Books: Ranson\'s Folly
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Richard Harding Davis >> Ranson\'s Folly
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"These misalliances will occur," said Jimmy Jocks, in his old-
fashioned way, "but no well-bred dog," says he, looking most scornful
at the St. Bernards, who were howling behind the palings, "would
refer to your misfortune before you, certainly not cast it in your
face. I, myself, remember your father's father, when he made his
debut at the Crystal Palace. He took four blue ribbons and three
specials."
But no sooner than Jimmy would leave me, the St. Bernards would take
to howling again, insulting mother and insulting me. And when I tore
at my chain, they, seeing they were safe, would howl the more. It was
never the same after that; the laughs and the jeers cut into my
heart, and the chain bore heavy on my spirit. I was so sad that
sometimes I wished I was back in the gutter again, where no one was
better than me, and some nights I wished I was dead. If it hadn't
been for the Master being so kind, and that it would have looked like
I was blaming mother, I would have twisted my leash and hanged
myself.
About a month after my fight, the word was passed through the kennels
that the New York Show was coming, and such goings on as followed I
never did see. If each of them had been matched to fight for a
thousand pounds and the gate, they couldn't have trained more
conscientious. But, perhaps, that's just my envy. The kennel-men
rubbed 'em and scrubbed 'em and trims their hair and curls and combs
it, and some dogs they fatted, and some they starved. No one talked
of nothing but the Show, and the chances "our kennels" had against
the other kennels, and if this one of our champions would win over
that one, and whether them as hoped to be champions had better show
in the "open" or the "limit" class, and whether this dog would beat
his own dad, or whether his little puppy sister couldn't beat the two
of them. Even the grooms had their money up, and day or night you
heard nothing but praises of "our" dogs, until I, being so far out of
it, couldn't have felt meaner if I had been running the streets with
a can to my tail. I knew shows were not for such as me, and so I lay
all day stretched at the end of my chain, pretending I was asleep,
and only too glad that they had something so important to think of,
that they could leave me alone.
But one day before the Show opened, Miss Dorothy came to the stables
with "Mr. Wyndham, sir," and seeing me chained up and so miserable,
she takes me in her arms.
"You poor little tyke," says she. "It's cruel to tie him up so; he's
eating his heart out, Nolan," she says. "I don't know nothing about
bull-terriers," says she, "but I think Kid's got good points," says
she, "and you ought to show him. Jimmy Jocks has three legs on the
Rensselaer Cup now, and I'm going to show him this time so that he
can get the fourth, and if you wish, I'll enter your dog too. How
would you like that, Kid?" says she. "How would you like to see the
most beautiful dogs in the world? Maybe, you'd meet a pal or two,"
says she. "It would cheer you up, wouldn't it, Kid?" says she. But I
was so upset, I could only wag my tail most violent. "He says it
would!" says she, though, being that excited, I hadn't said nothing.
So, "Mr. Wyndham, sir," laughs and takes out a piece of blue paper,
and sits down at the head-groom's table.
"What's the name of the father of your dog, Nolan?" says he. And
Nolan says, "The man I got him off told me he was a son of Champion
Regent Royal, sir. But it don't seem likely, does it?" says Nolan.
"It does not!" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," short-like.
"Aren't you sure, Nolan?" says Miss Dorothy.
"No, Miss," says the Master.
"Sire unknown," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," and writes it down.
"Date of birth?" asks "Mr. Wyndham, sir."
"I--I--unknown, sir," says Nolan. And "Mr. Wyndham, sir," writes it
down.
"Breeder?" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir."
"Unknown," says Nolan, getting very red around the jaws, and I drops
my head and tail. And "Mr. Wyndham, sir," writes that down.
"Mother's name?" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir."
"She was a--unknown," says the Master. And I licks his hand.
"Dam unknown," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," and writes it down. Then he
takes the paper and reads out loud: "Sire unknown, dam unknown,
breeder unknown, date of birth unknown. You'd better call him the
'Great Unknown,'" says he. "Who's paying his entrance-fee?"
