CHAPTER V
FOR A BIT OF RIBBON
Lad had never been in a city or in a crowd. To him the universe wasbounded by the soft green mountains that hemmed in the valley and thelake. The Place stood on the lake's edge, its meadows running back tothe forest. There were few houses nearer than the mile-distantvillage. It was an ideal home for such a dog as Lad, even as Lad wasan ideal dog for such a home.
A guest started all the trouble--a guest who spent a week-end at ThePlace and who loved dogs far better than he understood them. He mademuch of Lad, being loud-voiced in his admiration of the statelycollie. Lad endured the caresses when he could not politely eludethem.
"Say!" announced the guest just before he departed, "If I had a doglike Lad, I'd 'show' him--at the big show at Madison Square, youknow. It's booked for next month. Why not take a chance and exhibithim there? Think what it would mean to you people to have a Westminsterblue ribbon the big dog had won! Why, you'd be as proud as Punch!"
It was a careless speech and well meant. No harm might have come fromit, had not the Master the next day chanced upon an advance notice ofthe dog-show in his morning paper. He read the press-agent'squarter-column proclamation. Then he remembered what the guest hadsaid. The Mistress was called into consultation. And it was she, asever, who cast the deciding vote.
"Lad is twice as beautiful as any collie we ever saw at the Show," shedeclared, "and not one of them is half as wise or good or _human_ ashe is. And--a blue ribbon is the greatest honor a dog can have, Isuppose. It would be something to remember."
After which, the Master wrote a letter to a friend who kept a showkennel of Airedales. He received this answer:
"I don't pretend to know anything, professionally, about collies--Airedales being my specialty. But Lad is a beauty, as I remember him, and his pedigree shows a bunch of old-time champions. I'd risk it, if I were you. If you are in doubt and don't want to plunge, why not just enter him for the Novice class? That is a class for dogs that have never before been shown. It will cost you five dollars to enter him for a single class, like that. And in the Novice, he won't be up against any champions or other dogs that have already won prizes. That will make it easier. It isn't a grueling competition like the 'Open' or even the 'Limit.' If he wins as a Novice, you can enter him, another time, in something more important. I'm inclosing an application-blank for you to fill out and send with your entrance-fee, to the secretary. You'll find his address at the bottom of the blank. I'm showing four of my Airedales there--so we'll be neighbors."
Thus encouraged, the Master filled in the blank and sent it with acheck. And in due time word was returned to him that "Sunnybank Lad"was formally entered for the Novice class, at the Westminster KennelClub's annual show at Madison Square Garden.
By this time both the Mistress and the Master were infected with themost virulent type of the Show Germ. They talked of little else thanthe forthcoming Event. They read all the dog-show literature theycould lay hands on.
As for Lad, he was mercifully ignorant of what was in store for him.
The Mistress had an inkling of his fated ordeal when she read theKennel Club rule that no dog could be taken from the Garden, exceptat stated times, from the moment the show should begin, at tenA.M. Wednesday morning, until the hour of its close, at ten o'clockSaturday night. For twelve hours a day--for four consecutivedays--every entrant must be there. By paying a forfeit fee, dog ownersmight take their pets to some nearby hotel or stable, for theremainder of the night and early morning--a permission which, forobvious reasons, would not affect most dogs.
"But Lad's never been away from home a night in his life!" exclaimedthe Mistress in dismay. "He'll be horribly lonely there, all thatwhile--especially at night."
By this time, with the mysterious foreknowledge of the best type ofthoroughbred collie, Lad began to be aware that something unusual hadcrept into the atmosphere of The Place. It made him restless, but hedid not associate it with himself--until the Mistress took to givinghim daily baths and brushings.
Always she had brushed him once a day, to keep his shaggy coat fluffyand burnished; and the lake had supplied him with baths that made himas clean as any human. But never had he undergone such searchingmassage with comb and brush as was now his portion. Never had he knownsuch soap-infested scrubbings as were now his daily fate, for the weekpreceding the show.
As a result of these ministrations his wavy fur was like spun silk intexture; and it stood out all over him like the hair of a Circassianbeauty in a dime museum. The white chest and forepaws were likesnow. And his sides and broad back and mighty shoulders shone likedark bronze.
