The Highly Trained Dogs of Professor Petit (Nancy Pearl's Book Crush Rediscoveries)

by Carol Ryrie Brink

  12

  THE TRIAL

  After two nights in prison, Professor Petit and Sancho lacked the smart air of grooming that the rest of the troupe had. They seemed tired and discouraged. But Willie noted with satisfaction that Professor Petit’s pockets and shirt front bulged with small, squarish lumps.

  He has brought the alphabet blocks with him, Willie thought. That can only mean that he still hopes Sancho will tell us something.

  “Now,” said the judge, “what is the charge against these prisoners?”

  “Your honor, sir,” said Farmer Olney, standing up and speaking loudly, “I charge this here dog with feloniously and wickedly running two of my sheep all around the pasture and then biting their throats so that their blood ran out and they died.”

  “And what makes you think it was this particular dog?” asked the judge.

  “Because,” said Farmer Olney, “he was my sheep herder. Willie used to herd sheep for me, and then he brought me this highly trained dog to do the job so that he’d have time to go to school. ’Tis so, Willie?”

  “Yes, sir,” Willie said, standing up and speaking out plainly. All of the dogs looked up at Willie and wagged their tails as he spoke. “Yes, sir. We apprenticed four of the highly trained dogs to work in my place so that I might go to school. Three of them have given perfect satisfaction, your honor. You may ask the baker, the weaver, and the miller if these dogs have not worked well. They will tell you yes.”

  “We shall have the testimony of the baker, the weaver, and the miller in a few moments,” said the judge, “but now we’ll hear what the farmer has to say.”

  “Yes, sir, your honor,” Willie said, “but I just wanted to put in here that Sancho was herding the sheep as well as the other dogs were doing their jobs, and I don’t believe he’s guilty of any wrong.”

  “Order in the court!” cried the judge, pounding on his desk with a small wooden hammer which is called a gavel. “We haven’t got around to personal opinions yet. Now, Mr. Olney, proceed. Proceed, Mr. Olney, proceed.”

  “My seeding is done for the year, sir,” said Mr. Olney, “but this I can tell you, my two sheep are as dead as posts, and what I want is this. I want this dog to be shot, so he won’t kill any more sheep, and I want that his master pay me twenty-five dollars for my two sheep and the mental anguish I have suffered. And the sooner ’tis all settled, the better.”

  “Now, now,” said the judge, “we must not go too fast, Farmer Olney. For there is this strange thing about the law, that a man (and a dog, too, I suppose, although it’s never happened to come up before, to my certain knowledge) that a man is presumed to be innocent until someone has proved him guilty. Now who is to prove this dog guilty?”

  “Your honor,” cried Farmer Olney, “maybe you don’t get the drift of my remarks, but that there is exactly what I’m trying to prove. This dog herds my sheep; he brings them back, two missing; later, I find the two lying dead in the fields. When I go to seek this dog, I find him resting by his master’s fire plumb played out, and his coat all full of burs. It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

  “Let’s have the prisoner into the witness box,” said the judge.

  The jailer thrust Sancho into the witness box, but at the same time he cried out, “But, your honor, he can’t speak.”

  “How are you, my friend?” said Sancho in a pleasant voice. The judge almost fell out of his chair at the sound of these words from the mouth of a dog. There was a sigh of astonishment from the spectators, then a growing murmur of wonder and respect.

  “Let him tell his side of it. Let him defend himself,” voices said.

  Now Professor Petit arose, and Willie could see that he was pale and nervous.

  “Your honor,” the professor said to the judge, “my good dog has learned only these few words. He could not possibly defend himself with his own voice. But he does have a certain skill in spelling. If you will allow me, I’ll put his spelling blocks before him, and you may question him. I cannot promise you how well he will be able to answer your questions. But we can at least try.”

  A whisper of awe and astonishment went around the room. The judge pulled his gown about his shoulders and settled himself securely into his chair.

  “What is your name, dog?” he inquired.

  Very quickly and expertly the little black dog picked out the letters S A N C H O and put them in order before the judge. The people stood on tiptoe to see, their mouths open with wonder.

