The Dogs of Boytown

For some time Tom Poultice discoursed learnedly on these two breeds and answered numerous questions.

"What-ho," he exclaimed suddenly. "'Ere's Mr. 'Artshorn coming. Get 'im to tell you about dogs. 'E knows a thing or two 'imself."

A well-dressed gentleman in a gray overcoat and hat, with a gray pointed beard, and carrying a cane, appeared around the end of the kennel house. The boys appeared a little ill at ease.

"Don't be scared of 'im," said Tom. "'E likes boys."

"Well, Tom," said Mr. Hartshorn, stopping now and then to poke his stick through the fence at the dogs that came yelping down their runs to greet him, "how's Molly?"

"Mighty fine, sir," said Tom; "mighty fine."

"Some of your friends?" he inquired, indicating the boys.

"Yes, sir," said Tom. "This is Harry Barton, sir, from Boytown, and these – what did you say your names were?"

"Ernest and Jack Whipple," said Ernest.

"Ah, yes," said Mr. Hartshorn, just as though he had been reading about these boys in the paper. "Glad to meet you, I'm sure. Came up to have a look at the finest dogs in Connecticut, I suppose."

He had a pleasant, friendly face, and though the boys were a little awed by his imposing appearance and courtly manner, they soon lost their shyness and found themselves asking him many questions about dogs.

"Come up to the house," said he at length. "I can explain things better up there, where I have some pictures."

Tom went back to his work and the boys, bidding him good-by, followed Mr. Hartshorn up to the big house. He took them into a room that he said was his den. There was a big desk in it, all littered up with papers, and well filled bookcases around the room.

"Are all these books about dogs?" inquired Harry.

"Well, a good many of them are," said Mr. Hartshorn. "I have about every book on dogs that has been printed, I expect."

On the walls above the bookcases were photographs and colored pictures of dogs and horses in frames, and at one side of the room was a long leather sofa. Mr. Hartshorn seated himself at his desk and began rummaging in a drawer full of photographs, while he told the boys to be seated on the sofa.

"Now, then," he said when they were all settled, "you were asking me about the different kinds of terriers, and I guess I've got pictures of good specimens of about every kind. How many kinds of standard breeds of terriers do you suppose there are?"

"About eight, I guess," said Harry, who was a little more forward than the Whipple boys.

"Wrong," said Mr. Hartshorn. "There are nearly a hundred recognized breeds of dogs in this country, all different, and eighteen of these are terriers. To make them easier to remember, I will divide them into three classes, smooth-coated, wire-haired, and long-haired. The smooths are the bull terrier, the Boston, the smooth fox terrier, the Manchester, and the Doberman pinscher. The wires are the wire-haired fox terrier, the Airedale, the Bedlington, the Irish, the Welsh, the Scottish, the West Highland white, the Dandie Dinmont, the cairn, and the Sealyham. The long-haired ones are the Skye, the Clydesdale, and the Yorkshire."

"My!" exclaimed Ernest. "I never heard of some of them before."

"Lots of people haven't," said Mr. Hartshorn, "but they're all worth knowing. You can see nearly all of them at a big show like the one held every year in New York. I'm going to tell you something about them all, if you'd like to listen."

"Oh, yes, please do," said Ernest.

"Well," said Mr. Hartshorn, arranging his photographs, "first let me explain what a terrier is. Most of them come from England and Scotland. A few from Wales and Ireland. Terrier means earth dog, and that's what they were called hundreds of years ago when they were first used to hunt animals that run into the ground or under stones. They had to be brave and gamey and not too big, and they became very active little dogs and mighty efficient. At first, some were smooth-coated and some wire-coated. Finally, however, Englishmen began to breed certain favorite kinds, and so the different breeds were gradually established.

"One of the oldest kinds is the Manchester or black-and-tan terrier. He was first bred by the mill hands in the Midland counties of England where he was famous as a ratter. Here's a picture of one. Handsome chap, isn't he? Nice, intelligent dog, too. His ears are cropped but his tail isn't. The white bull terrier is a near relative of the Manchester. I've already told you about him.

"Now here's the Boston. I guess you know this kind."

"Oh, yes," said Ernest. "Theron Hammond has one named Alert."

