The Dogs of Boytown Part 18

"The sun's coming out," he announced. "And here comes a gang of people."

From that time on the spectators arrived in a steady stream, until the barn became quite crowded and the dogs were much excited. The members of the society acted as ushers and entertained their visitors with more or less learned lectures on the different breeds. And for the most part the spectators appeared to be hugely pleased with the whole performance, boys and dogs included.

But the center of attraction turned out to be a dog that everyone knew didn't stand a show for even third prize. It was comical old Rags. He seemed to be enjoying the show more than anybody else in the place and to feel that the Red Cross needed his services as an entertainer. He was ready with uplifted paw to greet every visitor that stopped in front of his bench and he never failed to bring a smile to the face of the least interested. You couldn't see Rags without loving him, his eyes were so merry, his smile so broad and warm, his crooked ears so absurdly fascinating. He got as much patting and petting that day as some dogs get in a lifetime, and it seemed to him, at least, that a dog show was a most excellent kind of inst.i.tution. Some of the dogs didn't take to it in so kindly a manner. Mr. O'Brien, in fact, became quite ill tempered before the day was over.

To say that Jimmie Rogers was pleased is not overstating the truth. He was prouder of Rags than if he had won all the silver cups in Christendom, and he kept busy most of the day putting Rags through his many tricks.

The boys went home to dinner in relays, and by two o'clock the crowd was even larger. They were curious to see what the judging would be like. Mr. and Mrs. Hartshorn and Tom Poultice arrived in the automobile, and after they had inspected the dogs, many of whom knew them, Mr. Hartshorn announced that the judging would begin.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said he. "If you will kindly give me your attention, and if Monty Hubbard will be good enough to sit on Mr.

O'Brien's head, I will explain the manner in which the judging will be conducted. When I call out the names, the owners will please bring their dogs to the ring. I will inspect them in groups of five. I will make a note of the best dogs in these groups, and will then ask to see some of them a second time in order to determine for certain which are, in my judgment, the best dogs."

Beginning with Hamlet, he called for the first five dogs in the row, and proceeded thus until, in the last group, six were judged. He went at it in a businesslike manner, examining each dog carefully, and making jottings in a notebook. When asked about his basis for judging the dogs, he promised to explain that when he announced the winners.

Each owner held his or her own dog in the ring, making him walk past the judge when so requested, and it all went smoothly until the third group came to be judged. Then, before anyone knew what had happened, the overwrought Mr. O'Brien had made an angry lunge at Li Hung Chang, and there was something doing in the show ring. The chow was not lacking in courage and returned the attack, while the other three dogs struggled vainly to mix in. Some of the ladies in the audience screamed, and it required the combined efforts of Mr. Hartshorn, Mr.

Morton, Tom Poultice, and Monty Hubbard to separate the antagonists and straighten things out again. Mr. O'Brien was unsatisfied and snarled ominously, but it made him look all the more spirited during the judging. After that there were no untoward events to mar the occasion.

By the time Mr. Hartshorn had had some of the dogs up a second and even a third time it was nearly four o'clock, the hour set for announcing the winners. The place was crowded now, and not a little speculation was heard as to the judge's probable decisions. Among the boys, at least, this interest in the outcome amounted to tense excitement, in which some of the grown-ups were not ashamed to share.

At length Mr. Hartshorn came to the rope and addressed the gathering.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said he: "you are all waiting, I know, to learn the names of the winning dogs, but first I think I ought to offer a few words of explanation. Let me say that we have some very good dogs here to-day. They might not measure up to the standard set in the big shows, but they are very good representatives of the various breeds. Since it is necessary to compare dogs of different breeds instead of dogs of the same breed in judging, it is not altogether easy to reach a decision on comparative merits. I can only rely upon my best judgment and will ask you to be indulgent with me in case you do not agree with my choice.

"In judging dogs at a show, we do not take into consideration the personal character or intelligence of a dog, but chiefly his physical characteristics. He must not appear stupid, and he must show the qualities of character attributed to his breed. A sleepy terrier, for instance, cannot win in a show. Beyond that, however, it is a matter of what is called type. Authorities have carefully gone over the points that are typical of each breed and have written them out in what are called the standards. Winning dogs must conform very largely to the type described in the standard, and the more of the established points he can show in perfect form, the higher will be his score in selecting his position among the winners. I cannot take your time to describe all these points in each case, but simply state that my judging is on that basis.

