Now will of its own free will the average hungry or starving dog be constant in its attendance, under such conditions? No, the average hungry or starving dog, if left to its own devices, will not, for it would not be worth its while.
Add to this that the dog’s attendance was required, not at any odd hour of the day or night that it might fancy to drop in, no, but between certain definite limiting hours, and these were, eight o’clock p.m. and ten o’clock p.m. And the reason for that was this, that at ten o’clock the house was shut up for the night, and it was not known, until eight o’clock, if Mr Knott had left anything, or all, or nothing, of his food for the day. For though as a general rule Mr Knott ate every atom, both of his lunch and of his dinner, in which case the dog got nothing, yet what was to prevent him from eating every atom of his lunch, but no dinner, or only part of his dinner, in which case the dog got the uneaten dinner, or portion of dinner, or from eating no lunch, or only part of his lunch, and yet every atom of his dinner, in which case the dog got the uneaten lunch, or portion of lunch, or from eating only part of his lunch, and then again only part of his dinner, in which case the dog benefited by the two uneaten portions, or from not touching either his lunch or his dinner, in which case the dog, if it neither delayed nor precipitated its arrival, went away with its belly full at last.
By what means then were the dog and the food to be brought together, on those days on which, Mr Knott having left all or part of his food for the day, all or part of the food was available for the dog? For Watt’s instructions were formal: On those days on which food was left over, the food left over was to be given to the dog, without loss of time.
This was the problem that must have faced Mr Knott, in the far distant past, at the moment of his setting up house.
This was one of the many problems that must have faced Mr Knott then.
Or if not Mr Knott, then another, of whom all trace is lost. Or if not another, then others, of whom no trace remains.
Watt now passed on to the manner in which this problem had been solved, if not by Mr Knott, then by that other, and if neither by Mr Knott nor by that other, then by those others, in a word, to the manner in which this problem had been solved, this problem of how to bring the dog and food together, by Mr Knott, or by him, or by them, whom it had faced, in that far distant past, when Mr Knott set up his establishment, for that it could have been solved by some person or persons whom it had never faced seemed improbable, highly improbable, to Watt.
But before he passed on to this, he paused to reflect that the solution of this problem of how to bring the dog and food together in the way described had perhaps been arrived at by the same person or persons by whom the solution of the problem of how Mr Knott’s food was to be prepared had been arrived at, so long before.
And when he had paused to reflect on this, he paused a little longer, before passing on to the solution that seemed to have prevailed, to consider some at least of those that did not seem to have prevailed.
But before pausing a little longer to do this, he hastened to remark that those solutions that did not seem to have prevailed might have been considered, and set aside, as unsatisfactory, by the author or authors of the solution that did seem to have prevailed, or might not.
1. An exceptional hungry or starving dog might have been sought out, that for reasons best known to itself would have considered it worth its while to call at the house, in the manner required.
But the chances of such a dog’s existing were small.
But the likelihood of finding such a dog, if it did exist, was slight.
2. An ill-nourished local dog might have been selected, to which with the consent of its proprietor all or part of Mr Knott’s food might have been brought, by one of Mr Knott’s men, on the days that Mr Knott left all or part of his food, for the day.
But then one of Mr Knott’s men would have had to put on his coat and hat and turn out, as likely as not in the pitch dark, and in torrents of rain in all probability, and grope his way in the dark in the pours of rain, with the pot of food in his hand, a wretched and ridiculous figure, to where the dog lay.
But was there any guarantee of the dog’s being in, when the man arrived? Might not the dog have gone out, for the night?
But was there any guarantee, supposing the dog to be in when the man arrived, of the dog’s being hungry enough to eat the pot of food, when the man arrived with the pot of food? Might not the dog have satisfied its hunger, during the day? Or was there any assurance, supposing the dog to be out when the man arrived, of the dog’s being hungry enough, when it came in, in the morning, or during the night, to eat the pot of food that the man had brought? Might not the dog have satisfied its hunger, during the night, and indeed left the house with no other purpose?
3. A messenger might have been employed, a man, or a boy, or a woman, or a girl, to call at the house every evening at say eight fifteen o’clock in the evening, and on those evenings on which food was available for the dog to take that food to a dog, to any dog, and to stand over that dog until it had eaten the food, and if it could not or would not finish the food to take what remained of the food to another dog, to any other dog, and to stand over that other dog until it had eaten what remained of the food, and if it could not or would not finish what remained of the food to take what still remained of the food to another dog, to any other dog, and so on, until all the food was eaten, and not an atom remained, and then to bring back the pot empty.
(This person might have been further employed to clean the boots, and the shoes, either before leaving the house with the pot full, though of course it was not full at all, or on returning to the house with the pot empty, or simply on learning that there was no food available for the dog, that day. This would have greatly relieved the gardener, a Mr Graves, and enabled him to give to the garden the time that he gave to the boots, and to the shoes. And is it not strange most strange that one says of a thing that it is full, when it is not full at all, but not of a thing that it is empty, if it is not empty? And perhaps the reason for that is this, that when one fills, one seldom fills quite full, for that would not be convenient, whereas when one empties one empties completely, holding the vessel upside down, and rinsing it out with boiling water if necessary, with a kind of fury.)