"This is an American-made breed," said Mr. Hartshorn, "out of British raw material. Some Boston fanciers developed it from the brindle bull terrier about 1890. It's one of the most popular breeds here now. A smallish dog – sometimes too small, I think – brindle and white. And here's the smooth fox terrier. You've seen lots of those. Another small one, not over twenty pounds. He was developed from the old English working terrier about fifty years ago.

"Now here's one that I don't believe you know. It's a Doberman pinscher. Funny name. Wonderfully smart dog, though. They call him the dog with the human brain. He comes from Germany, where he was first a watchdog and was later trained as a police dog. I believe the first ones were brought over here in 1907. A muscular dog, weighing forty or fifty pounds. He is marked like the Manchester but his coat is less silky.

"Now we come to the wires. The wire-haired fox terrier is really just like the smooth, but he looks quite different because of his stiff, wiry coat. Then there's the Airedale. You know about those. Best all-round dog in the world in my opinion. This is a Bedlington. You won't see many of those. Has a head like a lamb, hasn't he? And notice the silky topknot. He's a good little sporting dog if he does look so mild. They're mostly blue-gray and tan, and weigh about twenty-four pounds.

"Here's the liveliest one of the lot, the Irish terrier. Sometimes they call him the dare-devil. He's a great little scrapper. He comes from Ireland, of course. He's a red dog, weighs twenty-four pounds, and makes one of the best comrades a boy can have. The Welsh terrier is related to the wire-haired fox, though he looks more like a small Airedale, being black and tan. He's a little smaller than the Irishman.

"Several terriers come from Scotland, and as you can see from these pictures they're a short-legged, strong-headed, long-bodied lot. That's because they were bred to go into the ground and the piles of rocks after badger and such-like game. They had to be pretty tough to manage it, too. This is the cairn terrier. He used to be called the Highland terrier, and I guess he's more nearly like the original terrier of Scotland than any of the others, He came from the Hebrides Islands. I expect you've never seen one, for they aren't common in this country. But they're jolly little beggars. They're the smallest of the lot, weighing only twelve to fifteen pounds, but mighty hardy and gamey. They are various sandy and grizzled colors and always have this foxy little head.

"You may have seen one of these. It's a Scottish terrier, once called the Aberdeen, and we have a lot of good ones over here now. Some call him the Scottie or the die-hard. See how wise he looks, with his bright eyes under his big eyebrows. Notice the big head and short legs and upright tail. There are some sandy ones, but mostly they're a dark grizzled gray. They weigh eighteen to twenty pounds. Here's his first cousin, the West Highland white terrier. He comes from Argyllshire, on the west coast of Scotland, and he's always pure white. Like most of the other Scotchmen he has a harsh outer coat and a soft under coat, which are practically waterproof. He has a more pointed muzzle than the Scottie and he's smaller."

At the next picture the boys all laughed. It was such a queer-looking dog, with such a big head and long body, and a face like that of an old Scotchman.

"He's a Dandie Dinmont," said Mr. Hartshorn. "If you ever read 'Guy Mannering' by Sir Walter Scott, you may remember that he speaks of Dandie Dinmont's pepper and mustard terriers. The book was published in 1814, and Dandie Dinmont terriers have been popular in the border countries of Scotland ever since. The Dandie is related to the Bedlington. You see he has the same drooping ears and the topknot. Gray and fawn are the colors.

"This is the last of the wires. It's a Sealyham. He looks as though he might be related to the Scotch breeds, with his short legs and strong head. He was, in fact, bred for badger hunting, as they were, but he comes from Wales. We have had them in this country only since 1912. The Sealyham is a mighty lovable little dog. He is white, often with black or brown markings, and he's about the same size as the West Highlander.

"Now we come to the long-coated ones, and the first of them is the Skye, another of the Scotch breeds. He's a close relative of the cairn, but he has a long coat and hair over his eyes. He's about the same size as the West Highlander and he's blue-gray or fawn. They used to be much more common than they are now. By the way, did you ever read the story of Greyfriars Bobby?"

None of the boys had read it.

"Well, do so the first chance you get. That's on of the loveliest dog stories ever written, and it's true. Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye terrier.

