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BY F. ANSTEY
F. Anstey (1856—1934): The pen name of Thomas Anstey Guthrie, an English novelist. He is the author of “Vice Versa,” “The Tinted Venus,” and other novels.
Ⅰ
1. “Dandy, come here, sir; I want you.” The little girl who spoke was standing by the table in a room of a London house one summer day, and she spoke to a small silver-gray terrier lying curled up at the foot of one of the window curtains.
2. As Dandy happened to be particularly comfortable just then, he pretended not to hear, in the hope that his child mistress would not press the point.
3. But she did not choose to be trifled with in this way: he was called until he coulddissemble
no longer, and came out gradually, stretching himself and yawning with a deep sense of injury.
“I know you haven’t been asleep; I saw you watching the flies,” she said. “Come up here, on the table.
4. Seeing there was no help for it, he obeyed, and sat down on the tablecloth opposite to her, with his tongue hanging out and his eyes blinking, waiting her pleasure.
5. Dandy was rather particular as to the hands he allowed to touch him, but, generally speaking, he found it pleasant enough—when he had nothing better to do—toresign
himself to be pulled about, lectured, or caressed by Hilda.
6. She was a strikingly pretty child with long, curling, brown locks. On the whole, although Dandy thought she had taken rather a liberty in disturbing him, he was willing to overlook it.“I’ve been thinking, Dandy,” said Hilda, “that, as you and Lady Angelina will be thrown a good deal together when we go into the country next week, you ought to know each other, and you’ve never been properly introduced yet; so I’m going to introduce you now.”
7. Now, Lady Angelina was only Hilda’s doll, and a doll, too, with perhaps as few ideas as any doll ever had yet—which is a good deal to say.
Dandy despised her with all the enlightenment of a thoroughly superior dog. He considered there was simply nothing in her, except possibly sawdust, and it had made him jealous and angry for a long time to notice the influence thatthis staring creature had managed to gain over her mistress.
8. “Now sit up,” said Hilda. Dandy sat up. But he was careful not to look at Lady Angelina, who was lolling ungracefully in the work-basket, with her toes turned in.
9. “Lady Angelina,” said Hilda next, with great ceremony, “let me introduce my particular friend, Mr. Dandy. Dandy, you ought to bow and say something nice and clever, only you
can’t; so you must give Angelina your paw instead.”
Here was an insult for a self-respecting dog. Dandy determined never to disgrace himself by giving his paw to a doll; it was quite against his principles. He dropped on all fours, rebelliously.
10. “That’s very rude of you,” said Hilda; “but you shall do it. Angelina will think it so odd of you. Sit up again and give your paw, and let Angelina stroke your head.”
The dog’s little black nose wrinkled and his lips twitched, showing his sharp white teeth: he was not going to be touched by Angelina’s flabby wax hand if he could help it
11. Unfortunately, Hilda, like older people sometimes, was bent upon forcing persons to know one another, in spite of an unwillingness on at least one side. So she brought the doll up to the terrier, and, taking one limp pink arm, attempted to pat the dog’s head with it.
This was too much: his eyes flamed red like two signal lamps,there was a sharp sudden snap, and the next minute Lady Angelina’s right arm was crunched between Dandy’s keen teeth.
12. After that there was a terrible pause. Dandy knew he was in for it, but he was not sorry. He dropped the mangled pieces of wax one by one, and stood there with his head on one side, growling to himself, but wincing for all that, for he was afraid to meet Hilda’s indignant gray eyes.
13. “Youbarbarous
dog!” she said at last,
using the longest words she could to impress him. “See what you’ve done; you’ve bitten poor Lady Angelina’s arm off!”
He could not deny it; he had. He looked down at the fragments before him, and then sullenly up again at Hilda. His eyes said what he felt —“I’m glad of it; serves her right; I’d do it again.”
14. “You deserve to be well whipped,” continued Hilda, severely, “but you do howl so. I shall leave you to your own conscience”—a favorite remark of her governess — “until your bad heart is touched, and you come here and say you’re sorry and beg both our pardons. I only wish you could be made to pay for a new arm. Go away out of my sight, you bad dog; I can’t bear to look at you!”