He was magnificent--but he was miserable. He knew well enough, now,that he was in some way the center of all this unwonted stir andexcitement which pervaded The Place. He loathed change of any sort--athoroughbred collie being ever an ultra-conservative. This particularchange seemed to threaten his peace; also it kept his skin scrapedwith combs and his hair redolent of nasty-smelling soaps.
To humans there was no odor at all in the naphtha soap with which theMistress lathered the dog, and every visible atom of it was washedaway at once with warm water. But a human's sense of smell, comparedwith the best type of collie's, is as a purblind puppy's power ofsight in comparison to a hawk's.
All over the East, during these last days before the Show, hundreds ofhigh-bred dogs were undergoing preparation for an exhibition which tothe beholder is a delight--and which to many of the canine exhibits isa form of unremitting torture. To do justice to the Master and theMistress, they had no idea--then--of this torture. Otherwise all theblue ribbons ever woven would not have tempted them to subject theirbeloved chum to it.
In some kennels Airedales were "plucked," by hand, to rid them of thelast vestige of the soft gray outer coat which is an Airedale's chiefnatural beauty--and no hair of which must be seen in a show."Plucking" a dog is like pulling live hairs from a human head, so faras the sensation goes. But show-traditions demand the anguish.
In other kennels, bull-terriers' white coats were still furtherwhitened by the harsh rubbing of pipeclay into the tender skin.Sensitive tails and still more sensitive ears were sandpapered,for the victims' greater beauty--and agony. Ear-interiors, also, wereshaved close with safety-razors.
Murderous little "knife-combs" were tearing blithely away at collies'ear-interiors and heads, to "barber" natural furriness into painfuland unnatural trimness. Ears were "scrunched" until their wearersquivered with stark anguish--to impart the perfect tulip-shape;ordained by fashion for collies.
And so on, through every breed to be exhibited--each to its own formof torment; torments compared to which Lad's gentle if bothersomebrushing and bathing were a pure delight!
Few of these ruthlessly "prepared" dogs were personal pets. The bulkof them were "kennel dogs"--dogs bred and raised after the formula forraising and breeding prize hogs or chickens, and with little more ofthe individual element in it. The dogs were bred in a way to bring outcertain arbitrary "points" which count in show-judging, and whichchange from year to year.
Brain, fidelity, devotion, the _human_ side of a dog--these weretotally ignored in the effort to breed the perfect physical animal.The dogs were kept in kennel-buildings and in wire "runs" likeso many pedigreed cattle--looked after by paid attendants, and trainedto do nothing but to be the best-looking of their kind, and to winribbons. Some of them did not know their owners by sight--having beenreared wholly by hirelings.
The body was everything; the heart, the mind, the namelesslydelightful quality of the master-raised dog--these were nothing. Suchtraits do not win prizes at a bench-show. Therefore fanciers, whosesole aim is to win ribbons and cups, do not bother to cultivatethem. (All of this is extraneous; but may be worth your remembering,next time you go to a dog-show.)
Early on the morning of the Show's first day, the Mistress and theMaster set forth for town with Lad. They went in their little car,that the dog might not risk the dirt and cinders of a train.
> Lad refused to eat a mouthful of the tempting breakfast set before himthat day. He could not eat, when foreboding was hot in his throat. Hehad often ridden in the car. Usually he enjoyed the ride; but now hecrawled rather than sprang into the tonneau. All the way up the drive,his great mournful eyes were turned back toward the house in dumbappeal. Every atom of spirit and gayety and dash were gone fromhim. He knew he was being taken away from the sweet Place he loved,and that the car was whizzing him along toward some dreaded fate. Hisheart was sick within him.
To the born and bred show-dog this is an everyday occurrence--painful,but inevitable. To a chum-dog like Lad, it is heartbreaking. The bigcollie buried his head in the Mistress' lap and crouched hopelessly ather feet as the car chugged cityward.