But was there any guarantee that the messenger would indeed give the food to a dog, or dogs, in accordance with his instructions? What was to prevent the messenger from eating the food himself, or from selling all or part of the food to some other party, or from giving it away, or from emptying it away into the nearest ditch or hole, to save time, and trouble?
But what would happen if the messenger, through indisposition, or drunkenness, or carelessness, or idleness, failed to call at the house on an evening on which food was available for the dog?
But might not even the most hardy, the most sober, the most conscientious of messengers, knowing all the local dogs, their habits and their homes, their colours and their shapes, have still some food got, in the old pot, when ten o’cluck strock, from the old clock, and then how would he bring back the pot, the trusty messenger, if the pot was not empty in time, for the following morning would be too late, for Mr Knott’s pots and pans were not allowed to stay out, over night.
But was a dog the same thing as the dog? For in Watt’s instructions there was no mention of a dog, but only of the dog, which could only mean that what was required was not any dog, but one particular dog, that is to say, not one dog one day, and the next another, and perhaps the next a third, no, but every day the same, every day the same poor old dog, as long as the dog lived. But a fortiori were several dogs the same thing as the dog?
4. A man possessed of a famished dog might have been sought out, whose business brought him, accompanied by his dog, past Mr Knott’s house every evening of the year, between the hours of eight and ten. Then on those evenings on which food was available for the dog, in Mr Knott’s window, or some other conspicuous window, a red light would be set, or perhap
s better a green, and on all other evenings a violet light, or perhaps better no light at all, and then the man (and no doubt after a little time the dog too) would lift up his eyes to the window as he passed, and seeing a red light, or a green light, would hasten to the housedoor and stand over his dog until his dog had eaten all the food that Mr Knott had left, but seeing a violet light, or no light at all, would not hasten to the door, with his dog, but continue on his way, down the road, with his dog, as though nothing had happened.
But was it likely that such a man existed?
But was it likely, if he did, that he could be found?
But if he did, and he were found, might he not confound, in his mind, as he passed before the house, on his way home, if he were homeward bound, or on his way out, if he were outward bound, for whither can a man be bound, if bound he be, but on the one hand homeward, and on the other outward, might he not confound, in his mind, the red light with the violet, the violet with the green, the green with the none, the none with the red, and when there was no food him for come ratatat knocking at the door, and when there was for him some food onward plod along the road, followed by his faithful emaciated dog?
But might not Erskine, or Watt, or some other Erskine, or some other Watt, set in the window the wrong light, or the no light, by mistake, or the right light, or the no light, when it was too late, out of forgetfulness, or procrastination, and the man and dog come running to the door, when there was nothing, or onward plod, when there was something?
But would not this greatly add to the worries, the responsibilities, and the exertions, already so heavy, of Mr Knott’s servants?
So Watt considered, not only some of those solutions that had not apparently prevailed, but also some of those objections that were perhaps the cause of their not having done so, distributed as follows:
Solution Number of Objections
1st 2
2nd 3
3rd 4
4th 5
Number of Solutions Number of Objections
4 14
3 9
2 5
1 2
Passing on then to the solution that seemed to have prevailed, Watt found it to be roughly this, that a suitable local dogowner, that is to say a needy man with a famished dog, should be sought out, and on him settled a handsome annuity of fifty pounds payable monthly, in consideration of his calling at Mr Knott’s house every evening between eight and ten, accompanied by his dog in a famished condition, and on those days on which there was food for his dog of his standing over his dog, with a stick, before witnesses, until the dog had eaten all the food until not an atom remained, and of his then taking himself and his dog off the premises without delay; and that a younger famished dog should by this man at Mr Knott’s expense be acquired and held in reserve, against the day when the first famished dog should die, and that then again another famished dog should in the same way be procured and held in readiness, against the inevitable hour when the second famished dog should pay nature’s debt, and so on indefinitely, there being thus two famished dogs always available, the one to eat the food left over by Mr Knott in the manner described until it died, and the other then for as long as it lived to do the same, and so on indefinitely; and further that a similar young local but dogless man should be sought out, against the day when the first local man should die, to take over and exploit, in the same way and on the same terms, the two surviving famished dogs thus left without a master, and without a home; and that then again another young local dogless man should in the same way be secured, against the dread hour of the second local man’s dissolution, and so on indefinitely, there being thus two famished dogs and two needy local men for ever available, the first needy local man to own and exploit the two famished dogs in the manner described as long as he lived, and the other then, as long as he drew breath, to do the same, and so on indefinitely; and that lest, as might very well happen, one of the two famished dogs, or both the famished dogs, should fail to survive their master, and follow him at once to the grave, a third, a fourth, a fifth and even a sixth famished dog should be acquired and suitably maintained at Mr Knott’s expense in some convenient place in a famished condition, or that better still there should be at Mr Knott’s expense on some favourable