase or squirrels to tree. Finding the sport tame, he startedhomeward. Midway down the drive, his supersensitive nostrils caught thewhiff of alien humans on the Place. At the same time, he heard theraucous gabbling of several voices. Though his near-sighted eyes didnot yet show the intruders to him, yet scent and sound made itridiculously easy for him to trace them.
From early puppyhood, Lad had been the official guardian of the Place.He knew the limits of its thirty acres; from lake to highroad; fromboundary fence to boundary fence. He knew, too, that visitors must notbe molested as long as they were on the driveway; but that no strangermight be allowed to cross the land, by any other route; or to trespasson lawn or oak-grove.
And now, apparently, strangers were holding some sort of unlicensedrevelry, down on the point. His sense of smell told him that neitherthe Master nor anyone else belonging to the Place was with them. Truewatchdog indignation swelled up in Lad's heart. And he ran at top speed.
The girl's three companions, turning at sight of her gesturing hand,beheld a mahogany-and-white thunderbolt whizzing down the hundred-yardslope toward them.
It chanced that both the men had served long apprenticeship asdog-fanciers; and that both of them knew collies. Thus, no second lookwas needed. One glimpse of the silently charging Lad told them all theyneeded to know. Not in this way does a blatant or bluffing watchdogseek to shoo off trespassers. This giant collie, with his lowered headand glinting fangs and ruffling hackles, meant business. And the menacted accordingly.
"Run for it!" bellowed one of them; setting a splendid example byreaching the beached canoe at a single scrambling bound. The second manwas no whit behind him. Between them, the canoe, at one shove, waslaunched. The first man grabbed one of the girls by the arm andpropelled her into the wobbling craft; while the other shoved off. Theremaining girl,--she of the azure headgear and the verdantwaist,--slipped on the grassy bank, in her flight, and sat down veryhard, at the water's edge. Already the canoe was six feet from shore;and both men were doing creditable acrobatic stunts to keep it fromturning turtle.
"Stand perfec'ly still," one of them exhorted the damsel, as he sawwith horror that she had been left ashore in the tumbling flight."Stand still and don't holler! Keep your hands high. It's likely hewon't bother
you. These highbred collies are pretty gentle with women;but some of 'em are blue murder to strange men. He--"
The man swayed for balance. His fellow-hero had brought the canoeabout, in an effort to smite with uplifted paddle at the oncoming dogwithout venturing too close to the danger-line.
In the same moment, Lad had gained the brink of the lake. Ignoring thepanic-struck woman on the bank, he flashed past her and galloped,body-deep, into the water; toward the swaying canoe.
Here he paused. For Lad was anything but a fool. And, like other wisecollies, he had sense enough to realize that a swimming dog is one ofthe most helpless creatures in the universe; when it comes toself-defense.
Ashore, or in water shallow enough to maneuver his powerful body, Ladcould give excellent account of himself against any normal foe. But,beyond his depth, he would fall easy victim to the first well-aimedpaddle-stroke. And he knew it. Thus, hesitant, his snarling teeth nottwo yards from the canoe, he stood growling in futile indignation atthe cranky craft's crankier occupants.
The girl who remained on shore plucked up enough panic-courage to catchher gaudy pink parasol by the ferule and to swing its heavy handle withall her fear-driven strength at Lad's skull. Luckily, the aim was asbad as it was vehement. The handle grazed the dog's shoulder, thenstruck the lake with a force that snapped the flimsy parasol in two.Whereat the girl shrieked aloud; and scuttled back as Lad spun aroundto face her.
But she might as well have spared herself the scream. She was in nodanger. True, the collie had whirled to seek and resent this new sourceof attack. But, seeing only a yelling and retreating woman behind him,he contented himself with a menacing growl, and turned again toward thecanoe.
One of the men, poising himself, had swung aloft his paddle. Now, withfull strength, he brought down the edged blade at the dog's head.
But it is one thing to aim a blow, from a tilting canoe; and quiteanother to make that blow land in the spot aimed for.
The whizzing paddle-blade missed Lad, clean. Not only because the dogveered sharply aside as it descended, but because the canoe, under thejarring heave of the striker's body, proceeded to turn turtle.
