Chapter I: Part 1

PETER MAKES GOOD
AND STORIES OF OTHER DOGS
_by_
GERTRUDE THOMAS

_With
Twenty Full-Page Illustrations
by_
DOROTHY SAUNDERS

BECKLEY-CARDY COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
CHICAGO

COPYRIGHT, 1929,
BY
BECKLEY-CARDY COMPANY
_All Rights Reserved_

Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

PETER MAKES GOOD
PAGE
A DOG FAMILY 5
PETER’S NEW HOME 10
GETTING ACQUAINTED 18
PETER ON THE FARM 31
NEW SCENES 38

THE TATTLERS

PIXIE AND BOB 47
JUDGE AIREDALE 61
PETITE AND BOB TELL THEIR STORIES 76
POLICE DOG STORIES 83
FRITZ, WHO KNEW ONLY GERMAN 90
GYP, THE GARBAGE MAN’S DOG 99
THE LAUNDRESS’S DOG 107
THE DEVOTION OF WHITEY 115
THE RUSSIAN PRINCESS 118
THE MILKMAN’S DOG DAN 121
THE WHIPPETS 125
FIRE-FIGHTING DOGS 133
THE JUDGE’S STORY 144
JACK THE TRAVELER 151
TOM AND DANIEL 173
THE BLIND MAN’S DOG 177

LIST OF FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE
Peter Learns a Lesson 7
Peter Sees Fluff for the First Time 15
Fluff and the Three Aristocrats 24
Peter Tries to Put Out a Fire 29
Peter Helps Bring the Cattle from the Pasture 33
Pixie and Bob 46
“Judge Was Always Being Called Upon to Decide” 59
Petite and Princess 65
Gyp and the Dachshunds 68
The Comical Young Airedale Terrier 79
Fritz Supplied the Wood for the Fire 92
Ted Performed Many Stunts to Entertain the Sailors 95
Simon Peter and Buff 111
Whitey and Her Mistress 114
“They Would Chase Rabbits or Any Game They Could Scare Up” 129
Bill Saves His Master 135
Duke Wins Honors 141
“The Fight Was On” 161
A Battle Between the Two Warriors 175
Job Was “Eyes for the Blind” 180

PETER MAKES GOOD

A DOG FAMILY

The Coleman family were in possession of a roly-poly, fuzzy, brown-and-white pup named Peter, called Pete for short. Peter was a combination of several breeds of dogs. He had good and bad relations on both sides of the house, but his nearest kin, which were, of course, his father, Shep, and his Scotch collie mother, Susie, were very worthy dogs. They were not quarrelsome nor dishonest, lived peaceably with the house cat, and never tortured a rabbit before they killed it. Indeed, in all dogdom Susie and Shep were considered honorable citizens.

It was on account of this excellent record of the parent dogs that these good people were wanting ones of their likely offspring. They felt sure that a member of a family so worthy would grow up to be a useful dog.

Susie had tried to train Pete to be polite, and to observe the Golden Rule in his conduct toward cats and other animals less fortunate than himself. His father had given him a cuff on the side of the head when he found him running off with Betty’s shoe, and told him that “dogs who wished to grow up into leading citizens in dogdom didn’t steal young ladies’ shoes and chew the toes off them.” Then he made Pete take the shoe to his mistress, lay it at her feet, and wag his tail in apology.

In this way, these parents tried to instill into their son all the good principles they could before he should go out into the wide, wide world. In Pete’s case, this meant being taken in a basket to his new home at Coleman’s.

Pete’s parting with his home folks was pathetic. All that week he was favored above his brothers and sisters. The day before his departure, his father, Shep, took him slyly aside and whispered in his ear, “Follow me, but do not let even your mother know about it.”

So Pete watched his chance and, when Susie was taking her afternoon nap and others were playing tag, he sniffed about until he took up the trail to the garden. There he saw his dad digging in the ground. Finally Shep unearthed a well seasoned bone. What a treat Pete was to have, in being allowed to dine with his father off one end of that juicy, earth-flavored bone! There was no criticism of his table manners. What if he did fill his mouth too full and make a noise when he ate? Nothing was said about it, which was unusual, for his dad was a stickler for correct eating. Another time Pete would have been sent away from the feast, had he been greedy and asked for a third helping, but to-day, how different! For once he was allowed to put both paws on that sweet bone and to gnaw and gnaw, while his dad stood off smiling approval.

Peter wished there was no wide world to go out into. Why, he was just beginning to get along well at home. His brothers and sisters envied him, and what satisfaction he got out of having them all jealous of him--so nearly human was this little piece of dog flesh. The other pups’ eyes fairly bulged and turned green when they saw Susie tucking him tenderly in, the night before he was to leave his home.

How fondly she licked him, paying particular attention to his ears, to make sure they were clean. Now these very ears were always a source of dispute at other times. Many a cuffing Pete had received when they would not bear inspection. But to-night how gentle was her touch, what pathos in her whine, as she bade him good night! Susie was going through a crisis, such as comes to every mother when her family circle is broken, and one of her beloved ones goes out from the home nest. She wanted him to be an honor to her and his father. Would he?