site established a kennel or colony of famished dogs from which at any time a well-bred well-trained famished dog could be withdrawn and set to work, in the manner described; and that on the off chance of the second poor young local man’s passing over, into the beyond, at the same time as the first poor local man, or even before, and stranger things are of hourly occurrence, a third, a fourth, a fifth and even a sixth poor young local dogless man or even woman should be sought out and by fair words and occasional gifts of money and old clothes as far as possible secured to Mr Knott’s service eventually in the manner described, or better still that a suitable large needy local family of say the two parents and from ten to fifteen children and grandchildren passionately attached to their birthplace should be sought out, and by a handsome small initial lump sum to be paid down and by a liberal annual pension of fifty pounds to be paid monthly and by occasional seasonable gifts of loose change and tight clothes and by untiring well-timed affectionate words of advice and encouragement and consolation, attached firmly for good and all in block, their children and their children’s children, to Mr Knott’s service, in all matters touching this matter of the dog required to eat the food that Mr Knott left, and exclusively in these, and that to their care the kennel or colony of famished dogs set up by Mr Knott in order that there should never be wanting a famished dog to eat his food on those days that he did not eat it himself should be once and for all handed over, for the matter of the kennel was one that touched the matter of the dog. And this seemed to Watt roughly the way in which the solution to the problem of how Mr Knott’s food was to be given to the dog had been reached, and though of course for some time it can have been no more than a tissue now dilating now contracting of thoughts in a skull, very likely very soon it was much more than this, for immense impoverished families abounded for miles around in every conceivable direction, and must have always done so, and very likely very soon a real live famished dog as large as life was coming night after night as regular as clockwork to Mr Knott’s back door, led by and probably preceding an unmistakeable specimen of local indigent proliferation, for everyone to see, and admire, and the pension being paid, and every now and then when least expected a half-crown bestowed, or a florin, or a shilling, or a sixpence, or a threepence, or a penny, or a halfpenny, and the castoff clothes, of which Mr Knott, who was a great caster-off of clothes, had a large store, being handed over, now a coat, now a waistcoat, now a greatcoat, now a raincoat, now a trousers, now a knickerbockers, now a shirt, now a vest, now a pant, now a combination, now a braces, now a belt, now a collar, now a tie, now a scarf, now a muffler, now a hat, now a cap, now a stocking, now a sock, now a boot and now a shoe, and the good words of counsel, of encouragement and comfort spoken, and lavished the little acts of kindness and of love, just when they were most needed, and the kennel of famished dogs handed over and in full swing, for all the world to see, and admire.
The name of this fortunate family was Lynch, and at the moment of Watt’s entering Mr Knott’s service, this family of Lynch was made up as follows.
There was Tom Lynch, widower, aged eighty-five years, confined to his bed with constant undiagnosed pains in the caecum, and his three surviving boys Joe, aged sixty-five years, a rheumatic cripple, and Jim, aged sixty-four years, a hunchbacked inebriate, and Bill, widower, aged sixty-three years, greatly hampered in his movements by the loss of both legs as the result of a slip, followed by a fall, and his only surviving daughter May Sharpe, widow, aged sixty-two years, in full possession of all her faculties with the exception of that of vision. Then there was Joe’s wife née Doyly-Byrne, aged sixty-five years, a sufferer from Parkinson’s palsy but otherwise very fit and well, and Jim’s wife Kate née Sharpe, aged sixty-four years, covered all over with r
unning sores of an unidentified nature but otherwise fit and well. Then there was Joe’s boy Tom, aged forty-one years, unfortunately subject alternately to fits of exaltation, which rendered him incapable of the least exertion, and of depression, during which he could stir neither hand nor foot, and Bill’s boy Sam, aged forty years, paralysed by a merciful providence from no higher than the knees down and from no lower than the waist up, and May’s spinster daughter Ann, aged thirty-nine years, greatly reduced in health and spirits by a painful congenital disorder of an unmentionable kind, and Jim’s lad Jack, aged thirty-eight years, who was weak in the head, and the boon twins Art and Con, aged thirty-seven years, who measured in height when in their stockinged feet three feet and four inches and who weighed in weight when stripped to the buff seventy-one pounds all bone and sinew and between whom the resemblance was so marked in every way that even those (and they were many) who knew and loved them most would call Art Con when they meant Art, and Con Art when they meant Con, at least as often as, if not more often than, they called Art Art when they meant Art, and Con Con when they meant Con. And then there was young Tom’s wife Mag née Sharpe, aged forty-one years, greatly handicapped in her house and outdoor activity by subepileptic seizures of monthly incidence, during which she rolled foaming on the floor, or on the yard, or on the vegetable patch, or on the river’s brim, and seldom failed to damage herself in one way or another, so that she was obliged to go to bed, and remain there, every month, until she was better, and Sam’s wife Liz née Sharpe, aged thirty-eight years, fortunate in being more dead than alive as a result of having in the course of twenty years given Sam nineteen children, of whom four survived, and again expecting, and poor Jack who it will be remembered was weak in the head his wife Lil née Sharpe, aged thirty-eight years, who was weak in the chest. And then to pass on to the next generation there was Tom’s boy young Simon, aged twenty, whose it is painful to relate