Into the water plopped the two men. Into the water, with them, splashedtheir rescued companion. This gentle soul had not ceased screaming,from the time she was hauled aboard. But now, submergence cut short hercries. A second later, the lamentations recommenced; in higher if moreliquid volume. For, the shore, at the point sloped very gradually outto deeper water. And immediately, she and the two men had regainedtheir foothold.
There, chest deep the trio stood or staggered. And, there, between themand the beach, raged Lad. None of the three cared to risk wadingshoreward, with such an obstacle between themselves and land. The girlon the bank added her quota of squalls to those of her semi-engulfedfriend; and one of the men began to reach far under water for a rock tothrow at the guard dog.
The first shrill cry had reached the Master, as he sat at work in hisstudy. Down the slope he came running; and stopped in slack-jawed amazeat the tableau in front of him.
On the bank hopped and wriggled a woman in vivid garments,--a woman whowaved a broken parasol and seemed to be practicing an Indian war-howl.Elbow deep in the placid waters of the lake floundered another womanalmost as wonderfully attired as the first, and quite as vocal. Oneither side of her was a drenched and gesticulating man. In thebackground bobbed an upset canoe. Between the two disrupted factions ofthe happy picnic party stood Lad.
The collie had ceased to growl; and, with head on one side, was lookingin eager inquiry at the Master. Lad had carried this watchdog exploitto a point where the next move was hard to figure out. He was glad theMaster had arrived, to take charge of the situation. It seemed to callfor human, rather than canine, solution. And Lad was profoundlyinterested as to the sequel. All of which showed as clearly in thecollie's whimsically expressive face as ever it could have been setforth in print.
Both men began to talk at once; with lurid earnestness and vast wealthof gesture. So did the women.
There was no need. The Master, already, had caught sight of thehalf-spread lunch on the grass. And it was by no means his first or histenth experience with trespassers. He understood. Snapping his fingers,to summon Lad to his side, he patted the dog's silken head; and strovenot to laugh.
"And just as we was sitting down, peaceful, to eat, and not harming noone at all and minding our own business," came a fragment of one man'soration, above the clamor of the others, "that big dark-sable collie ofyours came tearing down on us and--"
The triple opposition of outcry and complaint blurred the rest of hisenraged whine. But the Master looked out at him in new interest. Theman had used the term, "dark-sable collie"; which, by the way, was thetechnical phrase for Lad's coloring. Not one non-collie-man in athousand would have known the meaning of the term; to say nothing ofusing it by instinct. The Master stared curiously at the flounderingand sputtering speaker.
"Aren't you the manager of the Lochaber Collie Kennels, up atBeauville?" he asked, speaking loud enough to be heard above thesubsiding din. "I think I've seen you at Westminster and at some of thelocal shows. Higham is your name, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is," returned the kennel man, truculent, but surprised almostinto civility. "And this is my assistant, Mister Rice. And these twoyoung lady friends of ours are--Say!" he broke off, furiously,remembering his plight and swinging back to rage, as he began to wadeshoreward. "We're going to have the law on you, friend! Your collietackled us when we was peaceably-"
"When you were peaceably ignoring this trespass sign of mine?" finishedthe Master. "Don't forget that. If you didn't have these girls withyou, I'd keep my hands off Lad's collar and let him hold you out in thelake till it freezes for the winter. As it is, one of you men can swimout for your canoe and tow it in; and then the rest of you can bundleaboard it and finish your picnic on somebody else's land."
"Well!" shrilled the wet damsel, striding shoreward like some sloppilyoverdressed Venus rising from the sea. "Well! I MUST say! Niceneighborly, hospitable way to treat poor unfortunate--!"
