by A. A. Milne
A FAREWELL TOUR
This is positively Chum's last appearance in print--for his own sake noless than for yours. He is conceited enough as it is, but if once he gotto know that people are always writing about him in books his swaggerwould be unbearable. However, I have said good-bye to him now; I have nolonger any rights in him. Yesterday I saw him off to his new home, andwhen we meet again it will be on a different footing. "Is that yourdog?" I shall say to his master. "What is he? A Cocker? Jolly littlefellows, aren't they? I had one myself once."
As Chum refused to do the journey across London by himself, I met him atLiverpool Street. He came up in a crate; the world must have seemed verysmall to him on the way. "Hallo, old ass," I said to him through thebars, and in the little space they gave him he wriggled his body withdelight. "Thank Heaven there's _one_ of 'em alive," he said.
"I think this is my dog," I said to the guard, and I told him my name.
He asked for my card.
"I'm afraid I haven't one with me," I explained. When policemen touch meon the shoulder and ask me to go quietly; when I drag old gentlemen fromunderneath motor-'buses, and they decide to adopt me on the spot; on allthe important occasions when one really wants a card, I never have onewith me.
"Can't give him up without proof of identity," said the guard, and Chumgrinned at the idea of being thought so valuable.
I felt in my pockets for letters. There was only one, but it offered tolend me L10,000 on my note of hand alone. It was addressed to "DearSir," and though I pointed out to the guard that I was the "Sir," hestill kept tight hold of Chum. Strange that one man should be preparedto trust me with L10,000, and another should be so chary of confiding tome a small black spaniel.
"Tell the gentleman who I am," I said imploringly through the bars."Show him you know me."
"He's _really_ all right," said Chum, looking at the guard with hisgreat honest brown eyes. "He's been with us for years."
And then I had an inspiration. I turned down the inside pocket of mycoat; and there, stitched into it, was the label of my tailor with myname written on it. I had often wondered why tailors did this; obviouslythey know how stupid guards can be.
"I suppose that's all right," said the guard reluctantly. Of course, Imight have stolen the coat. I see his point.
"You--you wouldn't like a nice packing-case for yourself?" I saidtimidly. "You see, I thought I'd put Chum on the lead. I've got to takehim to Paddington, and he must be tired of his shell by now. It isn't asif he were _really_ an armadillo."
The guard thought he would like a shilling and a nice packing-case.Wood, he agreed, was always wood, particularly in winter, but there weretimes when you were not ready for it.
"How are you taking him?" he asked, getting to work with a chisel."Underground?"
"Underground?" I cried in horror. "Take Chum on the Underground?Take---- Have you ever taken a large live conger-eel on the end of astring into a crowded carriage?"
The guard never had.
"Well, don't. Take him in a taxi instead. Don't waste him on otherpeople."
The crate yawned slowly, and Chum emerged all over straw. We had ananxious moment, but the two of us got him down and put the lead on him.Then Chum and I went off for a taxi.
"Hooray," said Chum, wriggling all over, "isn't this splendid? I say,which way are you going? I'm going this way?... No, I mean the otherway."
Somebody had left some of his milk-cans on the platform. Three times wewent round one in opposite directions and unwound ourselves the wrongway. Then I hauled him in, took him struggling in my arms and got into acab.
The journey to Paddington was full of interest. For a whole minute Chumstood quietly on the seat, rested his fore-paws on the open window anddrank in London. Then he jumped down and went mad. He tried to hang mewith the lead, and then in remorse tried to hang himself. He made a dashfor the little window at the back; missed it and dived out of the windowat the side; was hauled back and kissed me ecstatically in the eye withhis sharpest tooth.... "And I thought the world was at an end," he said,"and there were no more people. Oh, I am an ass. I say, did you noticeI'd had my hair cut? How do you like my new trousers? I must show youthem." He jumped on to my lap. "No, I think you'll see them better onthe ground," he said, and jumped down again. "Or no, perhaps you _would_get a better view if----" he jumped up hastily, "and yet I don'tknow----" he dived down, "though, of course, if you---- Oh lor! this_is_ a day," and he put both paws lovingly on my collar.
Suddenly he was quiet again. The stillness, the absence of storm in thetaxi was so unnatural that I began to miss it. "Buck up, old fool," Isaid, but he sat motionless by my side, plunged in thought. I tried tocheer him up. I pointed out King's Cross to him; he wouldn't even barkat it. I called his attention to the poster outside the Euston Theatreof The Two Biffs; for all the regard he showed he might never even haveheard of them. The monumental masonry by Portland Road failed to uplifthim.
At Baker Street he woke up and grinned cheerily. "It's all right," hesaid, "I was trying to remember what happened to me thismorning--something rather miserable, I thought, but I can't get hold ofit. However, it's all right now. How are _you_?" And he went mad again.
At Paddington I bought a label at the bookstall and wrote it for him. Hewent round and round my leg looking for me. "Funny thing," he said as hebegan to unwind, "he was here a moment ago. I'll just go round oncemore. I rather think ... _Ow!_ Oh, there you are!" I stepped off him,unravelled the lead and dragged him to the Parcels Office.
"I want to send this by the two o'clock train," I said to the man theother side of the counter.
"Send what?" he said.
I looked down. Chum was making himself very small and black in theshadow of the counter. He was completely hidden from the sight ofanybody the other side of it.
"Come out," I said, "and show yourself."
"Not much," he said. "A parcel! I'm not going to be a jolly old parcelfor anybody."
"It's only a way of speaking," I pleaded. "Actually you are travellingas a small black gentleman. You will go with the guard--a delightfulman."
Chum came out reluctantly. The clerk leant over the counter and managedto see him.
"According to our regulations," he said, and I always dislike peoplewho begin like that, "he has to be on a chain. A leather lead won't do."
Chum smiled all over himself. I don't know which pleased him more--thesuggestion that he was a very large and fierce dog, or the impossibilitynow of his travelling with the guard, delightful man though he might be.He gave himself a shake and started for the door.
"Tut, tut, it's a great disappointment to me," he said, trying to lookdisappointed, but his back _would_ wriggle. "This chain business--sillyof us not to have known--well, well, we shall be wiser another time. Nowlet's go home."
Poor old Chum; I _had_ known. From a large coat pocket I produced achain.
"_Dash_ it," said Chum, looking up at me pathetically, "you might almost_want_ to get rid of me."
He was chained, and the label tied on to him. Forgive me that label,Chum; I think that was the worst offence of all. And why should I labelone who was speaking so eloquently for himself; who said from the tip ofhis little black nose to the end of his stumpy black tail, "I'm a sillyold ass, but there's nothing wrong in me, and they're sending me away!"But according to the regulations--one must obey the regulations, Chum.
I gave him to the guard--a delightful man. The guard and I chained himto a brake or something. Then the guard went away, and Chum and I had alittle talk....
After that the train went off.
Good-bye, little dog.