A thoroughly unhappy dog is the most thoroughly unhappy thing onearth. All the adored Mistress' coaxings and pettings could not rouseLad from his dull apathy of despair. This was the hour when he waswont to make his stately morning rounds of The Place, at the heels ofone of his two deities. And now, instead, these deities were carryinghim away to something direfully unpleasant. A lesser dog would havehowled or would have struggled crazily to break away. Lad stood hisground like a furry martyr, and awaited his fate.
In an hour or so the ride ended. The car drew up at Madison Square--besidethe huge yellowish building, arcaded and Diana-capped, whichgoes by the name of "Garden" and which is as nearly historic asany landmark in feverish New York is permitted to be.
Ever since the car had entered Manhattan Island, unhappy Lad'snostrils had been aquiver with a million new and troublous odors. Now,as the car halted, these myriad strange smells were lost in one--anall-pervasive scent of dog. To a human, out there in the street, thescent was not observable. To a dog it was overwhelming.
Lad, at the Master's word, stepped down from the tonneau onto thesidewalk. He stood there, dazedly sniffing. The plangent roar of thecity was painful to his ears, which had always been attuned to thedeep silences of forest and lake. And through this din he caught themuffled noise of the chorused barks and howls of many of his own kind.
The racket that bursts so deafeningly on humans as they enter theGarden, during a dog-show, was wholly audible to Lad out in the streetitself. And, as instinct or scent makes a hog flinch at going into aslaughterhouse, so the gallant dog's spirit quailed for a moment as hefollowed the Mistress and the Master into the building.
A man who is at all familiar with the ways of dogs can tell at oncewhether a dog's bark denotes cheer or anger or terror or grief orcuriosity. To such a man a bark is as expressive of meanings as arethe inflections of a human voice. To another dog these meanings arefar more intelligible. And in the timbre of the multiple barks andyells that now assailed his ears, Lad read nothing to allay his ownfears.
He was the hero of a half-dozen hard-won fights. He had once riskedhis life to save life. He had attacked tramps and peddlers and otherstick-wielding invaders who had strayed into the grounds of ThePlace. Yet the tiniest semblance of fear now crept into his heart.
He looked up at the Mistress, a world of sorrowing appeal in hiseyes. At her gentle touch on his head and at a whisper of her lovedvoice, he moved onward at her side with no further hesitation. Ifthese, his gods, were leading him to death, he would not questiontheir right to do it, but would follow on as befitted a good soldier.
Through a doorway they went. At a wicket a yawning veterinary glanceduninterestedly at Lad. As the dog had no outward and glaring signs ofdisease, the vet' did not so much as touch him, but with a nodsuffered him to pass. The vet' was paid to inspect all dogs as theyentered the show. Perhaps some of them were turned back by him,perhaps not; but after this, as after many another show, scores ofkennels were swept by distemper and by other canine maladies, scoresof deaths followed. That is one of the risks a dog-exhibitor musttake--or rather that his luckless dogs must take--in spite of the feespaid to yawning veterinaries to bar out sick entrants.
As Lad passed in through the doorway, he halted involuntarily indismay. Dogs--dogs--DOGS! More than two thousand of them, from GreatDane to toy terrier, benched in row after row throughout the vastfloor-space of the Garden! Lad had never known there were so many dogson earth.
Fully five hundred of them were barking or howling. The hideous volumeof sound swelled to the Garden's vaulted roof and echoed back againlike innumerable hammer-blows upon the eardrum.
The Mistress stood holding Lad's chain and softly caressing thebewildered dog, while the Master went to make inquiries. Lad pressedhis shaggy body closer to her knee for refuge, as he gazed blinkinglyaround him.
In the Garden's center were several large inclosures of wire andreddish wood. Inside each inclosure were a table, a chair and amovable platform. The platform was some six inches high and four feetsquare. At corners of these "judging-rings" were blackboards on whichthe classes next to be inspected were chalked up.
All around the central space were alleys, on each side of which werelines of raised "benches," two feet from the ground. The benches werecarpeted with straw and were divided off by high wire partitions intocompartments about three feet in area. Each compartment was to be theabiding-place of some unfortunate dog for the next four days andnights. By short chains the dogs were bound into these open-frontedcells.