We shall see.

PETER’S NEW HOME

The next day Peter was transported to his new home. So great was the excitement over making the change, that many things Susie had intended to say to him in the way of good advice were forgotten. With a great lump in her throat, which mothers are apt to have on such occasions, she bade him good-by forever.

After the thrill of his first ride in an automobile, Pete arrived at his new home, where he was greeted by his new master and mistress. They were a pair of chubby youngsters of four and five years, who looked enough alike to be twins. There being only one year’s difference in their ages accounted for this.

Their names were Mabel and Ralph. Both had brown eyes, and their hair was almost the color of Peter’s coat. They were delighted to see Peter, with his brown eyes and his coat of brown and tan, so soft and fuzzy. They laughed at his funny little tail. And his silken ears--as the little girl rubbed one of them against her cheek, Peter gave a sigh of relief because they were clean.

This episode of the ears reminded him of home and his mother, just as other sons who have left home for the first time have had their memories of their mothers jogged. Peter gulped down the lump that came into his little throat; he must be brave. That was one of the things Shep had emphasized in his advice. He had said, “Bravery is the greatest asset for a dog.”

After each of the children had had a good “snuggle” at him, he was given his dinner on a beautiful blue plate, all his own. This was nice, but in all his life he had never before eaten alone. How _could_ he eat, with no one to push and crowd him, and no dad to tell him when he had had enough? When he took a mouthful of really good bread and gravy, it almost choked him. Then, those wide-eyed youngsters were watching every bite he ate, making him feel so self-conscious that he simply could not remember his table manners. He put his paws on his plate, and made a noise chewing his food. At home, every scrap was eaten, and the plate cleaned in a tidy way, ready for the next meal. His orderly mother would have been ashamed of him, if she could have seen the mess he was making of this, his first meal in his new home.

A survey of the premises was next in order. He was shown his bedroom, which was a box on the back porch. It was large enough for him to stretch out in and be very comfortable. It looked about right, but it lacked the “homey” odor of his former bed. It was too fresh and clean.

Then Pete had his first touch of homesickness. These youngsters were all right, as youngsters go, but they were not to be compared for company to a family of rollicking puppies. What did they know about a game of tug-of-war with an old sock, or of ball with a lump of coal, and other delightful dog games? With a contemptuous shrug of his shoulders, he went on with his investigations.

Out on the window sill, where the sun shone warmly, was something that attracted his attention. Going closer to see more clearly, he observed a creature which was something new to him. It seemed to be a bundle of fuzzy fur, with a head at one end, and something at the other end that looked a little like the feather duster the puppies used to play with at home.

The head was loose, too, for now it was turning. It opened two eyes, and then a mouth, and yawned. All at once, something happened. Down the creature pounced, right on Pete’s back. He was still uncertain what it was, until it began to spit and snarl. As all cats snarl and spit about alike, Pete knew it must be some kind of a cat, but how different from the cats which he had known. All his former cat acquaintances had worn sleek coats with spots or striped, and they had had long, slim tails, or no tails at all. A Manx cat he had known had no tail.

Fluff, for that was the cat’s name, was as much astonished as Peter was, at what she was encountering. This was something unlike anything she had ever seen before. Something told her it was akin to her old enemy, the dog, but how harmless this one seemed! Nothing but the wag of his ridiculous little tail was at all doglike.

They surveyed each other for a while. Then Peter remembered his mother’s advice about following the Golden Rule with cats, especially when the cat had the advantage, as was the situation now. Turning, he ran back to his bedroom for a nap, as so much excitement had wearied him.

Hopping into his box, he turned around twice before he lay down. Soon he was asleep. When he awoke, it was dark. Where was he? Nosing around, he could find no bedfellow, nothing that was familiar, and then he realized how homesick he was. He wanted his mother and he began to cry.

Upstairs somewhere, awake in a snug, warm bed, lay a little boy. He heard that pitiful cry, and felt his own little heart ache with pity for the baby dog. He listened for a while. Then, unable to stand it any longer, he slipped out of bed. Tiptoeing his way, so that no one would hear him, the boy went out on the cold back porch to the puppy. Taking Pete under his warm bathrobe, he slipped as quietly back to bed. The puppy was “snuggled” in Ralph’s arms, and soon dog and boy were fast asleep. Thus a bond of affection was established between these two that proved lasting and true, as we shall see.

The better acquainted Peter got with his new friends, the better he liked them, especially the boy and the girl. With the latter, however, he felt as if he were not in full favor. She seemed to prefer petting that presumptuous, fluffy cat, rather than him. He was not quite sure, but he thought he overheard some such conversation as this between them:

“Fluffy, you must be nice to our new puppy. You know he is _only_ a little doggie.”

There was considerable emphasis laid on the “only.” For some reason which Pete did not stop to analyze, he determined he would show this pair, the girl and the cat, a few things, when he ceased to be “only a _little_ doggie,” and became a real dog.