15. Dandy, stillimpenitent
, moved leisurely down from the table and out of the open door into the kitchen. He was thinking that Angelina’s arm was very unpleasant to the taste, and he should like something to take the taste away. When he got downstairs, however, he found the butcher was calling and had left the gate open, which struck him as a good opportunity for a ramble. By the time he came back Hilda would have forgotten all about it, or she might think he was lost, and findout which was the more valuable animal—a silly, useless doll, or an intelligent dog like himself.
16. Hilda saw him from the window as he bolted out with tail erect.
“He’s doing it to show off,” she said to herself; “he’s a horrid
dog sometimes. But I suppose I shall have to forgive him when he comes back!”
17. However, Dandy did not come back that night, nor all the next day, nor the day after that, nor any more; for, the fact was, Dandy happened that very morning to come across a dog stealer who had long had his eye upon him.
18. He was not such a stupid dog as to be unaware he was doing wrong in following a stranger; but then the man had such delightful suggestions about him of things dogs love to eat, and Dandy had started for his run in a disobedient temper.19. So he followed the man till they reached a narrow, lonely alley, and then, just as Dandy was thinking about going home again, the stranger turned suddenly on him, caught him up in one hand, tapped him sharply on the head, and slipped him, stunned, into a big inside pocket.
Ⅱ
20. For some reason or other, the dog stealer did not think it prudent to claim the reward offered for Dandy, as he had intended to do at first, and the dog not being of a breed in fashionable demand, the man tried to get rid of him for the best price that could be obtained. And so Dandy was bought by Bob and Jem, two traveling showmen, and became the dog Toby in their Punch-and-Judy show. Though in time the new Toby learned to perform his duties respectably enough, he did so without the least1. Day by day he grew more
enthusiasm:joyful excitement.
miserable and homesick.
21. He never could forget what he had once been and what he was, and often in the close sleeping room of some common lodging house he dreamed of the comfortable home he had lost and Hilda’s pretty,1face, and woke to miss her more than ever.
At first his new masters had been careful to keep him from all chance of escape, and Bob led him after the show by a string; but, when he seemed to be getting resigned to his position, he was allowed to run loose.
22. He was trotting tamely at Jem’s heels one hot August morning, followed by a small train of admiring children, when all at once he became aware that he was in a street he knew well,—he was near his old home,—a few minutes’ hard run and he would be safe with Hilda!
He looked up sideways at Jem, who was beating his drum and blowing his pipes. Bob’s head was inside the show, and both were in front and not thinking of him just then.
23. Dandy stopped, turned round upon the unwashed children behind, looked wistfully up at them, as much as to say, “Don’t tell,” and then bolted at the top of his speed.
There was a shrill cry from the children at once of “Oh, Mr. Punch, sir, please — your dog’s running away from you!” and angry calls to return from the two men. Jem even made an attempt to pursue him, but the drum was too much in his way, and a small dog is not easily caught at the best of times when
Imperious:commanding; overbearing.
he takes it into his head to run away. So he gave it up sulkily.
24. Meanwhile Dandy ran on, till the shouts behind died away. And at last, panting and exhausted, he reached the wellremembered gate, out of which he had marched sodefiantl
, it seemed long ages ago. Fortunately, some one had left the gate open, and he pattered eagerly down the steps, feeling safe and at home at last.
The kitchen door was shut, but the window was not, and, as the sill was low, he contrived to scramble up somehow and jumped into the kitchen, where he reckoned upon finding friends to protect him.
25. But he found it empty, and looking strangely cold and desolate; only a small fire was smoldering in the range, insteadof the cheerful blaze he remembered there, and he could not find the cook—an especial friend of his—anywhere
He scampered up into the hall, making straight for the room where he knew he should find Hilda curled up in one of the armchairs, with a book.
26. But that room, too, was empty,—the shutters were up, and the half light which streamed in above them showed a dreary state of confusion: the writing table was covered with a sheet and put away in a corner, the chairs were piled up on the center table, the carpet had been taken up and rolled under the sideboard, and there was a faint, warm smell of flue and dustand putty in the place.
27. He pattered out again, feeling puzzled and a little afraid,
and went up the bare staircase to find Hilda in one of the upperrooms, perhaps in the nursery.
But the upper rooms, too, were all bare and sheeted and ghostly, and, higher up, the stairs were spotted with great stars of whitewash, and there were ladders and planks on which strange men in dirty white clothes were talking and joking a great deal, and doing a little whitewashing now and then, when they had time for it.