The chains left their wearers just leeway enough to stand up or liedown or to move to the various limits of the tiny space. In front ofsome of the compartments a wire barrier was fastened. This meant thatthe occupant was savage--in other words, that under the four-daystrain he was likely to resent the stares or pokes or ticklings orpromiscuous alien pattings of fifty thousand curious visitors.
The Master came back with a plumply tipped attendant. Lad wasconducted through a babel of yapping and snapping thoroughbreds of allbreeds, to a section at the Garden's northeast corner, above which, inlarge black letters on a white sign, was inscribed "COLLIES." Here hisconductors stopped before a compartment numbered "658."
"Up, Laddie!" said the Mistress, touching the straw-carpeted bench.
Usually, at this command, Lad was wont to spring to the indicatedheight--whether car-floor or table-top--with the lightness of acat. Now, one foot after another, he very slowly climbed into thecompartment he was already beginning to detest--the cell which wasplanned to be his only resting-spot for four interminable days. Therehe, who had never been tied, was ignominiously chained as though hewere a runaway puppy. The insult bit to the depths of his soresoul. He curled down in the straw.
The Mistress made him as comfortable as she could. She set before himthe breakfast she had brought and told the attendant to bring him somewater.
The Master, meantime, had met a collie man whom he knew, and incompany with this acquaintance he was walking along the collie-sectionexamining the dogs tied there. A dozen times had the Master visiteddog-shows; but now that Lad was on exhibition, he studied the othercollies with new eyes.
"Look!" he said boastfully to his companion, pausing before a benchwhereon were chained a half-dozen dogs from a single illustriouskennel. "These fellows aren't in it with old Lad. See--their nosesare tapered like tooth-picks, and the span of their heads, between theears, isn't as wide as my palm; and their eyes are little and theyslant like a Chinaman's; and their bodies are as curved as agrayhound's. Compared with Lad, some of them are freaks. That's allthey are, just freaks--not all of them, of course, but a lot of them."
"That's the idea nowadays," laughed the collie man patronizingly. "Theup-to-date collie--this year's style, at least--is bred with a borzoi(wolfhound) head and with graceful, small bones. What's the use ofhis having brain and scenting-power? He's used for exhibition or keptas a pet nowadays--not to herd sheep. Long nose, narrow head----"
"But Lad once tracked my footsteps two miles through a snowstorm,"bragged the Master; "and again on a road where fifty people had walkedsince I had; and he understands the meaning of every simple word.He----"
"Yes?" said the collie man, quite unimpressed. "Very interesting--butnot useful in
a show. Some of the big exhibitors still care for sensein their dogs, and they make companions of them--Eileen Moretta, forinstance, and Fred Leighton and one or two more; but I find most ofthe rest are just out for the prizes. Let's have a look at your dog.Where is he?"
On the way down the alley toward Cell 658 they met the worriedMistress.
"Lad won't eat a thing," she reported, "and he wouldn't eat before weleft home this morning, either. He drinks plenty of water, but hewon't eat. I'm afraid he's sick."
"They hardly ever eat at a show," the collie man consoled her, "hardlya mouthful--most of the high-strung ones, but they drink quarts ofwater. This is your dog, hey?" he broke off, pausing at 658. "H'm!"
He stood, legs apart, hands behind his back, gazing down at Lad. Thedog was lying, head between paws, as before. He did not so much asglance up at the stranger, but his great wistful eyes roved from theMistress to the Master and back again. In all this horrible place theytwo alone were his salvation.
"H'm!" repeated the collie man thoughtfully. "Eyes too big and notenough slanted. Head too thick for length of nose. Ears too farapart. Eyes too far apart, too. Not enough 'terrier expression' inthem. Too much bone, too much bulk. Wonderful coat, though--gloriouscoat! Best coat I've seen this five years. Great brush, too! What's heentered for? Novice, hey? May get a third with him at that. He's thetrue type--but old-fashioned. I'm afraid he's too old-fashioned forsuch fast company as he's in. Still, you never can tell. Only it's apity he isn't a little more----"
"I wouldn't have him one bit different in any way!" flashed theMistress. "He's perfect as he is. You can't see that, though, becausehe isn't himself now. I've never seen him so crushed and woe-begone. Iwish we had never brought him here."