Life at this new home was very pleasant for Pete. The little boy and he had so much fun, that he soon forget the home he had left. He never knew how his mother missed him, for, although more puppies came to bless and cheer her heart, still she could never forget Pete.

GETTING ACQUAINTED

The Coleman children went to school every day. The maid went with them across the street, and called for them when they were to return. This left Pete and the cat at home together. They were not getting on very well. Fluff was haughty and disdainful, and she was entirely too free with her claws, which Pete soon learned she hid from sight in those soft, insinuating paws of hers.

After a while Peter became more and more venturesome. Peering through the back fence to see what was going on across the way, he saw the home of the aristocratic Boston bull that Fluff feared. Pete would stand with his nose through the fence, watching and learning just how a grown-up dog did act, and he wondered if he would ever grow up to do those wonderful things.

One day he saw that majestic creature catching flies. Sitting in front of his kennel, the Boston bull would wait until a fly would light on his nose. Then, after giving his head a shake to shoo it off, he would snap it up. This was interesting to Pete. He decided to try it.

He went off and lay down. He waited a while, pretending to be asleep, but keeping one eye open. At last he heard a buzzing sound. Some kind of flying creature was near. It was aiming for a seat on his nose. Now, a shake, a snap--he had it! How thrilling! He would try it again, but it would not be necessary to keep even one eye open. He closed both. Buzz-z-z-z! Another fly was coming. Still as a mouse Pete lay waiting. Then all at once Pete let out a piercing yelp. The fly had proven to be a bee. Pete was stung! After the first shock was over, he thought of something else his father had told him. He had said always to keep one eye on every venture. Pete resolved not to get stung again.

The days sometimes seemed very long to Pete. The cat couldn’t or wouldn’t play. She liked sunning herself in a lazy fashion on the window sill. He must find some other means of diversion.

When the laundress was hanging up the clothes to dry, he would help by taking the clothespins in his mouth and handing them to her. Sometimes some hidden trait in his make-up prompted him to take toll of the clothespins when the laundress was not looking. No doubt this was an echo from some of those inferior relations on one or the other side of his ancestral house. Still, it was a natural tendency, as all dogs like to chew clothespins. It sharpens their teeth.

Pete was getting braver and braver every day, and was learning more and more about his new home. By keeping his eyes open and watching the behavior of other dogs, he was developing into an intelligent pup. He and Ralph were real pals, and what the dog was not able to find out for himself, the boy would teach him, and Pete’s devotion to his teacher was marvelous.

When the children started for school, Pete would follow at their heels until the curb was reached. In the afternoon he would watch until the maid returned with them. Then one morning they had to go alone. When they hesitated at the street crossing, Pete ran out in the middle of the street and barked in front of all the oncoming cars, thus holding up the traffic until Ralph and Mabel were safely across. In the afternoon he watched for them and repeated the performance.

One morning, when he had seen the children safely across, he discovered that Mabel had lost her book. Dodging in front of a big truck, he seized the book in his mouth and ducked just in time to keep from getting struck. Then he raced after the children to deliver the book to its little owner.

The pup grew in grace and charm, as well as wisdom. His fuzzy covering was gone, and with it had vanished many of his puppy ways. He had grown into a fine looking dog. One could scarcely recognize the little woolly pup in this beautiful brown, shading into tan, animal. He had a natty white vest and one white forefoot. His tail curled over his back like a plume; but his greatest charm was his eyes. They were brown and amber now, and they almost twinkled with intelligence when he was spoken to.

Ralph was very proud of him, and entered him in all the dog shows, although Pete never won any medals, because of his lack of pedigree. Had a prize been given for real worth and good character, he would have carried off the blue ribbon, for Pete was well raised and had good training.

Some pedigreed animals, and some pedigreed people are snobbish and rude. Such was the case with the Boston bull on the other side of the fence, and with some others in this exclusive neighborhood. This was brought forcibly to Pete’s attention one morning. After he had piloted the children across the street, on returning to his own curb, he heard loud barking around the corner. Curious to know what was the cause of it all, he ran in the direction of the noise.

Imagine his surprise and indignation at what he saw! Up a tree, just beyond the reach of their upturned noses, was Fluff, Mabel’s cat, driven there by three of the aristocrats, and held at bay by their, to her, bloodcurdling yelps. The Boston bull seemed to be in charge. His confederates were a prize-winning Airedale, with a pedigree reaching back through countless generations, and a German police dog, whose ancestors had been trained to torment French prisoners, away back during the Franco-Prussian war. With murderous motives these three had Fluff surrounded when Pete appeared on the scene.

Without stopping to consider that he was apparently outmatched, Pete sprang at their heels, snapping and biting first one and then another, until he had their attention drawn from the cat. Then he started to run, with the three in pursuit. This was what he wanted. By keeping several jumps ahead of them, he got to his own door just as someone was coming out, and he bounded inside. Meantime Fluff had not let any grass grow under her feet; she had arrived at the back door first. Once inside, she did a very unusual thing. Approaching Pete, she rubbed her sides against his legs, purring her thanks; and she never forget this act of gallantry which he had performed for her. There may have been no blue blood in this dog, but this episode proved that there were no yellow streaks.