"Trespassers?" suggested the Master, as she groped for a climax word."You're right. It is no way to treat a woman who has fallen into thelake; trespasser or not. If you and this other young lady care to go upto the kitchen, the maids will see that your clothes are dried; andthey'll lend you other clothes to go home in. Lad won't hurt you. Andin this hot weather you're in no danger of catching cold. While you'regone, Higham and Rice can get hold of the canoe and right it and bailit out. And, by the way, I want one of you two men to clear that litterof food and greasy paper off my lawn. Then--"
"Into the kitchen!" snorted the wet maid. "Into the KITCHEN? I'm alady! I don't go into kitchens. I--"
"No?" queried the Master, trying once more not to laugh. "Well, my wifedoes. So does my mother. I spoke of the kitchen because it's the onlyroom with a fire in it, in this weather. If you'd prefer the barn or--"
"I won't step one foot in your house!" declaimed the girl. "Nor yet Ididn't come here to be insulted. You've gone and spoiled our whole day,you big brute! Boys, go get that canoe! We won't lower ourselves bystaying another minute on his rotten land. Afterward, our lawyer'll seewhat's the penalty for treating us like this! Hurry up!"
Rice had clumped along shore until he found a dead branch washed up ina recent rainstorm. Wading back into deeper water he was just able toreach the gunwale of the drifting canoe with the forked end of thebough and, by careful jockeying, to haul it within hand-grasp.
Aided by Higham, he drew the overturned craft to the beach and rightedit. All the time, both men maintained a half-coherent diatribe, whoselanguage waxed hotter and hotter and whose thunderbolts centered aboutthe Master and his dog;--particularly about Lad;--and about the direlegal penalties which were to be inflicted on them.
The Master, still holding Lad's ruff, stood to one side during the workof salvaging the canoe; and while Rice replaced the paddles andcushions in it. Only when the two women w
ere helped sputteringly aboarddid he interfere.
"One minute!" he said. "I think you've forgotten your lunch. That andthe ream or two of newspapers you've strewn around: and a few woodendishes. I--"
"I picked up all the lunch that was worth saving," grunted Rice. "Yourmangy collie trampled the rest of it, when he ran down here at us. Iwisht it'd had strychnia in it and he'd et it! We'll go eat our dinnerover to the village. And, before we go, I got this much more to say toYOU:--If--"
"Before you go," interrupted the Master, shifting himself and Ladbetween Higham and the canoe, "before you go, let me remind you thatyou've left a lot of litter on my clean lawn; and that I asked you toclean it up."
"Go clean it up, yourself!" snapped Rice, from the boat. "This upstagetalk about 'trespassing' makes me sick! As soon as a guy has athree-dollar patch of bum land (with a mortgage eating it up, mostlikely), he always blats about 'trespassing' whenever decent folkshappens to walk on it. Go clean up the papers, yourself! We ain't yourslaves. You're due to hear a lot from us, later, too. Clean it,yourself!"
The ladies applauded these stirring proletariat sentiments rightvigorously. But Higham did not applaud. Rice and the women were in thecanoe. Higham had gone back to the picnic site for an overlookedcushion. On returning toward the beach, he had found the Master and Ladstanding in his way. Loftily, he made as though to skirt them and reachthe canoe.
"WATCH him, Laddie!" whispered the Master, loosing his hold on thedog's ruff.
This, in the midst of Rice's tirade. Higham stood extremely still. Asthe others applauded, he began, very fervently, to swear.
"Higham," suggested the Master, "I've no personal objection to yourblasphemy. If the women of your party can stand it, I can. But aren'tyou wasting a good deal of time! These papers have all got to be pickedup, you know; and the camp nicely policed. Get busy."
Higham glowered on him in murderous hate; then at the tensely watchingdog. Lad's upper lip curled. The man took a tentative step toward thebeach. Lad crouched, panther-like; and a low growl parted still furtherhis writhing lips.
Higham was enough of a collie man to foresee the inevitable next move.He stood stock still. The Master put his hand once more on Lad's ruff;but none too tightly. And he nodded toward the clutter of newspapersand wooden plates. Higham's language soared spoutingly to high heaven.But he turned back and, with vicious grabs, cleared the lawn of itsunsightly litter.
"Take it into the boat with you." said the Master. "That's all.Goodbye. See you at the Beauville show."
Waiting only for the canoe and its four vociferous occupants to startsafely from shore, the Master returned to the house; Lad at his heels;pursued by a quadruple avalanche of abuse from the damp trespassers.