"I am," says Miss Dorothy.
Two weeks after we all got on a train for New York; Jimmy Jocks and
me following Nolan in the smoking-car, and twenty-two of the St.
Bernards, in boxes and crates, and on chains and leashes. Such a
barking and howling I never did hear, and when they sees me going,
too, they laughs fit to kill.
"Wot is this; a circus?" says the railroad-man.
But I had no heart in it. I hated to go. I knew I was no "show" dog,
even though Miss Dorothy and the Master did their best to keep me
from shaming them. For before we set out Miss Dorothy brings a man
from town who scrubbed and rubbed me, and sand-papered my tail, which
hurt most awful, and shaved my ears with the Master's razor, so you
could most see clear through 'em, and sprinkles me over with pipe-
clay, till I shines like a Tommy's cross-belts.
"Upon my word!" says Jimmy Jocks when he first sees me. "What a swell
you are! You're the image of your grand-dad when he made his debut at
the Crystal Palace. He took four firsts and three specials." But I
knew he was only trying to throw heart into me. They might scrub, and
they might rub, and they might pipe-clay, but they couldn't pipe-clay
the insides of me, and they was black-and-tan.
Then we came to a Garden, which it was not, but the biggest hall in
the world. Inside there was lines of benches, a few miles long, and
on them sat every dog in the world. If all the dog-snatchers in
Montreal had worked night and day for a year, they couldn't have
caught so many dogs. And they was all shouting and barking and
howling so vicious, that my heart stopped beating. For at first I
thought they was all enraged at my presuming to intrude, but after I
got in my place, they kept at it just the same, barking at every dog
as he come in; daring him to fight, and ordering him out, and asking
him what breed of dog he thought he was, anyway. Jimmy Jocks was
chained just behind me, and he said he never see so fine a show.
"That's a hot class you're in, my lad," he says, looking over into my
street, where there were thirty bull-terriers. They was all as white
as cream, and each so beautiful that if I could have broke my chain,
I would have run all the way home and hid myself under the horse-
trough.
All night long they talked and sang, and passed greetings with old
pals, and the home-sick puppies howled dismal. Them that couldn't
sleep wouldn't let no others sleep, and all the electric lights
burned in the roof, and in my eyes. I could hear Jimmy Jocks snoring
peaceful, but I could only doze by jerks, and when I dozed I dreamed
horrible. All the dogs in the hall seemed coming at me for daring to
intrude, with their jaws red and open, and their eyes blazing like
the lights in the roof. "You're a street-dog! Get out, you street-
dog!" they yells. And as they drives me out, the pipe-clay drops off
me, and they laugh and shriek; and when I looks down I see that I
have turned into a black-and-tan.
They was most awful dreams, and next morning, when Miss Dorothy comes
and gives me water in a pan, I begs and begs her to take me home, but
she can't understand. "How well Kid is!" she says. And when I jumps
into the Master's arms, and pulls to break my chain, he says, "If he
knew all as he had against him, Miss, he wouldn't be so gay." And
from a book they reads out the names of the beautiful high-bred
terriers which I have got to meet. And I can't make 'em understand
that I only want to run away, and hide myself where no one will see
me.
Then suddenly men comes hurrying down our street and begins to brush
the beautiful bull-terriers, and Nolan rubs me with a towel so
excited that his hands trembles awful, and Miss Dorothy tweaks my
ears between her gloves, so that the blood runs to 'em, and they turn
pink and stand up straight and sharp.
"Now, then, Nolan," says she, her voice shaking just like his
fingers, "keep his head up--and never let the Judge lose sight of
him." When I hears that my legs breaks under me, for I knows all
about judges. Twice, the old Master goes up before the Judge for
fighting me with other dogs, and the Judge promises him if he ever
does it again, he'll chain him up in jail. I knew he'd find me out. A
Judge can't be fooled by no pipe-clay. He can see right through you,
and he reads your insides.