Ralph was growing into a big boy, and was engaged in the activities and sports that the average boy of his age enjoys. He was a member of the Boy Scouts, and of the “Sand Lot Ball Team”; but his love for Peter was as great as ever. He always wanted his dog with him in his sports, and Pete, appreciating this, proved himself a boon companion.

Any game that Pete did not sanction by a smile and a wag of his tail was not entered into with much zest. When a game with a competing team was scheduled to come off, it was talked over with Pete somewhat in this fashion:

“Well, old pal, what do you think about it? Are we going to win? You know Bud Sanders, Pete--he’s one of their best pitchers; but of course our team can show something just as good. If you say so, we will beat them.”

Then Pete would stretch out, yawn, and make a noise that Ralph always knew meant either yes or no; it all depended on the expression of the dog’s countenance when he made it. If the prediction were favorable for their team, boy and dog would start for the diamond, full of enthusiasm.

Pete would enter into the spirit of the game along with the boys, and would watch the ball with quivering excitement, when Ralph sent it flying and made a home run. Before Jack could bring it back, Pete seemed to know just where that ball dropped to earth, and would beat the boys to it, bringing it to the pitcher and dropping it at his feet.

Sometimes an argument would start on the field of combat, and Ralph would be surrounded by a loud-mouthed, fist-shaking squad. Pete would edge his way through and take a position near his master, wag his tail slowly, and listen intently, as if asking what it was all about, and weighing the pros and cons. Ralph would reach down, pat him on the head and ask, “Which way was it, old pal?”

Not always were the other boys willing to take Pete’s decision, and the matter might be left to the referee; but always Pete stood valiantly by his master in every matter.

By this time the bull dog next door had learned to have more respect for Peter. A boy about Ralph’s age had come to live with his master and mistress. He was a nice boy, and he and Ralph were very good friends. Both were good scouts and, as they were together a great deal, the dogs, after a few encounters, learned to endure, if not to like, one another.

They accompanied the boys on hikes and, one day, when the boys and their two dogs were going gaily through the woods, kicking up the dry leaves, Pete, the younger and more active dog, ran on ahead and out of sight of the boys. Soon they heard a great barking. Hurrying along, they found Pete pawing and stamping in an attempt to put out a fire that was just starting from a cigarette, which had been carelessly thrown among the dry leaves.

The boys finished extinguishing the fire, and then turned their attention to Pete, whose feet were burned. They knew the burns must be extremely painful. Feeling very sorry for the dog, and full of enthusiastic admiration for his splendid courage, they made a litter for him, such as they would have made for one of their own scout comrades. The boys carried Pete home, and the bull dog kept close to his master’s heels, so as not to be left entirely out.

Peter’s mother, Susie, would have been very proud if she had known her son was the means of saving the countryside from a destructive fire.

Shep, no doubt, would have said, “I knew Pete would amount to something.”

Reaching home, the boys treated Pete’s sore feet with a healing salve and made him comfortable.

It is uncertain whether or not dogs can communicate with each other, but, by some means, the news got abroad that Pete was laid up, and every dog in the neighborhood came to call. It was suspected that the bull had something to do with it, as he seemed to be master of ceremonies. His admiration for Pete seemed suddenly to have increased. After each dog had sniffed at Pete’s sore paws, they raced off.

PETER ON THE FARM

It was now vacation time and Pete and his master were anticipating a good time. Ralph and Mabel usually spent a part of the time on their grandfather’s farm, and Pete was going along. At Grandfather’s there were two small dogs, but that would be all right with Pete, who acted in a big-brotherly way toward them, sharing with them whatever he had to eat.

There was just one quarter from which Peter would allow no interference. That was from a goat that roamed at will over the place. Until this visit to the farm, he had never seen a goat. His first encounter with this one had been quite disastrous to Pete’s pride; so, having no wish to repeat the set-to, he left the goat with the butting disposition severely alone.

Although Pete, in accordance with his good mother’s teachings, was generous with the small dogs, there was one thing he would not permit. That was their following him to the bone cemetery. This was forbidden ground. Out in the orchard, under the apple trees, where the earth was mellow, was his favorite, exclusive spot.

If Pete observed the others following him to the orchard, he would chase them back and tell them to stay there. Then he would feast and enjoy to his heart’s content the gnawing of those delicious, earth-seasoned morsels. This always carried him back to the time when his father and he had gnawed the bone in the garden at home. Thus Shep had revealed to his son the social side of his nature. The small dogs learned to respect Pete’s privacy and stayed away.

Peter was trained to help Ralph bring up the cattle from the pasture. On several occasions, when it was raining, he brought them in alone. In the lot was Duke, the king of the herd. Usually he was a safe and docile animal, but one evening something seemed to be wrong. Duke was in an ugly mood, pawing and bellowing at a great rate, and refusing to be lined up with the cows.

Ralph struck Duke with a gad, which was a great mistake on the boy’s part. The animal charged. Ralph ducked and ran for a near-by tree, climbing up before the bull reached him.

