CHAPTER XII
JUST ONE THING AFTER ANOTHER
THE painful hours went by, and I heard nine, ten, and eleven o’clock strike, and at last twelve. There weren’t so many passengers now. I was to be left here all night. A chilly breeze sprang up, my limbs began to get cold and shaky, and it seemed to me that I must just lie down and die.
“Then something seemed to come over me. I would not give up yet, and I braced up and flattened myself more tightly against the corner, in order to get as far as possible from the dreadful trains that came roaring and bellowing at me like bull monsters. They should not get me yet, and I propped myself up on my trembling legs. Oh, why could I not cry or squeal or beg, or do tricks to attract the attention of some of the passers-by? Alas! I was not that kind of a dog. I have always been timid and retiring. A dog that forages for himself does not learn to attract the attention of the public.
“At a quarter past twelve, when one poor tired-out paw was just crumpling under me, another subway train from New York rumbled in, and the passengers ran up the steps to catch the Boston and Westchester train whose track was nearest me.
“The last two passengers to come up were ladies. A number of men were ahead of them, and they passed me by, but the ladies stood and looked at me.
“They were laughing and talking about going to hear a man preach called Billy Sunday, and getting on a wrong train that took them to the Bronx Park where the animals are in the Zoological Garden.
“Suddenly one of the ladies said quickly, ‘Lost dog!’ and stooping down, she stared in my face.
“‘How do you know?’ said the other.
“‘By the look in her eyes,’ the first one went on. ‘She’s dirty, neglected, and probably hungry; likely has been deserted. We have ten minutes before our train leaves. I’ll run down and speak to the man in the ticket office.’
“This dear lady, who was Mrs. Martin, has told to her friends so many times the story of her experiences that I know just what happened. She went first to the office by the gate she had come through, and asked the man sitting there if he knew anything about the lost dog on the platform above.
“He said he did not, but probably some one had dropped it there from a train.
“‘Could it have come in from the street?’ Mrs. Martin asked.
“‘It might,’ he said, ‘but it would have a long passage to come through, and would have to pass in this narrow gate. I guess it’s deserted,’ he said. ‘No dogs ever climb up there.’
“‘Would you take care of it for the night?’ asked Mrs. Martin. ‘Perhaps to-morrow some one might come to look for it.’
“He looked bored, and said he would not.
“‘Do you suppose there is any one about the station that would take charge of it?’ she went on.
“‘No,’ he said; he knew there wasn’t.
“‘Then will you give me a piece of string?’ she asked.
“He gave her a bit of twine and she hurried upstairs to me. Bending over me, she tied her handkerchief round my neck—that little handkerchief would not go round my fat neck now—then she fastened the twine to it.
“A few minutes later the train came roaring in, and she pulled on the twine, but I would not budge. How could I go near that horrible monster?
“‘Nothing to do but carry you,’ she said, and she lifted me up and took me on the train and sat me down on her lap, and the black patch on my back where the wheels of the train struck me made a grease spot on her coat.
“Now one is not allowed to carry dogs on these trains unless they are in the baggage car, but it was late in the evening and not many persons were traveling, and my new friend did not say a word to the conductor, and he did not say a word to her.
“We passed several stations, then we reached the pretty town of New Rochelle. The two ladies got out of the train and now I was willing to follow, for we were leaving the terrible railway behind us. I ran down the station steps beside my new friend, and when we got in the street and I felt real grass under my feet, I felt like barking with joy. But my dry mouth would not open, and I just sagged along, a happy feeling inside me, for I knew I should have a drink of water as soon as we reached the lady’s home.
“The lady who was with my new friend was younger and had rosy cheeks and dark eyes. ‘What are you going to do with your lost animal?’ she said.
“‘I think I will put her in the garage for the night,’ said Mrs. Martin.
“‘Don’t do that. The creature will be lonely. Bring her in the house.’
“‘Well, it’s your hotel,’ said Mrs. Martin. ‘If you’re willing to have her, I will bring her in.’
“‘Put her in my bathroom. I’ll take care of her,’ said Miss Rosy Cheeks, whose name I found out later was Miss Patricia MacGill.
“‘No, thank you—you have enough to do without having a dog added to your cares,’ said my friend. ‘I’ll take care of the burden thrust upon us through going to hear Billy Sunday.’
“Miss MacGill, who was very fond of a joke, began to laugh, and looking down at me, said, ‘Welcome to New Rochelle, Billy Sunday.’