The judging-ring, which is where the Judge holds out, was so like a
fighting-pit, that when I came in it, and find six other dogs there,
I springs into position, so that when they lets us go I can defend
myself, But the Master smoothes down my hair and whispers, "Hold
'ard, Kid, hold 'ard. This ain't a fight," says he. "Look your
prettiest," he whispers. "Please, Kid, look your prettiest," and he
pulls my leash so tight that I can't touch my pats to the sawdust,
and my nose goes up in the air. There was millions of people a-
watching us from the railings, and three of our kennel-men, too,
making fun of Nolan and me, and Miss Dorothy with her chin just
reaching to the rail, and her eyes so big that I thought she was a-
going to cry. It was awful to think that when the Judge stood up and
exposed me, all those people, and Miss Dorothy, would be there to see
me driven from the show.
The Judge, he was a fierce-looking man with specs on his nose, and a
red beard. When I first come in he didn't see me owing to my being
too quick for him and dodging behind the Master. But when the Master
drags me round and I pulls at the sawdust to keep back, the Judge
looks at us careless-like, and then stops and glares through his
specs, and I knew it was all up with me.
"Are there any more?" asks the Judge, to the gentleman at the gate,
but never taking his specs from me.
The man at the gate looks in his book. "Seven in the novice-class,"
says he. "They're all here. You can go ahead," and he shuts the gate.
The Judge, he doesn't hesitate a moment. He just waves his hand
toward the corner of the ring. "Take him away," he says to the
Master. "Over there and keep him away," and he turns and looks most
solemn at the six beautiful bull-terriers. I don't know how I crawled
to that corner. I wanted to scratch under the sawdust and dig myself
a grave. The kennel-men they slapped the rail with their hands and
laughed at the Master like they would fall over. They pointed at me
in the corner, and their sides just shaked. But little Miss Dorothy
she presses her lips tight against the rail, and I see tears rolling
from her eyes. The Master, he hangs his head like he had been
whipped. I felt most sorry for him, than all. He was so red, and he
was letting on not to see the kennel-men, and blinking his eyes. If
the Judge had ordered me right out, it wouldn't have disgraced us so,
but it was keeping me there while he was judging the high-bred dogs
that hurt so hard. With all those people staring too. And his doing
it so quick, without no doubt nor questions. You can't fool the
judges. They see insides you.
But he couldn't make up his mind about them high-bred dogs. He scowls
at 'em, and he glares at 'em, first with his head on the one side and
then on the other. And he feels of 'em, and orders 'em to run about.
And Nolan leans against the rails, with his head hung down, and pats
me. And Miss Dorothy comes over beside him, but don't say nothing,
only wipes her eye with her finger. A man on the other side of the
rail he says to the Master, "The Judge don't like your dog?"
"No," says the Master.
"Have you ever shown him before?" says the man.
"No," says the Master, "and I'll never show him again. He's my dog,"
says the Master, "an' he suits me! And I don't care what no judges
think." And when he says them kind words, I licks his hand most
grateful.
The Judge had two of the six dogs on a little platform in the middle
of the ring, and he had chased the four other dogs into the corners,
where they was licking their chops, and letting on they didn't care,
same as Nolan was.
The two dogs on the platform was so beautiful that the Judge hisself
couldn't tell which was the best of 'em, even when he stoops down and
holds their heads together. But at last he gives a sigh, and brushes
the sawdust off his knees and goes to the table in the ring, where
there was a man keeping score, and heaps and heaps of blue and gold
and red and yellow ribbons. And the Judge picks up a bunch of 'em and
walks to the two gentlemen who was holding the beautiful dogs, and he
says to each "What's his number?" and he hands each gentleman a
ribbon. And then he turned sharp, and comes straight at the Master.
"What's his number?" says the Judge. And Master was so scared that he
couldn't make no answer.
But Miss Dorothy claps her hands and cries out like she was laughing,
"Three twenty-six," and the Judge writes it down, and shoves Master
the blue ribbon.