28. Their voices echoed up and down the stairs with a hollow noise that seared him, and he was afraid to venture any higher. Besides, he knew by this time somehow that Hilda, her father and mother, all the friends he had counted upon seeing again, would not be found in any part of that house.
It was the same house, though stripped and deserted, but all the life and color and warmth had gone out of it; and he ran here and there, seeking for them in vain.
29. He picked his way forlornly down to the hall again, and there he found an old woman with a duster pinned over her head and a dustpan and brush in her hand; for, unhappily for him, the family, servants and all, had gone away some days before into the country, and this old woman had been put into the house as a caretaker.
30. She dropped her brush and pan with a start as she saw him, for she was not fond of dogs.
“Why, dear me,” she said. “How did the little beast get in, running about as if the whole place belonged to him?”
31. Dandy sat up and begged. In the old days he would not
have done such a thing for any servant below a cook,—who was always worth while being polite to,— but he felt a very reduced and miserable little animal indeed just then, and he thought she might be able to take him to Hilda.
32. But the woman’s only idea was to get rid of him as quickly as possible.
“Why, if it isn’t a Toby dog!” she cried, as her dim old eyes caught sight of his frill. “Here, you get out; you don’t belong here!”
And she took him up by the scruff of the neck and went to the front door. As she opened it, a sound came from the street outside which Dandy knew only too well: it was the long-drawn squeak of Mr. Punch.
33. “That’s where he came from,” cried the caretaker, and she went down the steps and called over the gate: “Hi, master, you don’t happen to have lost your Toby dog, do you? Is this it?”
The man with the drum came up—it was Jem himself; and thereupon Dandy was handed over the railings to him, and delivered up once more to the hard life he had so nearly succeeded in shaking off.
34. He had a severe beating when they got him home, as a warning to him not to rebel again; and he never did try to run away a second time. Where was the good of it? Hilda was gone, he did not know where, and the house was a home no longer.
35. So he went patiently about with the show, a dismal little
dog captive, the dullest little Toby that ever delighted a street audience; so languid and listless at times that Mr. Punch was obliged to rap him really hard on the head before he could induce him to pay the slightest attention to his duties.
Ⅲ
36. It was winter time, about a fortnight after Christmas, and the night was snowy and slushy outside, though warm enough in the kitchen of a big London house. The kitchen was crowded, a stream of servants was1coming and going. In front of the fire a tired little terrier, with a shabby frillaround his neck, was basking in the blaze, and near him sat a little dirty-faced man with a red beard, who was being listened to with some attention by some of the servants, who were enjoying a moment’s leisure.
37. The little man was Jem; and he, with his partner, Bob, and Dandy, were in the house, owing to a queer notion of its master, who happened to have a taste for experiments.
He agreed with many who consider that some kind of amusement in the intervals of dancing is welcome to children; and he was curious to see whether the drama of Punch and Judy had quite lost its old power to please.
38. So he had decided upon introducing the original Mr. Punch from his native streets, and Jem and Bob chanced to be the persons selected to exhibit him.
“Your little dog seems very wet and tired,” said a pretty
Perpetually:constantly.
housemaid, bending down to pat Dandy, as he lay stretched out wearily at her feet. “Would he eat a cake if I got one for him?”39. “He isn’t fed on cakes as a general thing,” said Jem, dryly; “but you can try him, miss.”
But Dandy only half raised his head and did not take the cake. He was very comfortable there in the warm firelight, and the place made him feel as if he were back in his own old kitchen; but he was too tired to be hungry.
40. “He will hardly look at it,” said the housemaid. “I don’t think he can be well.”
“Well!” said Jem. “He’s well enough; that’s all his contrariness, that is. The fact is, he thinks himself too good for the likes of us. I tell you what it is, miss: that dog’s heart isn’t in his business— he looks down on the whole concern, thinks it low!”
41. Here Bob, who had been setting up the show in one of the rooms, came into the kitchen, looking rather uneasy at finding himself in such fine company, and Dandy was soon called uponto follow the pair upstairs.
42. They went into a large, handsome room, where at one end there were placed rows of chairs, and at the other the homely old show, seeming oddly out of place in its new surroundings.
Poor draggled Dandy felt more ashamed of it and himself than ever, and he was glad to get away under its ragged hangings and lie still by Bob’s dirty boots till he was wanted.