“We were walking all this time along streets lighted and with nice shops each side. I just lifted my weary head occasionally to glance at them; then suddenly the street was not so bright and, looking up, I saw that the shops were behind us, and we were in a region of pretty homes and gardens. I had a confused impression of being in a very grand neighborhood. It was nothing extraordinary, but I had been brought up in a very poor way, and up to that time the biggest house I had seen was the café and the railway stations. Soon we came to a corner where there were three houses joined together by broad verandas.
“There my two nice ladies turned in, went up a stone walk, crossed a veranda, and entered a big front door.
“‘Do you wish anything for the dog?’ asked Miss MacGill.
“‘No, thank you,’ said Mrs. Martin. ‘I know the kitchen and pantry are shut up, and the boys in bed, so I will do with what I have in my room.’
“I was nearly dropping in my tracks by this time. While the two friends said good night I stood still and tried to steady myself. Everything inside the house was going round and round, and everything was red. In a few seconds things cleared, and then I saw I was in a hall brightly lighted, and with a red stair carpet. Poor little ignorant dog—I did not know that hotel keepers in New York State are obliged to keep their halls lighted all night, in case of fire.
“Mrs. Martin was pretty clever. She looked down at me as I stood with my feet braced far apart, then she bent over me, took my dirty little body in her arms and toiled up the stairs with me, for she was pretty tired herself.
“I closed my eyes. She was not a person that needed watching. Then I felt myself let down gently, a button snapped to turn on the light, and there I was in the middle of what seemed to me a great big lovely nest, that smelt of flowers.
“Later on I heard even grand ladies who came to call on Mrs. Martin say it was a pretty room, so imagine what it was like to me, a little dog from the dumps!
“It was all pink and white and soft looking, but I did not take in all the furnishings that night. I smelt water and I staggered toward the table where was a big glass jug of ice water.
“Mrs. Martin filled a glass and put it down on the floor. I drank it, and she filled another. I drank that, and then she said, ‘Moderation in all things, doggie. Wait a few minutes before you have any more.’
“I flopped down on a soft fur rug and put my nose on my paws.
“‘Poor little victim!’ she said. ‘I will make up your bed.’
“Opening a drawer, she took out a big soft shawl. ‘It came from Canada,’ she said. ‘It belonged to my aunt, who liked dogs.’
“I did not know then what she meant by Canada, but I was glad to hear her aunt liked dogs, and when she went to a closet and arranged the shawl in a corner of it, I staggered after her and dropped on it.
“There were some dresses hanging over me, and I felt as if I were in an arbor like the one at the back of the café, where the men used to sit in summer over their drinks, with green leaves all round them.
“‘Happy, eh?’ she said in an amused voice, as she stood looking down at me. ‘Now for something for the inner dog,’ and she went to a little table where there were shiny-looking dishes. She snapped another button, and presently I heard the hissing of hot water. Then she went to one of her windows, opened it, and took in a bottle.
“In a few minutes I had set before me what I never had had before, namely, a bowl of delicious bread and cream.
“I wagged my tail and agitated my muzzle. The very smell of this warm food put new life into me. Then I half raised myself on my bed, put my head in the bowl, and just gobbled.
“Talk about manners! When I look back, I wonder that Mrs. Martin was not disgusted with my greediness. But she is a very sensible woman, and she merely smiled, and, taking the bowl from me as I was trying to lick it nice and clean for her, she pushed me back on my soft shawl, with a gentle, ‘Pleasant dreams, doggie.’”
CHAPTER XIII
MRS. MARTIN ADOPTS BILLIE
THERE was no need for me to watch that night. I knew that the kind person in the brass bed would not let anything hurt me, but I never had such troubled dreams in my life. I was running over vast dump heaps, and everywhere I went a terrible monster pursued me, with two enormous red eyes. I tried to hide in the ashes, and behind heaps of tin cans, but it came round every corner and leaped over every obstacle, and several times I had nightmare and cried out in my anguish.
“Mrs. Martin spoke to me very quietly, and then I sank down on my bed again. Not until I heard the rattle of milk cans as the dairyman came up the back entrance to the hotel did I sink into a really refreshing sleep.
“When I woke up it was high noon, and Mrs. Martin sat by a window sewing. I was ashamed of myself, and lay trembling in every limb, for I quite well remembered the nightmare.
“She threw down her work and looked at me. ‘Poor little creature, how you must have been hunted! Come here and tell me your life history.’
“I shambled out of the closet, walking with my legs half doubled under me, as if I were a very old dog.
“‘Stand up, Billy Sunday,’ she said. ‘I am not going to hurt you. Now tell me, where did you come from?’
I stood up beside her, looking this way and that way, my ears laid back. I fancy I appeared a perfect simpleton. Suddenly I caught sight of another poor, dirty, whipped-looking cur across the room, and I gave a frightened ‘Bow-wow,’ and ran back to my closet.