I bit the Master, and I jumps and bit Miss Dorothy, and I waggled so
hard that the Master couldn't hold me. When I get to the gate Miss
Dorothy snatches me up and kisses me between the ears, right before
millions of people, and they both hold me so tight that I didn't know
which of them was carrying of me. But one thing I knew, for I
listened hard, as it was the Judge hisself as said it.
"Did you see that puppy I gave 'first' to?" says the Judge to the
gentleman at the gate.
"I did. He was a bit out of his class," says the gate-gentleman.
"He certainly was!" says the Judge, and they both laughed.
But I didn't care. They couldn't hurt me then, not with Nolan holding
the blue ribbon and Miss Dorothy hugging my ears, and the kennel-men
sneaking away, each looking like he'd been caught with his nose under
the lid of the slop-can.
We sat down together, and we all three just talked as fast as we
could. They was so pleased that I couldn't help feeling proud myself,
and I barked and jumped and leaped about so gay, that all the bull-
terriers in our street stretched on their chains, and howled at me.
"Just look at him!" says one of those I had beat. "What's he giving
hisself airs about?"
"Because he's got one blue ribbon!" says another of 'em. "Why, when I
was a puppy I used to eat 'em, and if that Judge could ever learn to
know a toy from a mastiff, I'd have had this one."
But Jimmy Jocks he leaned over from his bench, and says, "Well done,
Kid. Didn't I tell you so!" What he 'ad told me was that I might get
a "commended," but I didn't remind him.
"Didn't I tell you," says Jimmy Jocks, "that I saw your grandfather
make his debut at the Crystal--"
"Yes, sir, you did, sir," says I, for I have no love for the men of
my family.
A gentleman with a showing leash around his neck comes up just then
and looks at me very critical. "Nice dog you've got, Miss Wyndham,"
says he; "would you care to sell him?"
"He's not my dog," says Miss Dorothy, holding me tight. "I wish he
were."
"He's not for sale, sir," says the Master, and I was that glad.
"Oh, he's yours, is he?" says the gentleman, looking hard at Nolan.
"Well, I'll give you a hundred dollars for him," says he, careless-
like.
"Thank you, sir, he's not for sale," says Nolan, but his eyes get
very big. The gentleman, he walked away, but I watches him, and he
talks to a man in a golf-cap, and by and by the man comes along our
street, looking at all the dogs, and stops in front of me.
"This your dog?" says he to Nolan. "Pity he's so leggy," says he. "If
he had a good tail, and a longer stop, and his ears were set higher,
he'd be a good dog. As he is, I'll give you fifty dollars for him."
But before the Master could speak, Miss Dorothy laughs, and says,
"You're Mr. Polk's kennel-man, I believe. Well, you tell Mr. Polk
from me that the dog's not for sale now any more than he was five
minutes ago, and that when he is, he'll have to bid against me for
him." The man looks foolish at that, but he turns to Nolan quick-
like. "I'll give you three hundred for him," he says.
"Oh, indeed!" whispers Miss Dorothy, like she was talking to herself.
"That's it, is it," and she turns and looks at me just as though she
had never seen me before. Nolan, he was a gaping, too, with his mouth
open. But he holds me tight.
"He's not for sale," he growls, like he was frightened, and the man
looks black and walks away.
"Why, Nolan!" cries Miss Dorothy, "Mr. Polk knows more about bull-
terriers than any amateur in America. What can he mean? Why, Kid is
no more than a puppy! Three hundred dollars for a puppy!"
"And he ain't no thoroughbred neither!" cries the Master. "He's
'Unknown,' ain't he? Kid can't help it, of course, but his mother,
Miss--"
I dropped my head. I couldn't bear he should tell Miss Dorothy. I
couldn't bear she should know I had stolen my blue ribbon.
But the Master never told, for at that, a gentleman runs up, calling,
"Three Twenty-Six, Three Twenty-Six," and Miss Dorothy says, "Here he
is, what is it?"
"The Winner's Class," says the gentleman "Hurry, please. The Judge is
waiting for him."