"There'll be a comeback of some kind to this, Laddie," he told thecollie, as they moved on. "I don't know just what it'll be. But thosetwo worthy youths didn't look at all lovingly at us. And there'snothing else in country life so filthily mean as an evicted trespasser.Don't let's say anything to the Mistress about it, Lad. It'd only worryher! And--and she'll think I ought to have invited all thosepanhandlers up to the house to get dry. Perhaps she'd be right, too.She generally is."
A week later, Lad received a summons that made his heart sink. For heknew precisely what it foretold. He was called to the bathroom; whereawaited him a tub half full of warm water.
Now, baths were no novelty to Lad. But when a bath tub containedcertain ingredients from boxes on the dog-closet shelf,--ingredientsthat fluff the coat and burnish it and make all its hairs stand outlike a Circassian Beauty's, that meant but one thing.
It meant a dog-show was at hand.
And Lad loathed dog-shows, as he loathed tramps and castor oil andmotorcycles.
After a single experience, he had never been taken to one of thosecanine ordeals known as "three-or-more-day shows." But the Mistress andthe Master rejoiced at his triumphs at such local one-day shows as werewithin pleasant driving distance of the Place. These exhibitionsentailed no great strain or danger. Lad's chief objection to them wasthat he hated to be chirped to and pawed and stared upon by an army ofstrangers.
Such a one-day event was the outdoor Charity Dogshow at the BeauvilleCountry Club, forty miles to northeast of the Place; an easy two-hourdrive. It was to be a "specialty show"; at which the richness andvariety of prizes were expected to atone for the lack of A. K. C.points involved.
A premium-list of the show had been mailed to the Place; and one of its"specials" had caught the Mistress's quick eye and quicker imagination.The special was offered by Angus McGilead, an exiled Scot whose lifefad was the Collie; and whose chief grievance was that most Americanbreeders did not seem able to produce collies with the unbelievablewealth of outer-and-undercoat displayed by the oversea dogs. Thisparticular special was offered in the following terms:
Embossed Sterling Silver Cup, 9 Inches High (Genuine Antique) For TheBest-Coated Collie Shown.
Now, Lad's coat was the pride of the Mistress's heart. By dailybrushings she kept it in perfect condition and encouraged its luxuriantgrowth. When she read of McGilead's eccentric offer, she fell tovisualizing the "embossed sterling silver cup, 9 inches high (genuineantique)" as it would loom up from the hedge of dog-show prizes alreadyadorning the living room trophy-shelves.
Summer is the zero hour for collies' coats. Yet, this year, Lad had notyet begun to shed his winter raiment; and he was still in full bloom.This fact decided the Mistress. Not one collie in ten would be inanything like perfect coat. And the prize cup grew clearer and nearer,to her mental vision. Hence the series of special baths and brushings.Hence, too, Laddie's daily-increasing gloom.
At eight o'clock on the morning of the show, the Mistress and theMaster, with Lad stretched forlornly on the rear seat of the car, setforth up the Valley on the forty-mile run to Beauville. On the tonneaufloor, in front of Lad, rested a battered suitcase, which held histoilet appurtenances;--brushes, comb, talcum, French chalk, show-leash,sponge, crash towel, squeaking rubber doll (this to attract his boredinterest in the ring and make him "show") and a box of liver cut insmall bits and fried stiff.
Lad blinked down at the suitcase in morose disapproval. He hated thatbag. It spelt "dogshow" to him. Even the presence of the deliciousfried liver and of the mildly dramatic squeaking doll could not atonefor the rest of its contents and for all they implied.
As the car sent the miles slipping behind and as the Mistress and theMaster glanced back less and less often for a pat or a cheery word totheir sulking chum, Lad's dislike for that pestilential bag grewsharper. True, it held squares of fried liver;--liver whose heavenlyodor penetrated through the musty leather smell of the suitcase and tothe dog's acute senses. Also, it held a doll which exuded thrillingsqueaks when gently bitten. But these things, he knew full well, weredesigned as show-ring baits; not as free gifts.
No, the bag was his enemy. And, unlike his few other natural foes, Ladhad never been bidden to leave it unmolested. This memory came to him,in the midst of his blues. He eyed the loathsome suitcase throughquizzical half-shut eyes, as it rocked and careened at his feet withevery jounce of the car. And into his brain shot the devil of mischief.