  “And what is your age?” Sancho turned over the blocks with his paw until he found the 3. This he took in his mouth and laid before the judge.

  “Is it true that he is three years old?” asked the judge, looking at Professor Petit.

  “Quite true,” said the professor. “In other words he is of legal age, for they say that every year of a dog’s life is equal to seven years in the life of a man.”

  “Now, Sancho,” said the judge in an impressive voice, “who killed Farmer Olney’s sheep?”

  There was a moment’s pause. The courtroom was perfectly silent. With his tail curled up behind him, Sancho sat quiet. Willie thought that he looked puzzled, but, when the judge repeated the question, the dog pricked his ears forward and began slowly and delicately to push the letters about with his paw.

  First he selected a B, then an R, then a U, and then a T. At that he stopped. His tongue hung out as if he had been running a race. He looked all around him and wagged his tail apologetically. Then he lay down and rolled over on his back with his eyes closed and his legs in the air.

  “Go on! Go on!” the people in the courtroom cried. “He is trying to spell Brutus, but why doesn’t he finish it?”

  “Your honor,” cried Willie, jumping to his feet. “I am sure that it was Brutus who killed the sheep. Here is a bur that I found on his back. It is the same kind of bur that was found on Sancho’s coat. In my opinion Sancho was trying to protect the sheep from Brutus. In my opinion Brutus is the killer.”

  “Will somebody please keep that boy in his seat?” roared the judge. “I don’t want opinions, I want facts. If this highly trained dog had spelled BRUTUS, we might have something to go on. But BRUT spells nothing at all. It is simply a chance selection of letters that have no meaning.”

  “I am not so sure of that, your honor,” said Professor Petit. “I have asked my dog this same question many times. He does not make a chance selection. He always chooses the same four letters and then he lies down in confusion unable to go on.”

  Just then Miss Charmian arose at the back of the courtroom. Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment, but her voice was quite clear. The children all looked at her proudly as she said:

  “Your honor, I should like to point out that there is only one U in the alphabet. If he is trying to spell Brutus, no wonder he is confused, for where in the world is he going to find another U?”

  In an instant the courtroom was in an uproar.

  “Where is Brutus?” the people cried. “Brutus ought to be shot.”

  In vain the judge hammered for silence. At last he dismissed court for lack of evidence.

  “This does not mean that the case is ended,” he said. “Professor Petit and Sancho must be returned to jail until we are able to gather more facts and look further into this matter. Brutus and his master must also be questioned, for now they are equally under suspicion. As soon as they have finished their afternoon show, we shall put them under arrest.”

  The policeman and the jailer beamed with delight. Two men and two dogs in jail at one time! This was a rare treat for the serious people of Puddling Center. It was quite as exciting as having two shows in town at once.

  Only Willie was disturbed.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to arrest them right away?” he said to Uncle Scrivens. “Why should they wait until Hulk Hoskins has given another show? He might very well escape if he hears what they intend to do.”

  “My dear nephew,” replied Uncle Scrivens, “naturally it is because of the tiger. Even
the judge wishes to have another view of the tiger before he puts Hulk Hoskins under arrest.”

  Willie waved his hand at Professor Petit and Sancho, before the jailer led them away. He thought that the professor looked more hopeful than he had looked at any time since his arrest. Willie turned toward the caravan with Prince, Grushenka, and Liddy trotting beside him. Tip had disappeared, but soon he rejoined them, carrying the judge’s gavel in his mouth. Willie was obliged to take the gavel away from Tip and return it, with apologies, to the judge.

  “Tip,” he said severely, “we are in trouble enough without any help from you.” But Tip only frisked and wagged his tail, and it was clear to see that he did not feel he had done wrong.

  13

  TIP’S BAD DAY

  Willie made up his mind that, come what might, he would attend Hoskins’s Circus that afternoon. It was not that he still yearned to gaze at the tiger. Too many more important matters occupied his mind for that. But he felt that someone with the interests of Professor Petit at heart should be there to keep an eye on Hulk Hoskins in case he tried to slip away and escape arrest.