"It is an arbitrary method, I grant you, and there are good people who protest against judging dogs in accordance with their physical features, not taking into account the qualities of heart and brain that we really care for in a dog. But that is the fancier's way of getting at it. If we did not have arbitrary and approved standards to work toward in breeding, every breeder would work out his own personal ideas, and we would have a strange a.s.sortment of sizes and shapes and no predominant type in any breed. It is the work of the fanciers that has produced the marked differences between the breeds and that keeps them from degenerating into a sorry lot of mixed mongrels, until we should not be able to tell a collie from a St. Bernard.

"I trust that this brief explanation will give you an idea of the basis of my judgment in this show. I have given the preference not to the wisest and most capable and most affectionate dogs, but to those that most nearly approach the approved standards of their breeds. I will now ask to have the following dogs brought to the ring: Mr.

Sanderson's German shepherd dog, Rupert of Hentzau; Mrs. Peabody's Pekingese spaniel, Chi Yen; Herbert Pierson's Great Dane, Hamlet; Harry Barton's English bulldog, Mike; Montague Hubbard's Irish terrier, Mr. O'Brien (keep him on a short leash, Monty); Jack Whipple's English setter, Remus."

All of these dogs have been previously mentioned except Rupert. Both he and his master were newcomers in Boytown, and the big, strong, active dog, with his wolfish look, his erect ears, and his brave, bright eyes, had attracted a good deal of attention at the show. When the six dogs had been brought again into the ring, Mr. Hartshorn continued his discourse.

"I believe," said he, "that all of these dogs should receive honorable mention, or, as we call it at the shows, the V. H. C.--very highly commended. They all possess points of excellence, but all fall short in some particulars. Rupert of Hentzau looks like a perfect dog, but if you were to compare him with the best of his breed you would see that he is a little too short in the head, too flat-sided, and too leggy. Chi Yen measures up pretty well, but she hasn't a good color and her coat isn't quite as profuse as it should be. Hamlet's feet and ankles are bad. This is often the case with big dogs that grew fast when they were puppies. Their bones do not strengthen fast enough to bear their increasing weight, and the result is apt to be flat feet, turning out, and bent ankles. Hamlet is a bit thin, too, but is otherwise a good Dane. In the English bulldog cla.s.ses, the preference is generally given to the extreme types. A dog with wider elbows, deeper chest, and a heavier jaw would beat Mike easily. Mr. O'Brien has Irish terrier character a-plenty, but he is a bit too large and coa.r.s.e, as the expression is, and his coat is too long and soft and too light in color. Remus will make a fine dog some day, I believe, but he has had hard luck thus far and he hasn't grown up quite evenly.

He needs strengthening in the shoulders and he is out of coat. His tail is a bit stringy. With proper care, I believe these defects can be obviated. I take pleasure in conferring the V. H. C. on these six dogs."

They were led out of the ring amid the applause of the spectators, which somewhat softened the disappointment of their owners in not taking prizes. When Mr. Hartshorn called for the three dogs that were to receive the honors of the show, the applause increased. In answer to their names, Theron Hammond, Ernest Whipple, and d.i.c.k Wheaton brought their dogs proudly to the ring. Mr. Hartshorn took the handsome silver cup from its shelf and held it up where all might see.

"It gives me great pleasure," he announced, "to confer the first prize upon Alert, Boston terrier, owned by Theron Hammond."

Theron stepped forward, blus.h.i.+ng violently and smiling broadly, and took the trophy from the hands of the judge. Then he stooped down impulsively and picked Alert up, hugging him in his arms, to which demonstration Alert replied by gently chewing his master's ear. When the hand-clapping had died down, Mr. Hartshorn continued:

"I will not spoil this triumph by pointing out Alert's defects. He would very likely meet his superiors in one of the big shows, for the Boston terrier entries are always very large, but I don't think he would be entirely out of the running in a novice cla.s.s. I understand he is a registered and pedigreed dog, and he certainly shows evidences of good breeding. In my judgment he comes closer to his breed's standard than any other dog in this show.

"The second prize, this handsome dog collar, is won by Romulus, English setter, owned by Ernest Whipple. He is a litter brother of Remus, but he is better developed and has a better coat. He is a first-cla.s.s specimen of the Llewellyn type, and though there are a few points in which he falls below the strict bench-show standard, he is a splendid setter.