Bending down his shapely head, he took the handle of the case betweenhis teeth. Then, bracing his little white forepaws on the slipperyleather seat, he heaved with all the mighty strength of his back andshoulders. Under such urgence, the light suitcase swung high in air. Asideways toss of the muscular throat, and the suitcase whirled clear ofthe car door and of the running-board beneath. Then Lad let go; andsettled himself back smugly in the seat. The luckless suitcase smotethe road dust and rolled into a grassy ditch. The car sped on. Lad, forthe moment, was nearly happy. If he were not able to dodge the showitself, at least he had gotten rid of the odious thing which held somuch he detested and which was always an inseparable part of theordeals he was taken to.
Arrived at the country club whose grounds had been fitted for thecharity show, Lad was benched in the shade. And there, all the rest ofthe
morning, he remained. For Loder, judge of the collies and OldEnglish Sheepdogs and of two other breeds, had missed a train fromCanada; and had not yet arrived. His various classes were held up,pending his advent.
"Loder's a lucky man, at that," commented the Toy Breeds judge, withwhom the Master chanced to be talking. "And he'll be still luckier ifhe misses the whole show. You 'small exhibitors' have no notion of therotten deal handed to a dog-show judge;--though lots of you do morethan your share toward making his life a burden. Before the judgingbegins, some of the exhibitors act as if they wanted to kiss him.Nothing's too good for him. He wades chin-deep through flattery andloving attentions. Then, after the judging is over, he is about aspopular with those same exhibitors as a typhoid germ. No one can saybad enough things about him. He's 'incompetent,' he's 'agrafter,--'he's 'afraid of the big kennels,'--he's 'drunk.' He's any ofthese things; or all of them put together. Nobody's satisfied.Everybody has had a raw deal. Everybody's hammer is out for the poorslob of a judge. Well, not everybody's, of course. There are some realsportsmen left crawling on the surface of the earth. But the bigmajority pan him, all the way home; and then some of them roast him inprint. The Income Tax man is a popular favorite, compared with adog-show judge."
"But--"
"Then, again," pursued the Toy Breeds man, "he's got to leave his heartat home, if he doesn't want it to ache when he has to 'gate' thesecond-rate mutts shown by outsiders who never exhibited before and whothink their pet dog ought to get every prize because he's so cunningand friendly. I hate to--"
The Mistress came hurrying up from a careful inspection of the line ofcollies. Drawing her husband aside, she whispered, excitedly:
"There's only one other collie here, whose coat can anywhere near equalLaddie's. The rest are all in shabby summer coat. Come across and letme show him to you. I'm--I'm afraid he has a gorgeous coat. Not that_I_ think it's half as good as Lad's," she added, loyally, as shepiloted the Master between the double lines of clamorous dogs."But--oh, I'm so afraid the judge may think it is! You see, he doesn'tknow Laddie as we do."
She stopped before a bench whereon lay a pale golden sable collie;almost corn-colored; who boasted a wealth and magnificence of coat thatmade the Master open his eyes wide.
The dog was smaller and slighter of frame than was Lad. Nor, in headand expression, was he Lad's equal. But his coat was every bit asluxuriant. Indeed, there was perhaps a shade more of it than Ladcarried.
A collie's coat, as a rule, takes about seven months to grow. Thus,each year, it comes into full bloom a little later than on the yearbefore. And, in course of time, it is prone to reach its climax ofexcellence in summer. This was the lot of both Lad and the paler-hueddog.
"Lochaber King," read the Master, from his catalog. "H'm! That'sColonel Osbourne's greatest pup. Remember, we saw him at Westminster?It's nip-and-tuck, between him and Lad; with a little in this dog'sfavor. Tough luck!"
"Oh, this has been just one of those days nobody wants!" mourned theMistress. "First, our forgetting to bring along Laddie's suitcase,though I could have sworn I saw you lift it aboard,--and then the judgenot being here; and now this horrid collie with his wonderful coat!What next, I wonder?"