  The next question was what to do with the highly trained dogs while he attended the circus. He did not like to leave them alone, even shut in the caravan, for there was so much feeling for and against them in Puddling Center that he could not be sure they would be safe.

  “If I could be certain that they would behave themselves, I’d take them with me,” Willie said. He did not realize that he had spoken aloud until he saw that three of the dogs had come to sit around him, attentively awaiting instructions. It was as if they said, “Try us; we promise to be good.”

  “But where is Tip?” asked Willie, looking for the fourth dog. As he spoke, Willie saw Tip coming from the direction of Hulk Hoskins’s tent with an object in his mouth.

  “Another tent peg, I suppose,” remarked Willie patiently. “That naughty Tip has chewed up enough pegs from Hoskins’s tent to make it quite possible for anyone to crawl under the flap and enter by the back way.” He ran to take the tent peg away from Tip before the little dog should begin to chew it. But Tip was tired of having things taken away from him. He dodged this way and that, keeping just out of reach. Barking with pleasure, Prince, Grushenka, and Liddy joined in the chase. After the tedious morning in the courtroom they were all ready for an active game. In vain Willie tried to convince them that this was a serious matter, but they could not believe him. Away they ran, helter-skelter all around the square, leaping into the air and barking happily.

  Finally, to escape his pursuers, Tip ran in under the green caravan. Steps were let down at the back when the caravan was not in motion, and under these Tip crawled, so that the others could not get at him.

  “Well, it’s only a tent peg,” Willie said, as he knelt down to look under the steps. He could see Tip’s mischievous eyes looking out at him from the shadows. But was it a tent peg that he had in his mouth? It was a rather long, limp object with stripes running around it.

  “For goodness’ sake!” Willie said to himself, “if I didn’t know that such a thing was impossible, I’d say he had stolen the tiger’s tail.”

  He knew, however, that this was out of the question, for he could hear the tiger roaring as usual. The roar was no louder, no softer than it had been before. Surely a tiger who had lost his tail would roar more terribly than he had ever roared before. Willie was puzzled. He tried to coax Tip out of his dark corner. But Tip only lay there, quietly chewing on the end of his long, limp striped object, and his eyes seemed to laugh at Willie from the dark shadows.

  Willie was obliged to leave him there while he ran off to deliver the letters. Prince ran to the baker’s, Grushenka to the weaver’s, and Liddy to the miller’s, and thus the work of the town was carried on as usual.

  Tip was very bad that day. When Willie returned and groomed the other dogs for their appearance at the circus, Tip continued to lie under the caravan steps with his prize. Liddy crawled under the steps beside him, but even she could not induce him to come out.

  “Well, we’ll go without him,” Willie said.

  From the other side of the square the barrel organ could be heard grinding out its mechanical tune. At regular intervals the tiger roared. Because they understood that this was likely to be the last display of the tiger before Hulk Hoskins was arrested, the people of Puddling Center turned out in crowds.

  Willie and the three dogs passed into the tent with the crowd, but Willie was obliged to pay four shillings and four pennies. No one got into Hoskins’s Circus free—not even a dog.

  There was an air of tension and excitement in the tent that afternoon. Willie thought that Mr. Hoskins looked nervous and somewhat less shiny than he had looked at former performances. Surely the lamplight was as bright as ever, but the medals, the earrings, the gold braid and flashing teeth and eyes of the ringmaster were less dazzling than before. Hulk Hoskins kept looking around him as if he were in search of something. It was almost time for Brutus’s act, and suddenly Willie noticed another thing.

  “Brutus is not here!” Willie said to himself. “Mr. Hoskins is looking for Brutus.” A number of speculations ran through Willie’s mind. Brutus had been sent away to escape arrest. If so, that might prove that he was guilty of killing the sheep. But, if Hulk Hoskins had sent Brutus away, why should he seem to be looking for him? Or perhaps Farmer Olney had decided to take the law into his own hands and had done away with Brutus. Willie looked all around and he saw that Farmer Olney was not in the audience. But still Willie could not believe that this was so, either, because Farmer Olney had seemed convinced that Sancho was the sheep killer. Why should he destroy Brutus until he was sure that Brutus was guilty?