Pete did his best to help his master. He barked and snapped at the enemy, but to no avail. He then looked up at Ralph, as much as to say, “What more can I do?”

“Get Grandpa,” the boy called to him.

Off Pete ran, over the fence, and on to the house. In a little while, back he bounded with Grandfather and the hired man following, with weapons of defense to liberate the prisoner. And so Peter proved to be the hero of the day.

The summer was one of profit and pleasure both to the dogs and the children. Grandmother knew how to make the most delicious cookies, which Pete shared along with the children. He helped hunt the eggs. Finding a nest, he would stand and wag his tail until they got the eggs. He also assisted in rounding up the young poultry to be shut in for the night.

When the work was all done, the children and the dogs would go through the woods to the old swimming hole. While the boy and his sister were enjoying the water, the dogs found many things to attract their attention. One of them would stir up a chipmunk or a rabbit. Then all would give chase. If the little creature went into a hole in the ground, it fell to Pete, as the largest and strongest, to dig it out, while the others would stand off, barking their encouragement. When at last he would find it, Pete would permit no torturing of their prey; it must be killed skillfully and at once.

The time passed all too quickly. School soon would open. Mabel and Ralph were entering high school. Pete was now a dignified, full-grown dog, looking like his father, Shep, but having the gentle disposition of his mother, Susie.

Although he was not a quarrelsome dog, and never attacked a dog smaller than himself, still Peter was all dog. In reading these records of this grown-up puppy’s doings, we must remember that he was without royal ancestry. He was not registered as to pedigree, but was just an ordinary, middle-class dog, with a high sense of honor, inherited from honest parent dogs.

The bull dog, whose name was Joe, was growing old and slow of gait. He and Pete had become fast friends. Time had taken some of the arrogance out of his manner. He had been condescending in his attitude toward Pete, but now he showed more interest and some affection. It was pathetic to note Pete’s deference for the old chap. Perhaps that had something to do with his change of heart. Were they out for a walk, Pete would run on ahead, and then wait for the old dog to catch up, or run back to him and walk slowly beside him.

The time came when old Joe was unable to go out. He would sit outside his kennel dozing, having not even strength enough to snap at the flies that bothered him. Pete spent a great deal of time with him. He would lie nearby sleeping, or would drink in a social way from Joe’s drinking pan. He did many other little comforting things to show good comradeship.

One very warm day the dogs were panting with the heat. Their tongues were lolling out of their mouths, and they drank a great deal of water, Pete taking the last drop. Soon poor old Joe, bending down to get a drink, found the pan dry. Pete jumped up and, taking the edge of the pan in his mouth, ran to the screen door, where he scratched until the cook came. Then he lifted the empty pan to her to be filled.

One morning, a short while after this hot spell, Pete came to see his old friend, whom he had learned really to love. The bull dog was missing from his customary place, so Pete looked into the kennel. There lay poor old Joe, dead. This was Pete’s first experience with that mysterious condition. His reaction was only normal and doglike, for he proceeded to eat up the remnants of the bull dog’s supper, drank all the water, and then ran off to find a live dog to play with. Dogs seldom show grief for their own kind.

NEW SCENES

The years rolled on. At last the children were grown and ready for college, and in the fall Ralph was to go to a university. Mabel was to attend another school.

Pete was conscious that something was about to happen. His master would pat him lovingly on the head, and then slip an arm around his neck. Then he would begin talking about going away, saying, “Well, old pal, how are we going to stand this? Do you think you will miss me?”

Pete would kiss his young master, dog-fashion; then he would lie down at his feet in the most devoted way.

The university to which Ralph was going was not a great distance, sixty miles or a little further, from his home. A trip was taken to make arrangements about entering. Peter, much to his delight, was allowed to go with his master in the automobile.

He took an inventory of the place where they went. Nothing escaped him. There seemed to be some dogs at this school. At least, he saw several following the young men students, and it certainly was an ideal place for a dog to be. Storing all these things in his mind, Pete returned to his home, somewhat more reconciled to have Ralph go from him, as he concluded that all was for the best.

Soon preparations were completed, and Ralph was ready to leave, this time by train. Peter went to the depot with the rest of the family to see his master off. Ralph was very brave, for he wanted to show that he was now a man, and he thought any show of emotion was womanish. He bade everyone farewell. Last of all, he patted his dog affectionately, saying, “Well, good-by, old pal.”

All went well for a month or so. Pete would wander around as if looking for something, but he seemed to be taking his loss in a sensible way. Then, one morning, he was missing. Nowhere could he be found. Search and the offer of rewards failed to bring him back. He was given up as lost. The family came to the conclusion that Pete had either been stolen or struck by an automobile. Then a letter came from Ralph, in which he wrote: “Whom should I see on the campus one day, when I was returning from class, but good old Pete?”

Maybe you think that was not a joyous meeting! Ralph did not tell all in his letter, but his mother read between the lines, and knew there were some tears shed. Ralph was feeling some of the pangs of homesickness that a certain little puppy once had felt, and the dog understood and sympathized.