Like a well-staged bit of mechanism, the reply to her rhetoricalquestion came down to her from heaven. It came in the shape of athunder-roll that began far off and reverberated from mountain tomountain; then muttered itself into silence in the more distant hills.The Mistress, like everyone else, looked skyward.
The hazy blue of the summer noon was paling to dirty gray and black. Upfrom the Hudson, a fast-mounting array of dun and flame-shot cloudswere butting their bullying way. No weather-prophet was needed to tellthese hillcountry folk that they were in for a thunderstorm;--and forwhat one kennel-man described as "a reg'lar ol' he-one," at that.
Now, under right conditions, an open-air dogshow is a thing of beautyand of joy. At such places as Tuxedo and one or two others it is asight to be remembered. But in rainy weather,--especially in atumultuous thunderstorm, it has not one redeeming feature.
The Beauville Show Committee,--like all experts in such matters, hadtaken this chance into account. Down the aisles of benches and throughthe questioning and scared groups of exhibitors ran attendants andofficials; shouting that the Country Club polo stables and the widespaces under the clubhouse verandas had been fitted up for emergencyquarters, where the dogs might be housed, dry and safe, until thepassing of the storm.
Up to the Master hurried a club page-boy.
"This way, sir!" he panted. "I saved a special box stall, in the firststable, for your collie."
"YOU saved it?" queried the puzzled Master, while the Mistress began tounfasten Lad's leash. "How did you happen to do that?"
"I was told to, sir," answered the boy. "A--a gentleman told me to,just now. One of the of'cers of the club. I don't know his name. Heshowed me the stall; and he told me to take your dog there."
"That's mighty, decent; whoever did it," said the Master, whistling thefreed dog to him and setting forth in the boy's wake, toward thewelcoming stables. "I wish you knew his name. I'd like to thank him."
The stable was dim-lit, at best. Now, the gathering storm made it asdark as twilight. The box stall to which Lad was led was almost pitchblack; its shuttered window being closed. Still, it was shelter.Leaving the Master and the Mistress to consign Lad to his new quarters,the boy scuttled of to a harness-room. There, an eagerly-questioningman was awaiting him.
"Yep," broke in the boy, through a volley of inquiries. "I done it, allright, all right, Mr. Higham. They're moorin' him in Stall Five, rightnow. How about those two soft dollars? Hey?"
"You earned 'em, O. K.," grinned Higham. "Here you are. Two,--count'em, two. And now, chase along, sonny. I'm busy."
He turned to a large bowl in which he had been mixing the contents ofthree or four bottles. And the boy saw his fingers were fiery red.
"What's the matter?" demanded the youngster, in high excitement."That's blood, ain't it?"
"No," denied Higham. "Blood's light red. This is crimson. Remember thetime we run in that joke on Daddy Price, by dipping his prize whiteleghorns in crimson dye, just before the Madison Square Garden PoultryShow? Well, this is the same stuff."
"Do I remember it?" snickered the boy. "He was ragin', for fair.Couldn't get it off, to save him. It stayed, that color, on 'em, tillthey'd shed the last one of last year's crop of feathers. Sure, Iremember. Why wouldn't I? Didn't I git a dollar for holdin' 'em foryou? And another dollar for keepin' my mouth shut? But what are youlottin' to do with the stuff, this time? No chickens here; or--"
"Nope," assented Higham. "No chickens here. Hold on, a second!"
He stood, musing. Then he spoke.
"I was going to play a lone hand, on this," he said, presently. "Ididn't even dare let Rice in on it. He'd be dead-sure to tell thatgabby girl he's going to marry. And it'd get all over the country in aweek. And that'd lose me my job, if the boss heard of it. I was goingto play it alone. That's why I left Rice and Willett to put up the dogsfor me. But,--I'm blest if I know how I'm to hold him and dye him atthe same time. He's as strong as an ox. You--you're a good,close-tongued kid, Harry. You kept your mouth shut about Price'schickens. Could you keep it shut,--for another dollar,--about this? Ifyou'll do that, and lend me a hand--How about it?"