"You can't blame him," said the collie man philosophically. "Why, justsuppose _you_ were brought to a strange place like this and chainedinto a cage and were left there four days and nights while hundreds ofother prisoners kept screaming and shouting and crying at the top oftheir lungs every minute of the time! And suppose about a hundredthousand people kept jostling past your cage night and day, rubberingat you and pointing at you and trying to feel your ears and mouth, andchirping at you to shake hands, would _you_ feel very hungry or verychipper? A four-day show is the most fearful thing a high-strung dogcan go through--next to vivisection. A little one-day show, for abouteight hours, is no special ordeal, especially if the dog's Masterstays near him all the time; but a four-day show is--is Sheol! Iwonder the S. P. C. A. doesn't do something to make it easier."
"If I'd known--if we'd known----" began the Mistress.
"Most of these folks know!" returned the collie man. "They do it yearafter year. There's a mighty strong lure in a bit of ribbon. Why, lookwhat an exhibitor will do for it! He'll risk his dog's health and makehis dog's life a horror. He'll ship him a thousand miles in a tightcrate from Show to Show. (Some dogs die under the strain of so manyjourneys.) And he'll pay five dollars for every class the dog'sentered in. Some exhibitors enter a single dog in five or six classes.The Association charges one dollar admission to the show. Crowds ofpeople pay the price to come in. The exhibitor gets none of thegate-money. All he gets for his five dollars or his twenty-fivedollars is an off chance at a measly scrap of colored silk worth maybefour cents. That, and the same off-chance at a tiny cash prize thatdoesn't come anywhere near to paying his expenses. Yet, for all, it'sthe straightest sport on earth. Not an atom of graft in it, and seldomany profit.... So long! I wish you folks luck with 658."
He strolled on. The Mistress was winking very fast and was bendingover Lad, petting him and whispering to him. The Master looked incuriosity at a kennel man who was holding down a nearby collie while asecond man was trimming the scared dog's feet and fetlocks with a pairof curved shears; and now the Master noted that nearly every dog butLad was thus clipped as to ankle.
At an adjoining cell a woman was sifting almost a pound of talcumpowder into her dog's fur to make the coat fluffier. Elsewhere similarweird preparations were in progress. And Lad's only preparation hadbeen baths and brushing! The Master began to feel like a fool.
People all along the collie line presently began to brush dogs(smoothing the fur the wrong way to fluff it) and to put otherfinishing touches on the poor beasts' make-up. The collie man strolledback to 658.
"The Novice class in collies is going to be called presently," he toldthe Mistress. "Where's your exhibition-leash and choke-collar? I'llhelp you put them on."
"Why, we've only this chain," said the Mistress. "We bought it forLad yesterday, and this is his regular collar--though he never has hadto wear it. Do we have to have another kind?"
"You don't have to unless you want to," said the collie man, "but it'sbest--especially, the choke-collar. You see, when exhibitors go intothe ring, they hold their dogs by the leash close to the neck. And iftheir dogs have choke-collars, why, then they've _got_ to hold theirheads high when the leash is pulled. They've got to, to keep fromstrangling. It gives them a fine, proud carriage of the head, thatcounts a lot with some judges. All dog-photos are taken that way. Thenthe leash is blotted out of the negative. Makes the dog look showy,too--keeps him from slumping. Can't slump much when you're trying notto choke, you know."
"It's horrible! _Horrible!_" shuddered the Mistress. "I wouldn't putsuch a thing on Lad for all the prizes on earth. When I read Davis'wonderful 'Bar Sinister' story, I thought dog-shows were a real treatto dogs. I see, now, they're----"
"Your class is called!" interrupted the collie man. "Keep his headhigh, keep him moving as showily as you can. Lead him close to youwith the chain as short as possible. Don't be scared if any of theother dogs in the ring happen to fly at him. The attendants will lookout for all that. Good luck."
Down the aisle and to the wired gate of the north-eastern ring theunhappy Mistress piloted the unhappier Lad. The big dog gravely keptbeside her, regardless of other collies moving in the same direction.The Garden had begun to fill with visitors, and the ring wassurrounded with interested "rail-birds." The collie classes, asusual, were among those to be judged on the first day of the four.