43. And then there was the sound of children’s voices and
laughter as they all came trooping in, with a crisp rustle of delicate dresses and a scent of hothouse flowers and kid glovesthat reached Dandy where he lay. It reminded him of evenings long ago when Hilda had had parties, and he had been washed and combed and decked out in ribbons for the occasion. The children had played with him and given him nice things to eat, which had generally disagreed with him; but now he could only remember the pleasure and petting of it all.
44. He would not be petted any more! Presently these children would see him smoking a pipe and being familiar with that low Punch. They would laugh at him, too,— they always did,—and Dandy, like most dogs, hated being laughed at.
45. The host’s experiment was a complete success: the children were delighted to meet an old friend. Many had often wished to see the show through from beginning to end, and chance or a stern nurse had never permitted it. Now their time had come; and Mr. Punch was received with the usual applause.
46. At last the hero called for his faithful dog Toby; and accordingly Dandy was caught up and set on the shelf by his side.The sudden glare hurt his eyes, and he sat there blinking at the audience with a pitiful want of pride in his dignity as dog Toby.47. He tried to look as if he didn’t know Punch, who was doing all he could to catch his eye. He longed to get away from the whole thing and lie down somewhere in peace.
Jem was scowling up at him. “I knew that dog would go and
disgrace himself,” he was saying to himself. “When I get him to myself, he shall catch it for this!”
48. Dandy was able to see better now. He found, as he had guessed, that here was not one of his usual audiences — no homely crowd of ragged children, turning their grinning faces up to him.
49. There were children here, too, plenty of them. but children at their best and daintiest, and looking as if untidiness and quarrels were things unknown to them, though possibly they were not. The laughter, however, was much the same as he was accustomed to, more musical perhaps and pleasanter to hear, but quite as hearty and unrestrained; they were laughing at him, and he hung his head.
50. But all at once he forgot his shame, though he did not remember Mr. Punch a bit the more for that; he ran backwards and forwards on his ledge, sniffing and whining, wagging his tail and giving short, piteous barks in a state of the wildest excitement. The reason of it was this: near the end of the front row he saw a little girl who was bending eagerly forward with her pretty gray eyes wide open and a puzzled line on her forehead.
51. Dandy knew her at the very first glance. It was Hilda, looking more like a fairy princess than ever.
She knew him almost as soon, for her clear voice rang out above the general laughter: “Oh, that isn’t Toby—he’s my own dog, my Dandy, that I lost! It is, really! Let him come to me, please do! Don’t you see how badly he wants to?”
“Let him come to me! Please do!”
52. There was a sudden surprised silence at this, even Mr. Punch was quiet for an instant; but as soon as Dandy heard her voice, he could wait no longer and crouched for a spring.
“Catch the dog, somebody, he’s going to jump!” cried the master of the house, more amused than ever, from behind.
53. Jem was too sulky to interfere, but some good-natured
grown-up person caught the trembling dog just in time to save him from a broken leg, or worse, and handed him to his delighted little mistress. I think the joy which Dandy felt as he was clasped tightly in her loving arms once more and covered her flushed face with his eager kisses, more than made up forall he had suffered.
54. Hilda refused to have anything to do with Jem, who tried hard to convince her she was mistaken. She took her recovered favorite to her hostess.
“He really is mine!” she assured her earnestly; “and he doesn’t want to be a Toby, I’m sure he doesn’t: see how he trembles when that horrid man comes near! Dear Mrs. Lovibond, please tell them I’m to have him!”
55. And of course Hilda carried her point; for the showmen were not unwilling, after a short conversation with the master of the house, to give up their rights in a dog that would never be much of an ornament to their profession and was out of health into the bargain.
Hilda held Dandy, all muddy and draggled as he was, fast in her arms all through the remainder of the show, as if she was afraid Mr. Punch might still claim him for his own; and the dog lay there in perfect content.
56. “I think I should like to go home now,” she said to her hostess, when Mr. Punch had finally retired. “Dandy is so excited; feel how his heart beats, just there, you know; he ought to be in bed, and I want to tell them all at home so much!”
She resisted all entreaties to stay, from several small
partners, and she and Dandy drove home together.
57. “Dandy, you’re very quiet,” she said once. “Aren’t you going to tell me you’re glad to be mine again?”
But Dandy could only wag his tail feebly and look up in her face with a sigh. He had suffered much and was almost worn cut, but rest was coming to him at last.