Nolan tries to get me off the chain onto a showing leash, but he
shakes so, he only chokes me. "What is it, Miss?" he says. "What is
it?"
"The Winner's Class," says Miss Dorothy. "The Judge wants him with
the winners of the other classes--to decide which is the best. It's
only a form," says she. "He has the champions against him now."
"Yes," says the gentleman, as he hurries us to the ring. "I'm afraid
it's only a form for your dog, but the Judge wants all the winners,
puppy class even."
We had got to the gate, and the gentleman there was writing down my
number.
"Who won the open?" asks Miss Dorothy.
"Oh, who would?" laughs the gentleman. "The old champion, of course.
He's won for three years now. There he is. Isn't he wonderful?" says
he, and he points to a dog that's standing proud and haughty on the
platform in the middle of the ring.
I never see so beautiful a dog, so fine and clean and noble, so white
like he had rolled hisself in flour, holding his nose up and his eyes
shut, same as though no one was worth looking at. Aside of him, we
other dogs, even though we had a blue ribbon apiece, seemed like
lumps of mud. He was a royal gentleman, a king, he was. His Master
didn't have to hold his head with no leash. He held it hisself,
standing as still as an iron dog on a lawn, like he knew all the
people was looking at him. And so they was, and no one around the
ring pointed at no other dog but him.
"Oh, what a picture," cried Miss Dorothy; "he's like a marble figure
by a great artist--one who loved dogs. Who is he?" says she, looking
in her book. "I don't keep up with terriers."
"Oh, you know him," says the gentleman. "He is the Champion of
champions, Regent Royal."
The Master's face went red.
"And this is Regent Royal's son," cries he, and he pulls me quick
into the ring, and plants me on the platform next my father.
I trembled so that I near fall. My legs twisted like a leash. But my
father he never looked at me. He only smiled, the same sleepy smile,
and he still keep his eyes half-shut, like as no one, no, not even
his son, was worth his lookin' at.
The Judge, he didn't let me stay beside my father, but, one by one,
he placed the other dogs next to him and measured and felt and pulled
at them. And each one he put down, but he never put my father down.
And then he comes over and picks up me and sets me back on the
platform, shoulder to shoulder with the Champion Regent Royal, and
goes down on his knees, and looks into our eyes.
The gentleman with my father, he laughs, and says to the Judge,
"Thinking of keeping us here all day. John?" but the Judge, he
doesn't hear him, and goes behind us and runs his hand down my side,
and holds back my ears, and takes my jaws between his fingers. The
crowd around the ring is very deep now, and nobody says nothing. The
gentleman at the score-table, he is leaning forward, with his elbows
on his knees, and his eyes very wide, and the gentleman at the gate
is whispering quick to Miss Dorothy, who has turned white. I stood as
stiff as stone. I didn't even breathe. But out of the corner of my
eye I could see my father licking his pink chops, and yawning just a
little, like he was bored.
The Judge, he had stopped looking fierce, and was looking solemn.
Something inside him seemed a troubling him awful. The more he stares
at us now, the more solemn he gets, and when he touches us he does it
gentle, like he was patting us. For a long time he kneels in the
sawdust, looking at my father and at me, and no one around the ring
says nothing to nobody.
Then the Judge takes a breath and touches me sudden. "It's his," he
says, but he lays his hand just as quick on my father. "I'm sorry,"
says he.
The gentleman holding my father cries:
"Do you mean to tell me--"
And the Judge, he answers, "I mean the other is the better dog." He
takes my father's head between his hands and looks down at him, most
sorrowful. "The King is dead," says he, "long live the King. Good-by,
Regent," he says.
The crowd around the railings clapped their hands, and some laughed
scornful, and everyone talks fast, and I start for the gate so dizzy
that I can't see my way. But my father pushes in front of me, walking
very daintily, and smiling sleepy, same as he had just been waked,
with his head high, and his eyes shut, looking at nobody.