"The third prize, which will perhaps be better appreciated by its recipient than any of the others, is a box of dog biscuit. I hope, however, that it will not form his sole diet, as he is doubtless accustomed to a more varied and palatable menu. This prize is won by Gypsie, smooth fox terrier, owned by Richard Wheaton. Gyp is a little off type in some respects, but I have decided that, according to my score of points, he is the third best dog in the show."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Boston Terrier]

Mr. Hartshorn bowed and withdrew, while Mrs. Hartshorn remarked to a friend that she didn't believe he had ever made such a long speech before in his life. The spectators crowded around the winners to congratulate the three boys and to pat and admire their dogs. More than one person in that barn had his or her eyes opened that day for the first time to the points of excellence of dog-flesh. Still, there were some who stepped back to the bench where Rags sat, an uncomprehending spectator, and a.s.sured him that he was the best dog in the show after all, and that he would have received the silver cup if they had been the judges. Ernest and Theron had never known a happier day of triumph, and even d.i.c.k Wheaton, who had received his prize with a supercilious smile, appeared to be a bit softened for the time being and to show some pride in his owners.h.i.+p of the much-abused Gyp.

There were, indeed, some heart-burnings among the losers. Herbie Pierson, for one, had had high hopes of Hamlet. But they had all agreed to accept the outcome like good sports and they could not remain long despondent in the face of the success of their show. As for Jack Whipple, the youngest exhibitor of all, he displayed a spirit that the others would have been ashamed not to follow. He was frankly pleased at the success of Romulus, and stoutly a.s.serted that Remus would have his big day yet. Mr. Fellowes was as much pleased as Ernest was, and privately confided to him that he was glad Romulus didn't get first prize, as he would have been disappointed to see any other dog wearing that collar.

The people were beginning to file out of the barn, after a final tour of the benches, when Mr. Hartshorn, standing beside the cas.h.i.+er's booth, once more called for order.

"As you know," he said in his strong voice, "the proceeds of this show are to be given to the Red Cross, and you may be interested to learn just how much has been netted for that good cause by to-day's unique effort on the part of the Boytown Humane Society. The treasurer, Theron Hammond, has been busy with arithmetic for the past twenty minutes and has an announcement to make."

Theron was suddenly stricken with stage fright, but he did not attempt to make a speech. He merely read the figures of his report.

"Entry fees for 26 dogs," he read, "$13.00. Attendance, 242. Gate receipts, $60.50. Total receipts, $73.50. Advertising, $8.00. Other expenses, $2.67. Total expense, $10.67. Net proceeds, $62.83."

"I wonder," remarked Mr. Hartshorn to his wife, "if a dozen women could knit $62.83 worth of m.u.f.flers in one day."

The exhibitors began taking their weary dogs home and the boys started the cleaning-up process that was part of their bargain with Mr.

Morton. And so the great day ended.

The only fly in the ointment of Ernest and Jack Whipple was the fact that, although their father had been an enthusiastic spectator throughout the greater part of the afternoon, their mother had not seen fit to attend. She was very busy, she said, and anyway, dogs did not particularly interest her.

Next morning the two local papers contained full accounts of the show, to the extent of a column or more, and they treated it as one of the season's events of Boytown, giving the names of all the dogs and their owners and a complete report of the awards, besides the treasurer's report. One of them even published an editorial praising the work of the Humane Society and suggesting that the town should be proud of its boys and its dogs. Mr. Whipple and the boys devoured the contents of these papers eagerly before breakfast. After breakfast they found Mrs.

Whipple reading one of them in the sitting-room.

"What are you reading, mother?" asked Mr. Whipple, but she was so absorbed that she did not answer for a time.

At length she murmured, half to herself, "Hm! I don't see yet why Remus didn't get a prize."

Whereat, it must be related, Mr. Whipple turned and winked at the boys in a most undignified manner.

CHAPTER XII

CAMP BRITCHES

Spring came, and with it more training for Romulus, until Sam p.r.o.nounced him a fairly well-broken bird dog. May drifted into June and June into July. Another school year came to a close and another long vacation period began. The great dog show was now a thing of ancient history and things were a bit slow in Boytown. It appeared essential to the happiness and welfare of numerous boys and dogs that something new should be undertaken.

It was Jimmie Rogers who suggested it, though there were a dozen active, eager minds ready to seize upon the idea and develop it. They were sitting on the bank of the swimming hole near the brickyard, resting after an hour's swim and warming themselves in the sun. The dogs were either wandering restlessly about in search of new adventures, or were stretched out at their masters' feet. The boys were somewhat languidly discussing the events of the Glorious Fourth just past, and bemoaning the fact that another one would be so long in coming.

"Fourth o' July's all right," remarked Jimmie, "but I think the most fun in the whole world is camping out."

"Ho!" scoffed Harry Barton. "When did you ever go camping out?"

"I camped out one night with my father in an old shack over Oakdale way," a.s.serted Jimmie.

"That isn't camping out," said Harry. "Camping out is living in a tent in the woods all summer, catching your own fish and cooking your own grub and--and everything."

"Did you ever do that?" demanded Jimmie.

Harry was forced to admit that he never did.