"This is the Clydesdale or Paisley terrier. Not at all a common breed. I doubt if you'll ever see one in the United States. He looks something like the Skye, but his coat is silkier. He's steel blue on the body and head, with golden tan feet. The Yorkshire comes from the other side of the border, and he's something like the Clydesdale, only with longer legs and shorter body. He's a fancy dog with a wonderful coat, parted down the middle and sweeping the ground. He's steel blue with tan markings on the head, chest, and legs.

"There you have all the terriers," he concluded, "and I guess you've had a long enough lesson for one day. These facts are all very interesting, but they become prosy and confusing if taken in too large doses. Here, take this book home with you, and look it over at your leisure. You'll find in it all the things I've told you and a lot more besides."

"Terriers are the smartest dogs there are, I guess," said Harry.

"Well, I don't know as I should want to say quite that," said Mr. Hartshorn. "Smartness and other qualities are as much a matter of individuals as of breeds. However, the terriers certainly have won that reputation."

"Do you know any good stories about them?" asked Harry, who was never backward in such matters. Mr. Hartshorn laughed.

"Unfortunately my memory for stories isn't very good," said he, "but I have lots of stories in books, and before you boys come up again, I'll look up some of them. Meanwhile, see if they have a book in the Boytown Library by Edward Jesse, called 'Anecdotes of Dogs.' It was published in London in 1858, and it isn't very common, but if you can find a copy, it's a dandy. It contains most of the historic dog stories. It includes several stories about terriers, chiefly illustrating their intelligence, but also their devotion. Many of them, I recall, are stories of dogs that found their way home over unknown roads after being carried away for long distances. This homing instinct seems to be very strong in the terrier. The breed has always been a very close and intimate companion of man, and that has sharpened his wits and deepened his sympathies.

"The only terrier story that I recall at the moment is a little anecdote that illustrates the terrier's shrewdness rather than his uprightness of character. A lady music teacher was going to the home of one of her pupils one day when some sort of wire-haired terrier surprised and startled her by running out from a field and seizing her skirt in his teeth. She tried to drive him away, but he wouldn't go. Becoming somewhat alarmed by his actions, she called to two laborers who were working in the field, and they came to her assistance.

"'He wants you to go with him, ma'am," one of the men said. 'I've heard of dogs actin' like that. Maybe it's a murder or something. I guess we'd better go along.'

"They followed the dog to the rear of a cottage, and he at once began to dig feverishly at a heavy plank. The workmen, half expecting to find a corpse, lifted the plank, only to disclose a large beef bone. This the terrier at once appropriated and made off with it, without waiting to express his thanks for assistance."

The boys laughed over this story, and thanked Mr. Hartshorn warmly for the interesting things he had told them. Then, squabbling good-naturedly over the possession of the dog book, they hurried off to catch the late afternoon train back to Boytown.

It was not long before they had another lesson in dog lore, though this time it was not Mr. Hartshorn who was their teacher. The next Saturday the three of them made another trip to Thornboro to return the book, in the fascinating contents of which they had been reveling for a week. They met Tom Poultice on the road with half a dozen of the dogs out for exercise. They were a lively lot, and it took about all of Tom's attention to keep them in hand.

"Mr. 'Artshorn isn't 'ome to-day," said Tom. "You come along with me and the dogs and I'll show you some fun. You can leave the book up at the 'ouse when we get back."

The boys accepted this as a rare privilege, and for an hour or two accompanied Tom and his troublesome pack about the country roads. The bull terriers were fairly well behaved, but the Airedales seemed bent upon getting into all kinds of mischief. On two occasions Tom had his hands full breaking up what promised to become a free-for-all fight. But the boys could not help admiring the boundless vigor of these dogs who seemed hardly able to contain all the youth and joy and life within them. It made the boys want to run and romp and caper in sympathy.

As they entered the drive at Willowdale on their return, they saw a sweet-faced woman standing on the porch with a little woolly white dog beside her.

"That's Mrs. 'Artshorn," said Tom. "You can give the book to 'er. She'd like you to stop and speak to 'er."

Somewhat shyly the boys followed his advice, but Mrs. Hartshorn, like her husband, seemed to have the faculty of making them soon feel at their ease. She at once introduced them to Daisy, her toy white poodle. Daisy's long hair had been trimmed and clipped in a ridiculous manner that made the boys laugh, but she soon proved herself to be as smart as a whip. Mrs. Hartshorn put her through all her pretty tricks.