  As Willie was thinking these various thoughts, the three dogs beside him began to growl very deep in their throats. He could see the hair rising along their backs. He spoke to them softly, putting his hands on their backs to quiet them. And he knew at once that Brutus must have come into the tent.

  It is strange that they will growl at Brutus while the nearness of the tiger does not bother them, Willie thought. To the dogs he said, “Quiet, friends. Be still. You must be good now.” He was glad after all that Tip had not come, since it was Tip’s day for being naughty. He was sure that Prince, Grushenka, and Liddy would behave themselves if he wished it.

  He saw now that Brutus had come through the red curtains at the back of the stage just in time to join his master for his part of the performance. His tongue was lolling out, and his sides heaved, as if he had been running for a long time. But apparently he had recently been fed, for his usually lean stomach was bulging cozily.

  Hulk Hoskins cracked his whip, and Willie could see Brutus flinch as if he knew all too well how the whip felt on his back. In spite of himself Willie was sorry for Brutus. He could pity any dog who has a cruel master.

  Brutus seized the leather strap in his teeth. The barrel organ played, the winch creaked as Hulk Hoskins turned it. Slowly the dog was lifted to the top of the tent.

  “Ah-h-h!” murmured the people in the audience as they always did at this display of Brutus’s strength. Their eyes were all turned upward to the top of the tent where Brutus was suspended by his teeth. Only Willie did not look at Brutus, but at Hoskins’s face. Mr. Hoskins had his hand on the handle of the winch, but he was not looking at Brutus either. His eyes stared up the central aisle of the tent between the rows of seats, and on his face there dawned a look of surprise and astonishment which rapidly changed to one of horror. The cruel black eyes bulged; the mouth fell open in consternation. Hulk Hoskins’s hand faltered on the handle of the winch.

  Willie glanced behind him to see what had suddenly terrified the showman, and all he could see was Tip, trotting quietly down the aisle with something in his mouth. The something was long and limp and striped. It looked very much like the tail of a tiger, but it certainly could not be that, for a wisp of straw was sticking out of the end of it.

  14

  FIRE! FIRE!


  Everything happened very rapidly after that. Hulk Hoskins gave a loud cry and let go of the handle of the winch. The rope that held Brutus suspended at the top of the tent began suddenly to unroll, letting him fall like a plummet. As he felt himself falling, the great dog kicked out his legs in an effort to save himself. His legs struck the lamp that hung from the tent top. The lamp swung perilously, and in an instant, the top of the tent had caught fire. People began to scream and rush for the exit. Willie saw that what had only a moment before been a popular spectacle was rapidly turning into a death trap.

  Willie sprang out of his seat, and cried to the people: “Stop! Stop! You will harm yourselves more by crowding than by taking your time!”

  To the dogs, he cried, “Fetch water! Fetch ladder! Fire! Fire!”

  Away the dogs raced, dashing under the back edge of the tent at the place where Tip had carried off the tent pegs. It was still Tip’s bad day, however, and he paid no attention to Willie’s command. He continued up the aisle and onto the platform beneath the flaming top. With the long, striped object still in his mouth, he got up on hind legs and began to waltz.

  “Look!” Willie cried to the people. “The show is going on. Don’t crowd. Don’t push! Stop and watch the show, and there will be plenty of time for all of you to get out in an orderly way.”

  The panic began to subside and the audience to stop and look at Tip before rushing into a stampede at the narrow exit.

  Voices cried: “Fire! Fire!” and “Help! Help!” and among the various cries of distress, one excited voice cried out: “He’s got the tiger’s tail in his mouth. It’s stuffed with straw! We’ve all been tricked and defrauded! Look, will you!”

  Now there arose a very pandemonium of cries. Some people were trying to escape the fire; others were trying to get their hands on Hulk Hoskins. But in the smoke and confusion nobody could find the owner of the show. From behind the red curtain came the chatter of the frightened monkeys and the growling of the bear. Yet strangely enough, in this moment of emergency, the tiger had forgotten to roar. There was only silence from the most terrible of beasts.