"What's the main idea?" asked the boy, much intrigued by the beauty ofthe dye on Higham's fingers; and squirming with embarrassedself-importance at the man's flattering tone. "I'll help out, allright. Only,--"
"Here's the notion," said Higham, coming out of momentaryself-communion. "And if you ever spill it, your mail will be sent toyou at the hosp't'l, for a spell. You saw that big dark sable collie Ihad you steer into Stall Five? It cost me another two dollars to getAbrams to let me have the use of that stall. The idea come to me, in ajolt, first crack of thunder I heard. Well, I'm due to 'get' that dogand the mucker who owns him, too. Them and I had a run-in, once; and Ibeen honing for a chance to square things, e
ver since. I've seen 'em atshows and I've asked folks about 'em, too. He sets more store by thatdog than he'd set by most humans. He's pleased as Punch, every time thecollie hauls down a cup at one of these neighborhood shows. Well, thatdog ain't going to be fit to go to another show, for a year. He ain'tgoing to be fit to look at, for that long. He's going to be a laughingstock. His owners won't brag any more about him, neither. They'll beglad enough to keep him out of sight."
The boy, listening with ever-widening eyes, chanced to shift his gazeto the big bowl of new-mixed dye. And a light broke on him.
"You--you're aimin' to soak him with that stuff?" he whispered, in aweat such combined courage and genius.
"Uh-uh," assented Higham. "I don't know what color the crimson stuffwill turn the dark part of his coat. But whatever color it is, it'll beas funny as a box of three-tailed snakes. I've put a glass of ammoniainto the dye, to make it 'set' quicker. It--"
"Gee, but you're a wonder!" sighed the worshiping boy. "D'ye s'poseI'll ever git to be as smart as you are?"
"It all depends on how you make use of your brains," returned Higham,complacently. "But I was some smarter than you to begin with. I--"
"But--"
Higham went on, more briskly:
"I've got this bag to put over his head when I open the stall door.That'll put him out of the biting business, till it's peeled away fromhis jaws, after he's got a real good rubbing. But he'll likely wriggle,a lot. And I'll need you to sit on his head. Likewise to carry thisbowl and the sponge, while I'm opening the door and getting the bagover his head. Are you game?"
"I sure am!" breathed the enraptured boy.
"Come 'long, then. The stuff's ready; and we don't want to waste anytime. Go ahead and see if there's anyone in that end of the stable."Two minutes later, the pair groped their way through the dense gloom,to Stall Five. They walked with exaggerated care; though the roar ofthe storm would have deadened the sound of a cavalry charge. Handingover the bowl and sponge to his assistant, Higham produced from underhis coat a thick burlap bag with a drawstring at its neck. Then, heopened the door of the box stall, a few inches and stared in.
By straining his eyes, he could just see the vague outline of the bigcollie. The dog arose from a bundle of straw, stretched himself foreand aft, and walked gravely forward to welcome the visitors who were sokindly easing his loneliness. He was barely visible, in the dimness.
But there was light enough for Higham's purpose. With practiced hand,he shoved the bag over the beautiful silken head, as the collie steppedmajestically toward him. Then, deftly, he threw the indignant andstruggling dog to the floor, and bade the boy come in; and shut thegate behind him.
With the passing of another hour, the rain ceased; and a glory ofafternoon sunlight bathed the freshened world. At about the same time,the belated collie judge arrived at the clubhouse. Word was sent forththat all dogs were to be returned to their benches and that the judgingof the collies and of certain other breeds would begin at once.
There was a general hustle and confusion, as exhibitors led forth theirdogs from shelter; benching them and plying brush and chalk and towelin frantic haste.
Higham summoned Rice and another of the kennel men and bade them bringforth the Lochaber dogs. Instead of helping them with his task, Highamhimself ran to the top of the clubhouse steps, from which he couldsurvey not only the benches but also the stables and the lawn between.There, quivering with hard-held excitement, he stood; with the air ofone who has chosen a grandstand seat for some thrilling event. He worea pair of thick gloves. As he had discarded the linen duster which hehad worn during the dyeing process, there was no betraying splash ofcolor on his severely correct garb.
People were trooping out from the shelter of the clubhouse. With halfan eye, Higham observed these; chuckling at thought of theeverincreasing number of spectators to his rare comedy. Of a sudden,the chuckle changed to a gasp.