"I suppose, after seeing all those Airedales and bull terriers, you won't think much of my little dogs," said Mrs. Hartshorn. "Tom Poultice is very scornful about toys. But a dog is a dog, no matter how little. I want you to come in and see my prize Pomeranian, Tip."

They followed her into the house and up a broad staircase. At the top she turned and said:

"I think Tip is in the nursery with the baby. Don't be startled if he tries to eat you up. You needn't be quiet, because it's about time for baby's nap to be over."

She ushered them into the nursery, a pretty pink and white room, and there lay a handsome, chocolate-colored little dog on a mat beside a white crib. At the sight of strangers Tip growled a little and showed his white teeth.

"Don't you want to take a look at the baby?" asked Mrs. Hartshorn, with a twinkle in her eyes.

Harry Barton stepped bravely forward, but was met by an attack so savage that he hastily retired. Tip did not bark; barking was not permitted in the nursery. But he defended his charge with a ferocity quite out of proportion to his diminutive size.

"Lie down, Tip," said Mrs. Hartshorn, laughing. "It's all right." And Tip retired, grumbling, to his rug.

"He's little, but, oh, my!" said Mrs. Hartshorn. "I don't believe one of you would dare to touch that baby with Tip anywhere around. Now isn't he a dog, after all?"

The boys admitted quite readily that he was.

"He chased a tramp away once," said she. "The tramp came to the front door when Mr. Hartshorn was away, and spoke so roughly to my maid that I was really quite frightened. Tip heard him and came out like a flash. The man swore and kicked at him. Nothing makes a dog so angry as kicking at him, and Tip jumped and nipped the man's finger. He swore again, but Tip renewed his attack to such good purpose that the man backed away and finally retreated in disorder with Tip at his heels. I've known big dogs that couldn't do so much."

The boys looked upon Tip with new respect.

"Now come and see my Pekes," said Mrs. Hartshorn.

The boys followed her into another room where two Pekingese spaniels got lazily out of a basket and came forward to greet her. And for the next few minutes the boys found infinite amusement playing with the fluffy little pets.

CHAPTER VI

ANXIOUS DAYS

It was April before the three boys had an opportunity to accept Mrs. Hartshorn's invitation to visit her at Willowdale. On this occasion, as on the last, Mr. Hartshorn was away from home and there were only the four of them at luncheon. A soft-footed maid in a white cap and apron filled their plates with creamed chicken on toast, followed by delicious hot waffles and maple syrup.

When luncheon was over, she led them into her husband's den and took down one of his books.

"I suppose you've been about filled up with dog talk," said she, "but I want to be sure that you're converted to a love for the toys. So many men and boys don't care for them, but when you come to know about them, they're just as interesting as any other dogs. That is, most of them are. There are some kinds that I confess I don't especially care for myself. Come sit on the sofa and look at this book with me."

When they were comfortably seated, she began turning over the pages of the book, pointing out pictures of the various toy breeds.

"We'll take the short-coated ones first," said she, "since that's the way they're arranged in the book. Now can you imagine anything more delicate and graceful than this little dog? It's the Italian greyhound, you see. Some of the toy breeds have been created by a dwarfing process by modern fanciers, but this little chap was known in Italy in the Middle Ages. You can see dogs something like him on Greek and Roman statuary.

"Now here's the good old pug. You know the pug, don't you? There aren't so very many of them about now, though. They used to be the favorite lap-dogs, but somehow the Poms and the Pekes have come in to take their place. It is a very old breed and its ancestors were probably brought from China by the Dutch who later introduced it into England. Fawn used to be the popular color, but black has been in favor for several years.

"Now these are what we call miniatures, because they are merely dwarfs of larger breeds. The toy Manchester or black-and-tan was bred from the large Manchester terrier and should look just like his big brother, only he should weigh less than seven pounds. Same way with the toy bull terrier. The miniature bulldog was developed sixty years or more ago by the lace workers of Nottingham, England."

The boys were much interested in the next picture, which showed the tiniest sort of a dog sitting in a glass tumbler.

"Why," said Jack, "he looks more like a rat than a dog."