So that is how I "came by my inheritance," as Miss Dorothy calls it,
and just for that, though I couldn't feel where I was any different,
the crowd follows me to my bench, and pats me, and coos at me, like I
was a baby in a baby-carriage. And the handlers have to hold 'em back
so that the gentlemen from the papers can make pictures of me, and
Nolan walks me up and down so proud, and the men shakes their heads
and says, "He certainly is the true type, he is!" And the pretty
ladies asks Miss Dorothy, who sits beside me letting me lick her
gloves to show the crowd what friends we is, "Aren't you afraid he'll
bite you?" and Jimmy Jocks calls to me, "Didn't I tell you so! I
always knew you were one of us. Blood will out, Kid, blood will out.
I saw your grandfather," says he, "make his debut at the Crystal
Palace. But he was never the dog you are!"
After that, if I could have asked for it, there was nothing I
couldn't get. You might have thought I was a snow-dog, and they was
afeerd I'd melt. If I wet my pats, Nolan gave me a hot bath and
chained me to the stove; if I couldn't eat my food, being stuffed
full by the cook, for I am a house-dog now, and let in to lunch
whether there is visitors or not, Nolan would run to bring the vet.
It was all tommy-rot, as Jimmy says, but meant most kind. I couldn't
scratch myself comfortable, without Nolan giving me nasty drinks, and
rubbing me outside till it burnt awful, and I wasn't let to eat bones
for fear of spoiling my "beautiful" mouth, what mother used to call
my "punishing jaw," and my food was cooked special on a gas-stove,
and Miss Dorothy gives me an overcoat, cut very stylish like the
champions', to wear when we goes out carriage-driving.
After the next show, where I takes three blue ribbons, four silver
cups, two medals, and brings home forty-five dollars for Nolan, they
gives me a "Registered" name, same as Jimmy's. Miss Dorothy wanted to
call me "Regent Heir Apparent," but I was THAT glad when Nolan says,
"No, Kid don't owe nothing to his father, only to you and hisself.
So, if you please, Miss, we'll call him Wyndham Kid." And so they
did, and you can see it on my overcoat in blue letters, and painted
top of my kennel. It was all too hard to understand. For days I just
sat and wondered if I was really me, and how it all come about, and
why everybody was so kind. But, oh, it was so good they was, for if
they hadn't been, I'd never have got the thing I most wished after.
But, because they was kind, and not liking to deny me nothing, they
gave it me, and it was more to me than anything in the world.
It came about one day when we was out driving. We was in the cart
they calls the dog-cart, because it's the one Miss Dorothy keeps to
take Jimmy and me for an airing. Nolan was up behind, and me in my
new overcoat was sitting beside Miss Dorothy. I was admiring the
view, and thinking how good it was to have a horse pull you about so
that you needn't get yourself splashed and have to be washed, when I
hears a dog calling loud for help, and I pricks up my ears and looks
over the horse's head. And I sees something that makes me tremble
down to my toes. In the road before us three big dogs was chasing a
little, old lady-dog. She had a string to her tail, where some boys
had tied a can, and she was dirty with mud and ashes, and torn most
awful. She was too far done up to get away, and too old to help
herself, but she was making a fight for her life, snapping her old
gums savage, and dying game. All this I see in a wink, and then the
three dogs pinned her down, and I can't stand it no longer and clears
the wheel and lands in the road on my head. It was my stylish
overcoat done that, and I curse it proper, but I gets my pats again
quick, and makes a rush for the fighting. Behind me I hear Miss
Dorothy cry, "They'll kill that old dog. Wait, take my whip. Beat
them off her! The Kid can take care of himself," and I hear Nolan
fall into the road, and the horse come to a stop. The old lady-dog
was down, and the three was eating her vicious, but as I come up,
scattering the pebbles, she hears, and thinking it's one more of
them, she lifts her head and my heart breaks open like someone had
sunk his teeth in it. For, under the ashes and the dirt and the
blood, I can see who it is, and I know that my mother has come back
to me.
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