Through the gate into the ring the Mistress piloted Lad. Six otherNovice dogs were already there. Beautiful creatures they were, and allbut one were led by kennel men. At the table, behind a ledger flankedby piles of multicolored ribbons, sat the clerk. Beside the platformstood a wizened and elderly little man in tweeds. He was McGilead, whohad been chosen as judge for the collie division. He was a Scot, andhe was also a man with stubborn opinions of his own as to dogs.
Around the ring, at the judge's order, the Novice collies wereparaded. Most of them stepped high and fast and carried their headsproudly aloft--the thin choke-collars cutting deep into their furrynecks. One entered was a harum-scarum puppy who writhed and bit andwhirled about in ecstasy of terror.
Lad moved solemnly along at the Mistress' side. He did not pant orcurvet or look showy. He was miserable and every line of his splendidbody showed his misery. The Mistress, too, glancing at the morespectacular dogs, wanted to cry--not because she was about to lose,but because Lad was about to lose. Her heart ached for him. Again sheblamed herself bitterly for bringing him here.
McGilead, hands in pockets, stood sucking at an empty brier pipe, andscanning the parade that circled around him. Presently he stepped upto the Mistress, checked her as she filed past him, and said to herwith a sort of sorrowful kindness:
"Please take your dog over to the far end of the ring. Take him intothe corner where he won't be in my way while I am judging."
Yes, he spoke courteously enough, but the Mistress would rather havehad him hit her across the face. Meekly she obeyed his command. Acrossthe ring, to the very farthest corner, she went--poor beautiful Ladbeside her, disgraced, weeded out of the competition at the verystart. There, far out of the contest, she stood, a drooping littlefigure, feeling as though everyone were sneering at her dear dog'sdisgrace.
Lad seemed to sense her sorrow. For, as he stood beside her, head andtail low, he wh
ined softly and licked her hand as if in encouragement.She ran her fingers along his silky head. Then, to keep from crying,she watched the other contestants.
No longer were these parading. One at a time and then in twos, thejudge was standing them on the platform. He looked at their teeth. Hepressed their heads between his hands. He "hefted" their hips. He ranhis fingers through their coats. He pressed his palm upward againsttheir underbodies. He subjected them to a score of such annoyances,but he did it all with a quick and sure touch that not even thecrankiest of them could resent.
Then he stepped back and studied the quartet. After that he seemed toremember Lad's presence, and, as though by way of earning his fee, heslouched across the ring to where the forlorn Mistress was petting herdear disgraced dog.
Lazily, perfunctorily, the judge ran his hand over Lad, withabsolutely none of the thoroughness that had marked his inspection ofthe other dogs. Apparently there was no need to look for the finerpoints in a disqualified collie. The sketchy examination did not lastthree seconds. At its end the judge jotted down a number on a pad heheld. Then he laid one hand heavily on Lad's head and curtly thrustout his other hand at the Mistress.
"Can I take him away now?" she asked, still stroking Lad's fur.
"Yes," rasped the judge, "and take this along with him."
In his outstretched hand fluttered a little bunch of silk--dark blue,with gold lettering on it.
The blue ribbon! First prize in the Novice class! And this grouchylittle judge was awarding it--to _Lad!_
The Mistress looked very hard at the bit of blue and gold in herfingers. She saw it through a queer mist. Then, as she stooped tofasten it to Lad's collar, she furtively kissed the tiny white spot onthe top of his head.
"It's something like the 'Bar Sinister' victory after all!" sheexclaimed joyously as she rejoined the delighted Master at the ringgate. "But, oh, it was terrible for a minute or two, wasn't it?"
Now, Angus McGilead, Esq. (late of Linlithgow, Scotland), had aknowledge of collies such as is granted to few men, and this very factmade him a wretchedly bad dog-show judge; as the Kennel Club,which--on the strength of his fame--had engaged his services for thissingle occasion, speedily learned. The greatest lawyer makes often theworst judge. Legal annals prove this; and the same thing applies todog-experts. They are sane rather than judicial.