Ralph by this time was comfortably established in a fraternity house, where there were other boys with their dogs, and Peter was at once made a member of the group. Almost any day Ralph could be seen crossing the campus, his arms full of books, with Pete trotting along at his heels. These were happy days for the dog. The boy, too, seemed to be perfectly contented, now that his faithful friend was with him.

Pete seemed to understand that his remaining at college all depended upon his good behavior, so he carried himself with dignity. He never chased squirrels and never frightened the children who came on the campus to play. He was polite, and moved off the sidewalk to let the ladies pass, showing in many ways that he had come from a good home, where the training had been of the right kind.

Ralph was elected to play on the ball team. Pete had not forgotten the times back home on the sand lot, when he had helped his master win many a game, so he was on hand to do his bit on these occasions. However, he was not so young as he used to be and he was not so agile in bringing back the ball. As the other members of the team who had dogs thought they could get along without his help, Pete had to be tied up when a game was on, much to his chagrin.

Ralph, who had been one of the best players on the high school squad, was given a place on the team when the football season commenced. All went well until one day, when there was a close game with another university, Ralph was injured. The track was wet and slippery, and Ralph’s ankle turned, throwing him and wrenching his back.

This unfortunate accident kept Ralph confined to his room, and on his back for some time. But for Peter, he would have spent many lonely hours before he could again go to classes. The dog would lie on the rug in front of the gas stove, where he could keep one eye on his beloved master.

On the night of the oratorical contest all of the boys were gone, and Ralph and Pete were alone in the house. Having read until he was tired, Ralph closed his eyes, and soon he was sound asleep. Pete was lying in his customary place before the stove. The door leading out into the corridor was open; also one leading onto the fire escape. Suddenly Peter began barking and pulling at the covering on Ralph, who awakened to find himself nearly suffocated by smoke that filled the house.

Ralph realized that the house was on fire, and felt his helplessness, as he was not yet able to walk since his accident; but something must be done, and quickly. Dragging himself off the couch, he managed to get his arm around the dog’s neck, and in this way the two of them made their way through the smoke to the fire escape. From there, Ralph gave the alarm and was rescued, just as the walls crumbled. The fire had made such headway that nothing could save the house. Had it not been for this prince among dogs, Ralph’s life would have gone out while he slept. Susie and Shep had sown good seed when they taught Peter that bravery was a good trait for a dog to have.

Peter was growing old. There was no doubt about it; he was getting stiff in his joints, and his hearing was not so good. When he was alone, he found it difficult to keep from being struck by the automobiles, whose careless drivers had no regard for life of either dog or child, but would come tearing along at reckless speed.

One day Pete was crossing to the campus, when a car came in sight. It was one of those that college boys seem to enjoy driving more than any other kind, a rickety old bus, without top and not much else but wheels and an engine. In this semblance of a car were as many boys as it would hold. They were having a hilarious time, returning from a game.

There was so much noise, as they went zig-zagging through the street, that poor Pete became confused and was caught under the wheels of this death trap. Thus a precious life went out. This was the closing of a career of one of the most faithful of God’s creatures in the animal kingdom. He was one who laid no claim to anything but ordinary ability, natural instincts, and a reaction to kind treatment that paid a hundredfold.

Ralph felt his loss so keenly that, after laying Peter’s broken body away, he conceived the idea of writing a book about dogs. He would depict only the good qualities or instincts, which, if developed, would make even yellow mongrels into decent dogs. To the memory of his beloved Peter he would dedicate a collection of really good and true stories, with the hope that other boys would derive, from the companionship and knowledge of dogs, such inspiration as had helped to develop his own character, making him an ardent defender of all faithful creatures.

So this is how _The Tattlers_ came to be written.

THE TATTLERS

PIXIE AND BOB

It was a beautiful street where the dogs all lived, lined on one side by stately palms. The lawns were smooth as velvet, and always green, in spite of the fact that it seldom rained in this country. Flowers and clinging vines helped to enhance the beauty. The owners of the homes on this well kept street were rich and could afford every luxury for themselves, as well as everything appropriate to their respective positions.

That anyone or anything could be unhappy in such environment seemed unbelievable. However, one little heart was aching there. It was that of a poor little rich Pomeranian, so tiny that the amount which had been paid for her would cover her nicely, were it in bills.

Notwithstanding the fact that Pixie, for that was her name, was fondled and petted, wore beautiful clothes, slept on a silk pillow at the foot of her mistress’s bed, and won all the prizes at the fancy dog shows, indeed, had every wish gratified, she was very unhappy to-day.

Pixie’s owners, who had bought her in London, were proud of her long pedigree, which they never failed to mention, and also that she was registered along with dogs belonging to the King and Queen. This was exceedingly gratifying to everyone concerned, and the awe with which people expressed their admiration for a mite like her that had hobnobbed with royalty, was astonishing.

She was in this lovely home, and had nothing to do but go through a few silly tricks, such as sneezing when she was told to, whether she felt like it or not. To be sure she would be rewarded with some little bit of sweet for performing. But the worst was to have to sit up on her haunches, close her eyes, and say her prayers, in order that her admirers might have a hearty laugh.