Out through the doorway, and onto the veranda, strolled ColonelOsbourne, owner of the Lochaber Collie Kennels. With him walked theMistress and the Master.
At the Mistress's side paced Lad.
"It was so careless of us to leave the suitcase at home!" the Mistresswas saying. "I don't know how we could have groomed him, Colonel, ifyou hadn't come to our rescue by turning that kit bag's heaven-sentcontents over to us. Besides, it gave us the excuse to bring Laddie upinto the house; instead of leaving him all alone in that black stall.He hates thunderstorms, and--"
A yell, from somewhere, interrupted her. The yell was caught up. Itmerged into a multiple roar of inextinguishable laughter. The Mistresssaw a hundred faces all turned in one direction, The faces wereconvulsed with mirth. A hundred derisively wondering fingers werepointing. She ran to the veranda rail and looked down.
Across the patch of greensward, from the stables, a man and a dog wereadvancing. The man was shaking his fist at the world at large andfairly dancing with rage.
But it was the dog, and not he, that caused the Homeric gusts ofmerriment and the gobbling chorus of amazed questions. The dog was acollie; noble of aspect, massive of coat.
But that same coat vied with the setting sun in garish brilliancy ofhue. Never since the birth of time, had such a beast been seen bymortals. From the tip of his aristocratic nose to the plume of hissweeping tail, the collie was one blazingly vivid mass of crimson! Hefairly irradiated flaring red lights. His coat was wet and it hungstickily to his lean sides, as if he had just come from a swim. And itwas tinted like a chromo of a prairie fire.
Following more slowly to the veranda's edge, Colonel Osbourne had beguna reply to the Mistress's half-finished speech of gratitude for hishospitality.
"I was only too glad to be of service," said he. "That's a grand dogyou have. It was a real pleasure to help in his grooming. Besides, Iprofited by it. You see, my Lochaber King was quartered in a muddycorner under the veranda. So I took the liberty of telling my man,Rice, to put him in that comfortable big stall of Lad's. I am the chiefgainer by the--"
His courtly speech became a gurgle of horror. For, his eyes fell on theragingly advancing Rice. And, by deduction, he recognized the crimsonmonstrosity at Rice's heels as his beloved Lochaber King.
Before the apoplectic Colonel could speak, Lad created a diversion onhis own account. He had been sniffing the air, reminiscently, for a fewseconds. Now, his eyes verified what his nostrils had told him. Apallidly glaring and shaking man, leaning against the veranda rail forsupport, had an oddly familiar scent and appearance to Laddie.
The collie stepped forward to investigate. The nerve-smashed Higham sawhim coming; and thrust out one gloved hand in frightened rebuff.
The flicking gesture was unpleasantly like a blow. As the menacing handslapped toward his jaws, Lad caught at it, in wary self-defense.
He recalled this man, now. He remembered he had been bidden to "watch"him. He did not spring at his assailant. But a warning snap answeredthe frenzied thrust of the hand. His teeth closed lightly on theglove-fingers, just as Higham, in fear, jerked back his arm.
The loose glove came away in the dog's mouth.
Colonel Osbourne, wheeling about to demand some explanation of hiskennel-manager, beheld a bare hand as vividly crimson as LochaberKing's ruined coat.
"Laddie," observed the Mistress, that evening, as she placed on the toptrophy-shelf an embossed silver cup, antique, and nine inches high, andstood back pride fully, to note the effect. "Laddie, I know--I justKNOW,--you'd have won it, even if poor Lochaber King had competed.But,--oh, I wish I could make head or tail of any of the things thathave happened, today! How do you suppose it all started, anyhow, dear?"she asked, turning to her husband for help in the riddle.
"I'd be willing to bet a year's pay it 'all started' about six feetfrom shore in this lake," responded the Master, "and about a fortnightago."
But he spoke it in the depths of his own guiltily exultant heart.Outwardly, he merely grinned; and said with vacuous conviction:
"Laddie, you're a grand dog. And,--if you d
idn't win that cup fromLochaber King in one way, you certainly won it in another!"