"Whether that is a true story or not you must judge for yourselves. I have told it as it was told to me, and I prefer not to vouch for it."

Laughing over this story, and thanking Mr. Hartshorn for telling it to them, the boys trooped off to bed.

So far as Ernest and Jack Whipple were concerned, all the interest of the second day of the Ma.s.satucket Dog Show centered about the judging of the English setters. They had been studying the entry carefully, and though there were some champions entered in the open and limit cla.s.ses, and though Mr. Hartshorn pointed out to them the superior qualities of several of these dogs from the fancier's point of view, it seemed to the boys that Romulus and Remus were as good as any dogs there.

"Don't set your hopes too high," cautioned Mr. Hartshorn. "They will be pitted against some good dogs, and I don't want to see you too greatly disappointed. One has to learn to lose in the dog-show game more often than one wins."

"Anyway," said Ernest, "I haven't seen anything in the novice cla.s.s that can beat them."

At last the hour arrived for the judging of the setters. The puppy cla.s.s was disposed of first, and then the novices. Ernest and Jack led their own dogs into the ring, with numbers pinned to their coat-sleeves. The two dogs behaved beautifully, holding up their heads and standing at attention, as their masters had patiently taught them to do. They were both in good condition, their eyes bright and their coats soft and glossy. It was quite evident to the spectators about the ring that the other dogs in the novice cla.s.s were not to be compared with them. Ernest and Jack were quite unconscious of the fact that they were being observed as much as the dogs and that there were some people present who admired their bright eyes as much as those of Romulus and Remus. But it was the judge of this cla.s.s that held their fixed attention.

He was a brusque, dour-looking man, without a smile for anybody, but he had a reputation for strict impartiality and for a true judgment of dog-flesh. It did not take him long to reach his decision. With no word of congratulation he handed Jack a blue ribbon and Ernest a red one, and ushered them out of the ring.

"The Remus dog has the best head and most shapely body," was all that he said.

But the spectators clapped and showered congratulations upon the boys, and they were very happy.

"I knew it, I knew it!" cried Jack in an ecstasy of triumph. "Nose doesn't count in the show ring, and Remus is, in every other way, the best dog in the world. I told you he'd have his day. Good old Remus!"

And right before all those people he leaned down and hugged his dog and kissed him on the silky ear.

But that was only the beginning. Remus also took first in the open cla.s.s, which was more than Mr. Hartshorn had hoped for, and Romulus took third. And when it came to the final contest of the winners, Remus won reserve to Ch. The Marquis, a dog that had won his spurs in the biggest shows in the country. He was the only dog in this bunch that could beat Remus, and there were those who affirmed that in another year Remus would defeat him.

Ernest showed himself to be a good sport and was glad that Remus had won. Jack communicated his high spirits to the other boys, and by the time the afternoon was over they were in a hilarious mood and eager to bring their trophies back to Boytown. They forgot their weariness, and as the spectators began to leave the grounds, and it was proper to release the dogs, they started off pell-mell, across the central oval of the race track, boys and dogs together, shouting and barking in a gladsome chorus. It was a goodly sight for some of the grown-ups to see, and they paused to watch the frolic.

"I'm so glad Remus won," said Mrs. Hartshorn, smiling upon them all.

"Yes," responded her husband, "Jacky deserved it. He has stood by his dog through thick and thin."

As the boys and dogs came romping back, Mrs. Hartshorn observed, "Youth is a wonderful thing."

"Sometimes," said her husband, "I think it is a greater thing than wisdom."

Perhaps a vision of her own youth came back to her, for she leaned against her husband's arm and softly quoted:

"When all the world is young, lad, And all the fields are green, And every goose a swan, lad, And every la.s.s a queen; Then hey, for boot and horse, lad!

Around the world away!

Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day."

CHAPTER XVIII

ON HULSE'S POND

A week or so after the Ma.s.satucket Show, when Ernest Whipple's kennel paper arrived, he and Jack scrutinized it eagerly for the account of the show. The man who reported it had a great deal to say, in more or less technical terms, about a good many of the dogs. He seemed to pride himself on his ability to pick future winners and he was rather free with his predictions. Romulus he mentioned favorably in pa.s.sing, referring to his enviable field-trial record. But to Remus he devoted an entire paragraph.

"This dog," he wrote, "owned by Master Jack Whipple, is a twin brother to the afore-mentioned Romulus. Barring a slight weakness in the loins and a look of wispiness about the stern, he was set down in good shape and easily defeated the other novices. He has the cla.s.sic type of Laverack head, and this had much to do with his being placed reserve to Ch. The Marquis in the winners cla.s.s. He is a young dog, and with proper treatment he should figure in the primary contests of next winter. We predict a bright future on the bench for this Remus."

Incidentally the boys were pleased to learn that Tippecanoe and Tyler Too had won the prize for the best brace of beagles in the show, besides some individual honors, and they rejoiced for their bright-faced little acquaintances of the baggage car.

The triumph of Remus was not short-lived. The residents of Boytown learned through the local papers what had happened, and began to look with a new interest upon these boys and their dogs as they pa.s.sed along the streets. Romulus came to be pointed out to strangers as a coming field-trial champion, and Remus as a famous bench-show winner.