McGilead had scant patience with the ultra-modern, inbred andgrayhoundlike collies which had so utterly departed from theirancestral standards. At one glimpse he had recognized Lad as a dogafter his own heart--a dog that brought back to him the murk and magicof the Highland moors.
He had noted the deep chest, the mighty forequarters, the tiny whitepaws, the incredible wealth of outer- and under-coat, the brush, thegrand head, and the soul in the eyes. This was such a dog asMcGilead's shepherd ancestors had admitted as an honored equal, athearth and board--such a dog, for brain and brawn and beauty, as aHighland master would no sooner sell than he would sell his own child.
McGilead, therefore, had waved Lad aside while he judged the lesserdogs of his class, lest he be tempted to look too much at Lad and toolittle at them; and he rejoiced, at the last, to give honor where allhonor was due.
Through dreary hours that day Lad lay disconsolate in his cell, nosebetween paws, while the stream of visitors flowed sluggishly pasthim. His memory of the Guest-Law prevented him from showing his teethwhen some of these passing humans paused in front of the compartmentto pat him or to consult his number in their catalogues. But heaccorded not so much as one look--to say nothing of a handshake--toany of them.
A single drop of happiness was in his sorrow-cup. He had, seemingly,done something that made both the Master and the Mistress very, _very_proud of him. He did not know just why they should be for he had donenothing clever. In fact, he had been at his dullest. But they _were_proud of him--undeniably proud, and this made him glad, through allhis black despondency.
Even the collie man seemed to regard him with more approval thanbefore--not that Lad cared at all; and two or three exhibitors cameover for a special look at him. From one of these exhibitors theMistress learned of a dog-show rule that was wholly new to her.
She was told that the winning dog of each and every class was obligedto return later to the ring to compete in what was known as theWinners' class--a contest whose entrants included every class-victorfrom Novice to Open. Briefly, this special competition was todetermine which class-winner was the best collie in the whole list ofwinners and, as such, entitled to a certain number of "points" towarda championship. There were eight of these winners.
One or two such world-famed champions as Grey Mist and SouthportSample were in the show "for exhibition only." But the pick of theremaining leaders must compete in the winners' class--Sunnybank Ladamong them. The Master's heart sank at this news.
"I'm sorry!" he said. "You see, it's one thing to win as a Noviceagainst a bunch of untried dogs, and quite another to compete againstthe best dogs in the show. I wish we could get out of it."
"Never mind!" answered the Mistress. "Laddie has won his ribbon. Theycan't take that away from him. There's a silver cup for the Winners'class, though. I wish there had been one for the Novices."
The day wore on. At last came the call for "Winners!" And for thesecond time poor Lad plodded reluctantly into the ring with theMistress. But now, instead of novice dogs, he was confronted by thecream of colliedom.
Lad's heartsick aspect showed the more intensely in such company. Itgrieved the Mistress bitterly to see his disconsolate air. She thoughtof the three days and nights to come--the nights when she and theMaster could not be with him, when he must lie listening to the babelof yells and barks all around, with nobody to speak to him except someneglectful and sleepy attendant. And for the sake of a blue ribbon shehad brought this upon him!
The Mistress came to a sudden and highly unsportsmanlike resolution.
Again the dogs paraded the ring. Again the judge studied them frombetween half-shut eyes. But this time he did not wave Lad to oneside. The Mistress had noted, during the day, that McGilead hadalways made known his decisions by first laying his hand on thevictor's head. And she watched breathless for such a gesture.
One by one the dogs were weeded out until only two remained. Of thesetwo, one was Lad--the Mistress' heart banged crazily--and the otherwas Champion Coldstream Guard. The Champion was a grand dog,gold-and-white of hue, perfect of coat and line, combining all thatwas best in the old and new styles of collies. He carried his headnobly aloft with no help from the choke-collar. His "tulip" ears hungat precisely the right curve.
Lad and Coldstream Guard were placed shoulder to shoulder on theplatform. Even the Mistress could not fail to contrast her pet'swoe-begone aspect with the Champion's alert beauty.
"Lad!" she said, very low, and speaking with slow intentness asMcGilead compared the two. "Laddie, we're going home. Home! _Home_,Lad!"