Pixie never felt like laughing herself, as something in her made her feel cross at such times. Besides, where did her mistress get that idea of saying prayers in that way? Pixie never saw her mistress say prayers in that or any other way. If she had, would she have liked to be laughed at?

These were only a few of the things this mite of a dog, who was worth her weight in gold, had to trouble her, for she was possessed as we have seen of a small organ necessary to her existence, called a heart. This, we like to think, was susceptible to emotions similar to those of others of God’s creatures.

That this “angel dog,” as her mistress sometimes called her, could have a heartache never occurred to that lady, yet just now Pixie truly was troubled. Every morning Celeste, the French maid, whose ancestors came from the same country that was the home of Pixie’s, would take her out for exercise and fresh air. Pixie loved going to the park nearby. At the entrance, the maid would take the leash from her collar and allow her her liberty.

Celeste would stop to visit with other maids who had brought either children or dogs with them. The one with whom she was holding conversation to-day was the Judge’s maid, who had a young Airedale pup in tow. This young dog was also allowed to run at large. He was so homely and awkward that Pixie was ashamed to be seen with him, although he, like herself, was supposed to be of blue blood. Yet since he belonged to their set, she felt that she must be polite to him.

He became familiar and this put Pixie on her dignity. They started out together, but the Pom was haughty and disdainful.

“He is so common and ugly,” she thought.

Pixie was not wise in her reasoning, or she would have wanted just such a background to show off her own beauty. How her lovely, golden-brown coat glistened in the sun, and how stiff, bristly and fuzzy the Airedale’s coat looked in comparison. And such ears! And was there anything more ridiculous than that stub of a tail? Why, that must be why he was called Bob. Such were the observations that Pixie was making to herself.

Still Pixie was trying to be polite, as one in her position in dogdom should be, but she resented the Airedale’s friendly advances, and when Bob challenged her to a race, she became very cool indeed. She felt that sometimes one’s standing required the toleration of “impossible” dogs, but one did not have to lower her dignity in doing so.

Bob must have sensed something of what was in this haughty lady dog’s mind, for he began bragging. “She wasn’t so much after all.” His master lived in a larger, finer house than hers. Besides, his master was a Judge, who knew about everything and owned two dogs, real dogs--himself and his father--both with pedigrees and family trees planted in the north of England. They were grafted onto an Irish terrier branch, and noted for a lot of things. He failed to say that one of the traits for which they were noted was their quick tempers when they were young and undisciplined.

Bob had some things of which to be proud, too, so he began strutting before Pixie, which only made matters worse, as far as their ever being friends was concerned.

Then Bob, who, you must remember, was young and thoughtless, began making insulting growls, which meant that he knew a few things. “Hadn’t Celeste told their maid that Pixie’s great-great-grandmother was a wolf-dog, and that she had one of the largest families? She was known to have had twenty puppies, and she had to leave them to look after themselves while she helped Pixie’s great-great-grandfather shoo off the wolves.” He wound up by saying, “And my master says it is true. He looked it up in the book.”

Now Pixie was a “perfect lady,” yet there remained in her blood a taint of the fighting propensity that had enabled her great-great-grandparents to shoo off those hungry wolves, and she was not going to stand for any such unkind remarks from a mere Irish Airedale terrier pup.

She flew at him, snapping and biting his awkward legs, and barking her loudest, which only made Bob smile, though it is hard to believe that Airedales do smile, so solemn are their countenances. He decided to show her what real barking was like, and the big bass bow-bow that he let out so frightened Pixie that she scampered off to the French maid.

In this way the morning was spoiled for the little Pom, who shed tears when she thought of her poor great-great-grandmother having to leave those dear little puppies to help shoo off those terrible wolves. Looking around at her surroundings, she thought how different was her condition. She had everything to make her happy. She could sit in her mistress’s lap and eat off her plate if she wanted to. She would never have a large family of puppies to bother with; and of course there would never be any wolves to disturb her.

As this brought her thoughts back to the happenings of the morning and that dreadful Airedale pup, a shudder went through her small body. “Will I always have to encounter that dog when I go to the park?” she wondered.

There were many dogs at the park, but with most of them Pixie must not play. She could associate with only the dogs in her particular circle, and give these others only a haughty stare when she met them.

The Airedale pup, not used to being snubbed, was taking this slight seriously. After Pixie left him, he felt he was in need of sympathy. That Pixie was a lady and had very sharp teeth prevented him from demanding an apology. Had she been one of his own kind, and of his own size, Bob would have fought it out. He would have had the apology, too; but as it was he must have advice.

Looking across the park, he saw the gleam of a brass-studded collar which looked like the regulation collar for dogs in their neighborhood. Going over there, he found three dogs, all belonging in his set. They were taking the air while their attendants sat on the benches and read the morning papers.

Bob, who was still smarting from Pixie’s snub, told them his tale of woe.

“I have been mistreated by a pert little flapper of a Pom, with a ribbon around her neck--and such superior airs she was assuming, when she is only the great-great-granddaughter of a wolf-dog, who, away back there in the old country, raised dozens of puppies and shooed wolves!”