Such dogs were something for the citizens of any town to be proud of.

And there were not a few persons who gained thereby a new interest in dogs, to the lasting betterment of their characters.

As the autumn days came on, Ernest began to feel the call of the woods and fields, and begged to be allowed to have a gun and go hunting with Sam b.u.mpus. He was now a tall, good-looking lad of fifteen, and he felt himself quite old enough to become a hunter. Besides, what is the use of owning a fine bird dog if you don't hunt with him?

Mrs. Whipple strongly objected, for she was afraid of guns, and at last a compromise was reached. Ernest was to be allowed to go hunting with Sam provided he would not ask to own or use a gun until he was sixteen, and reluctantly he consented to this arrangement. Jack, who was still only twelve, had not yet caught the hunting fever, and since he owned a dog that could not hunt anyway, he was content to remain at home, while Ernest spent his Sat.u.r.days afield with Sam.

Sam b.u.mpus, during the past three years, had grown to be a less lonely man. Through the boys he had made friends in town, and people began to look upon him as less queer and to recognize his sterling virtues. And all that made him happier.

"It was a lucky day for me," he once said, "when I brought those puppies down in my pockets."

"It was a luckier day for us," responded Ernest with warmth.

Now, tramping together 'cross country with their dogs, they became even closer friends, and there was implanted in Ernest's character a certain honesty and a love of nature that never left him. And withal, it was great fun.

Then came another winter, and one day, during the Christmas vacation, Mr. Hartshorn invited the whole crowd of boys up to his house to enjoy an indoor campfire. Mrs. Hartshorn, as usual, spread her table with a wealth of good things to eat, and after the dinner they all gathered in the big living-room, where huge logs were blazing and crackling in the fireplace.

"I only wish," said Ernest Whipple, "that there were more breeds of dogs for you to tell us about, Mr. Hartshorn. I always enjoyed those talks so much."

"Do you think you know all about all the breeds now?" asked Mr.

Hartshorn, with a smile.

"Well, no," confessed Ernest, "but I know something about them all, and I have one or two good books to refer to. I guess there's always more to be learned about everything."

"That is true," said their host, "and fortunately there are always good things being written about dogs by men who know them. I never let a chance go by to add to my own fund of dog lore."

Alfred Hammond and Horace Ames, who were home from college for the holidays, were present at the campfire, and Alfred was now loudly called upon for a dog story, Mr. Hartshorn insisting that he had told every one he knew. Finally Alfred acceded to the demand.

"I ran across two anecdotes the other day which may fill the bill,"

said he. "I think they are both about collies, but I am not sure. The first is about a Scotchman and his dog Brutus. The Scotchman, having gone far out of his way in a storm, stopped at a lonely house and asked for a shelter for the night. The owner of the house admitted him and showed him to a chamber, and the Scotchman, being very weary, prepared to go to bed.

"Brutus, however, was not so readily satisfied with his strange surroundings and proceeded to investigate. At length he returned to his master and began tugging at the bedclothes. The Scotchman was at last sufficiently aroused to follow the dog out of the room and down the stairs, and Brutus led him to the door of a closed room and sniffed at it very cautiously. Light which made its way through the cracks indicated that the room was occupied. The Scotchman could find no hole to peep through, but much to his surprise he heard several voices, for he thought that he and his host were alone in the house.

"He placed his ear to the door and heard enough to make him believe that his life was in danger. He was a brave man, and prompt action seemed necessary. Suddenly he pushed open the door and rushed in, surprising half a dozen men. They reached for their weapons, but the traveler was ready first. With his pistol he shot his host and cracked another over the head. Brutus, meanwhile, attacked so vigorously and to such good purpose that the man and his dog were able to escape uninjured. He afterwards learned that the house where he had sought hospitality was the resort of a gang of highwaymen.

"The other story is rather tragic, but I guess I'll tell it, as it's the only one I have left. A traveling merchant in England was riding along on horseback, when he dropped a bag containing all his money. He was quite unconscious of his loss, but his dog had seen the bag fall.

The dog began to run in front of the horse's head, barking, and dashing back along the road, but the merchant, who must have been uncommonly stupid, I think, did not understand the meaning of his strange actions. The dog became more insistent, as the man urged his horse ahead, barking in an unusual tone and snapping at the horse's feet.

"The merchant, who apparently did not know dogs very well, began to fear that he was going mad. 'Mad dogs will not drink,' he reflected.

'At the next ford I will watch, and if he does not drink I must shoot him.'

"Of course, the dog was much too anxious and excited to drink at the next ford, and his master shot him. After riding on a little way the man began to be troubled with doubts and misgivings, and he turned his horse about. When he reached the ford again, the dog was not there, but the man traced him back along the road by the marks of his blood.

"The merchant found his dog at last, lying beside the money-bag, protecting his master's property with his last gasp. Remorsefully the merchant stooped down and begged the dog's forgiveness. The faithful animal licked his hand and looked up at him with eyes that seemed to say, 'It's all right, my master. You didn't understand.'"