"It's a real dog, nevertheless," said Mrs. Hartshorn, "though probably the smallest breed in the world. It's a Chihuahua, pronounced Che-wa-wa, and it comes from Mexico. They weigh from a pound and a half to about four pounds, about as much as a kitten. Of course, they're rather delicate, and I doubt if you could expect one to attack a tramp. The head is round as an apple, with pointed nose and big, outstanding ears. The Chihuahua always has a little soft spot in the top of the skull.

"Now we come to the long-haired toys, which are the most popular at the present time. I believe the Pomeranian is the most popular of them all. He is really a small spitz and came first from Germany. You noticed Tip's compact little body, fox-like head, and alert expression. A wonderful little dog. His chief glory is his fine, fluffy coat and mane.

"Then there are the English toy spaniels. They used to be all called King Charles spaniels and were named after Charles II of England, who was very fond of them. Now the authorities have divided them into four varieties according to color, though they are all the same breed. The Blenheim is red or orange and white, the ruby is chestnut red, the King Charles is black and tan, and the Prince Charles is tri-color – black, white, and tan.

"The Pekingese is another of the very popular ones. A brave, proud little chap, as he should be, for he was the pet of Chinese emperors for hundreds of years. The first ones were brought to England in 1860 when the Europeans took the city of Peking and sacked the royal palaces. Before that time they had been carefully guarded as sacred animals. You see they look somewhat different from the English toy spaniel. The head is flatter, for one thing.

"The Japanese spaniel is still different, though he is probably related to the Peke. He has been the pet of the Japs for centuries. The colors are black and white or red and white, and the weight is seven pounds, more or less. This snowy white one, with his bright little face, is a Maltese dog. He also has an ancient lineage. He was known in ancient Greece and Rome and has been in England since the time of Henry VIII. You saw my toy poodle. It's just a miniature of the big poodle and has been popular in France and England for over a century. Very popular here now, too.

"Now we come to the last of the more prominent breeds of toys, and the only one with a wire coat. He comes from Belgium and he's called the Brussels griffon. Don't you love his little monkey face, with its beard and mustache? He's a hardy, intelligent, affectionate little dog, too. Some folks think he's the smartest of all the toys.

"There," she concluded, passing them the book to look over again, "I guess you've had enough for one day. You'll begin to think I'm as bad as my husband. But I didn't want you to get the idea that the only real dog is a big dog. Don't you think that some of these toy breeds deserve some respect, now that you know something of their honorable history?"

"Well, I should say so," said Ernest. "I had no idea there were so many different kinds or that they had any special history. I want to see those Pekes again, whose grandfathers were stolen from the Chinese emperors."

The interest in toys had been kindled, and the boys took occasion later to refresh their memories from books that Mr. Hartshorn lent them, but when Ernest and Jack reached home that afternoon the toy breeds were swept entirely out of their minds for the time being. For Romulus appeared to be ailing and Remus was evidently quite sick.

The two setter puppies had been growing rapidly and had been allowed to run out in the yard as the April days grew warmer. They had lost some of their puppy awkwardness though none of their puppy playfulness, and were fast developing into strong-boned, active dogs. They had begun to appear more devoted to their young masters, too, and to understand better the meaning of the words they were expected to obey. Needless to say, the boys had become deeply attached to them.

There is nothing more pitiful to look at than a sick dog, and there was something very sad in the way these two rollicking, healthy puppies were so suddenly stricken down. The boys, not finding them in the yard, had gone at once to Rome. There lay Remus on the bed, breathing with difficulty, and recognizing their approach only by a raising of his brows and a pathetic little effort to wag his tail. Romulus came to greet them a little weakly, but he, too, looked very forlorn and somehow very thin and little. Both dogs seemed to be running from the eyes and nose and to be suffering from feverish colds.

"Oh, Ernest," cried Jack, the tears coming to his eyes at the sight of their suffering, "they're sick. Whatever shall we do?"

"I don't know," said Ernest. "I don't know what you do for a sick dog. We will ask father. He'll be home soon."

Mr. Whipple came out to look at the dogs soon after his return, but he was unable to suggest anything very helpful. He prescribed warm milk for dinner, and the puppies both drank it, though without much enthusiasm. That night the boys spread burlap blankets over the dogs and went to bed with heavy hearts.