His hearers sat around on their haunches, with their tongues lolling out, and listened intently. Being unable to get an expression from them collectively, Bob questioned them one by one as to what they thought of Pixie, and what he should do about her behavior to him.

All except one expressed opinions. The exception was a young police dog, whose family tree was flourishing over there. If he was not mistaken, there were traditions in his family which bore some relation to the story about the little Pomeranian dogs being able to frighten his own ancestors, when they were hungry and weak, and wanted only a good meal from the poultry pens. Yet he hoped there was some mistake about the story. It did not seem possible that a mere Pom could frighten a noble wolf. Yet he admired Pixie.

The next dog consulted was a little pug, named Ruby. She was quite well acquainted with Pixie, had met her abroad, and had come home on the same ship with her. Both of them had been prize-winners at a dog show in England. Their respective mistresses had bought them from the same kennels. There had been considerable discussion as to the merits of the two dogs. Both had wanted the Pom, and quite a bit of feeling arose between the two ladies on the subject. In fact, the pug’s mistress, in a polite way, claimed the other lady had used questionable methods to procure the coveted dog. However, nothing could be done about it now, as Pixie’s mistress was better able to pay the purchase price.

So the pug was taken; but Ruby always felt there was a lack of sincerity in her owner’s voice when she declared to Pixie’s owner, “No amount of money would induce me to part with my dear little pug. She is the smartest, brightest dog I ever knew.” Then too, Ruby had overheard Pixie’s mistress telling some one that pugs were stupid dogs who did nothing but eat and snore.

Considering these facts, it was not difficult for Bob to enlist Ruby’s sympathy. Aside from this, Ruby was envious of Pixie’s beautiful fur coat. It was so soft and warm. Pixie had no need to wear an overcoat that made her look like a stuffed sausage when she went riding. And she didn’t snore when she slept. The pug at once became Bob’s ally.

The other one in the group was a little French poodle who was fond of Pixie, because, notwithstanding that one was of German descent and the other of French, they got along nicely together. Though unlike in color, they had many traits in common. Both had ancestors who were valiant and courageous. Having this beautiful French poodle, whose name was Petite, to champion her cause was favorable for Pixie, had she known about it; but Pixie was blissfully unaware of the controversy.

Petite’s and Pixie’s mistresses were old friends, and both dogs had heard complimentary remarks about each other, so Bob could not count on the French poodle’s sympathy. She was decidedly for Pixie. Nothing could be settled with the weight of opinion so unequally balanced.

Bob’s pride had had a jolt, and the matter must be adjusted. He would take the case to his father to decide. The elder Airedale was one of those large boned, solemn looking dogs that always look as if they were thinking deeply on some subject of importance. At the same time, there is a comical twist to their countenances that harks back to some trait in their Irish ancestry. Because of these characteristics, and the fact that his owner was on the bench, this old Airedale was called Judge.

Besides being Bob’s father, Judge was also a sort of father confessor to all the dogs in the neighborhood. He was always being called upon to decide the rights of the case in the squabbles of the dogs. Was there a scrap over a bone, or had some of the dogs mistreated a cat that was unable to defend itself, Judge would administer a cuffing to the offenders. Even his own son was granted no mercy when he was brought into court for some disturbance he had caused, but was given a good cuffing if Judge found him guilty.

JUDGE AIREDALE

With some misgivings, therefore, Bob approached his father on this subject. He decided he would wait until he was sure his dad was in a happy mood. After the noonday meal, when they were both comfortably full, and Judge had had his nap, was the most likely time. Then, cautiously, Bob broached the matter of his wounded pride. Having no mother to smooth the way for him, Bob was at the mercy of his father’s candor. Judge, realizing this fact, became interested in learning about the case.

He inquired as to how many families were acquainted with the story, and how much had really been said about the personal appearance of his offspring. This was a delicate subject, as there was a strong resemblance between father and son. Just how far into the family records had Pixie delved? Of course, no one in this neighborhood knew of the family skeleton. That was safe. Bob was very brief about his part in the encounter. He mentioned nothing about his terrible bow-wows, which had so frightened the pert Pom that she had turned pale under her heavy coat.

Judge, rubbing his chin with his ponderous paw, said, “I will take up the case, but I will defer a decision until more evidence can be procured. Meantime I will investigate.”

In the interval each of the dogs that knew about the affair related it to every other dog they met. It was discussed not only in the best families, but the garbage man’s dog heard of it, and he told it to the laundress’s yellow mongrel, who met the milkman’s shepherd collie. As the latter traveled around town, and was an excellent reporter, the news spread and the story grew and grew, until the owners of the dogs were also involved. When at last it came to their ears, they were puzzled to know what it was all about.

Judge, hearing about how the news of this little affair had grown until it was called a scandal, decided he must act quickly to settle the wagging of those busybodies’ tongues. He would hold a session and call the whole neighborhood of dogs into court. The police dog was to summon them. Each one that had a share in this matter, regardless of what was his standing in society, must appear before him to be punished.