Home! At the word, a thrill went through the great dog. His shoulderssquared. Up went his head and his ears. His dark eyes fairly glowedwith eagerness as he looked expectantly up at the Mistress. _Home!_
Yet, despite the transformation, the other was the finer dog--from amere show viewpoint. The Mistress could see he was. Even the newuptilt of Lad's ears could not make those ears so perfect in shape andattitude as were the Champion's.
With almost a gesture of regret McGilead laid his hand athwartColdstream Guard's head. The Mistress read the verdict, and sheaccepted it.
"Come, Laddie, dear," she said tenderly. "You're second, anyway,Reserve-Winner. That's _something_."
"Wait!" snapped McGilead.
The judge was seizing one of Champion Coldstream Guard's supershapelyears and turning it backward. His sensitive fingers, falling on thedog's head in token of victory, had encountered an odd stiffness inthe curve of the ear. Now he began to examine that ear, and then theother, and thereby he disclosed a most clever bit of surgicalbandaging.
Neatly crisscrossed, inside each of the Champion's ears,
was asuccession of adhesive-plaster strips cut thin and running from tip toorifice. The scientific applying of these strips had painfullyimparted to the prick-ears (the dog's one flaw) the perfect tulip-shapeso desirable as a show-quality. Champion Coldstream Guard's silkenears could not have had other than ideal shape and posture if hehad wanted them to--while that crisscross of sticky strips heldthem in position!
Now, this was no new trick--the ruse that the Champion's handlers hademployed. Again and again in bench-shows, it had been employed uponbull-terriers. A year or two ago a woman was ordered from the ring, atthe Garden, when plaster was found inside her terrier's ears, butseldom before had it been detected in a collie--in which a prick-earusually counts as a fatal blemish.
McGilead looked at the Champion. Long and searchingly he looked at theman who held the Champion's leash--and who fidgeted grinningly underthe judge's glare. Then McGilead laid both hands on Lad's great honesthead--almost as in benediction.
"Your dog wins, Madam," he said, "and while it is no part of a judge'sduty to say so, I am heartily glad. I won't insult you by asking if heis for sale, but if ever you have to part with him----"
He did not finish, but abruptly gave the Mistress the "Winning Class"rosette.
And now, as Lad left the ring, hundreds of hands were put out to pathim. All at once he was a celebrity.
Without returning the dog to the bench, the Mistress went directly tothe collie man.
"When do they present the cups?" she asked.
"Not until Saturday night, I believe," said the man. "I congratulateyou both on----"
"In order to win his cup, Lad will have to stay in this--thisinferno--for three days and nights longer?"
"Of course. All the dogs----"
"If he doesn't stay, he won't get the cup?"
"No. It would go to the Reserve, I suppose, or to----"
"Good!" declared the Mistress in relief. "Then he won't be defraudinganyone, and they can't rob him of his two ribbons because I havethose."
"What do you mean?" asked the puzzled collie man.
But the Master understood--and approved.
"Good!" he said. "I wanted all day to suggest it to you, but I didn'thave the nerve. Come around to the Exhibitors' Entrance. I'll go aheadand start the car."
"But what's the idea?" queried the collie man in bewilderment.
"The idea," replied the Mistress, "is that the cup can go to any dogthat wants it. Lad's coming _home_. He knows it, too. Just lookat him. I promised him he should go home. We can get there bydinner-time, and he has a day's fast to make up for."
"But," expostulated the scandalized collie man, "if you withdraw yourdog like that, the Association will never allow you to exhibit him atits shows again."
"The Association can have a pretty silver cup," retorted the Mistress,"to console it for losing Lad. As for exhibiting him again--well, Iwouldn't lose these two ribbons for a hundred dollars, but I wouldn'tput my worst enemy's dog to the torture of winning them overagain--for a thousand. Come along, Lad, we're going back home."
At the talisman-word, Lad broke silence for the first time in all thatvilely wretched day. He broke it with a series of thunderouslytrumpeting barks that quite put to shame the puny noise-making effortsof every other dog in the show.
Lad: A Dog Page 5