“She was laughing heartily. ‘Poor doggie, did you never see a cheval glass before? Come here and look at yourself.’
“With every hair bristling, I walked stiff-legged out of the closet, all ready to snarl at my rival. I went close up to the glass, touched it with my muzzle, then I looked behind it. Where was the dog?
“‘Goosie,’ said Mrs. Martin, ‘it’s yourself! Evidently they had no mirrors where you came from. Listen to this,’ and she set something going on a table in the corner of the room.
“It was a man, laughing hideously, I thought. He did not stop for about five minutes. What kind of a lady was this that had things that looked and sounded like human beings and animals, but were only pieces of wood?
“‘Oh, how funny your face is, doggie,’ she said: ‘Now hear this,’ and she went to the wall and took up a queer thing, like a horn.
“‘Do you wish some scraps for the dog?’
“I pricked up my ears. It was a faint and squeaky voice, but still quite distinct. I was a very, very much astonished dog, and seeing it, she put down this curious thing and said, ‘Dog, I think you have come out of a poor family.’
“I said nothing. I still felt weak and bewildered, and she said, ‘Come out to the fresh air,’ and, taking up a hat and coat, she went out of the room and down the red staircase to the veranda.
“‘Stay here till I come back,’ she said, and I walked down to the lawn and ate some of the freshest, nicest grass blades I had ever tasted.
“Presently she returned with my breakfast, and such a breakfast! Toast crusts—nice buttered toast crusts, and little bits of bacon.
“‘Just scraps from plates,’ she said, as she put the dish down on the lawn, ‘but very good.’
“I soon disposed of this breakfast. Then she went up to the birds’ bath on a stand and lifted down a nice, shallow green dish for me to have a drink.
“‘And now,’ she said, when I stood gazing adoringly up at her and wagging my tail gratefully, ‘hey ho! for the veterinary’s.’
“I did not know what she meant, but by this time I was ready to follow her anywhere, and I trotted after her down to the sidewalk, where stood one of the fast automobiles that we saw dashing by our cottage in the Bronx, but that never stopped anywhere near us.
“‘Come in,’ she said, and held open the door.
“I was terrified and drew back. It was not so bad as a train, but I just hated to go near it.
“‘Now, doggie,’ she said, ‘can’t you trust me?’
“I could not move, and she had to lift me up and put me on the seat. Then she put her arm round me, and little by little I began to lose my fright. How we hurried through the streets, but it was not nearly so bad as the train, for here it was open and pleasant, and I could look about me as we flew along.
“The thing we were in was called a taxi, and now I am not at all afraid of one, and Mrs. Martin jokes me and says she has seen me on the corner of the street waving my paw for the taxi men to stop and take me in when I feel lazy.
“‘A dog in very humble circumstances,’ she said, ‘for even the poor drive in automobiles now.’
“When we arrived at the veterinary’s I jumped out and followed her. I was struck dumb with surprise. Mrs. Martin had explained to me that the man who lived here earned his living by doctoring dogs and horses. The house was a very fine one, much larger than the café, and it had a lovely neat garden and not a trash can or ugly box in sight.
“We went past the house to a stable, and there we found a nice-looking man, and a colored servant boy.
“‘Good morning, doctor,’ said Mrs. Martin. ‘I have brought you another cur. Please tell me whether she is sound in wind and limb. Otherwise, we will–’ She nodded her head toward a closet, and I trembled like a leaf. I knew what she meant. If I were not a healthy dog they would kill me.
“How would they do it? and I lay down on the floor and panted. I knew death would mean an end of my troubles, but I had seen dogs killed, and cats and chickens, and it was not till a long time after that I found out that one can kill without torturing.
“The doctor poked my ribs, examined my teeth and rubbed back my hair. Then he said, ‘A healthy dog, three-quarters smooth-haired fox-terrier; age, about three years; a few fleas, coat harsh and uncared for, skin not too dirty, has been washed recently—been struck by motor car or railway train, judging by black plaster on rump.’
“‘Will you let your boy wash her again?’ asked Mrs. Martin.
“‘Certainly,’ said the doctor. ‘Jim, take the dog into the bathroom.’
“A bathroom for dogs! I nearly fainted as I thought of the pump the Italians went to. But was this right for me to have a bathroom, and the poor human beings to have none? My education, or lack of it, had early taught me that a dog is much lower in the scale of beings than men and women. In fact, we Bronx dogs were not taught to think half enough of ourselves.
“For the second time in my life, and within one week, I, three-year-old dog, was given a bath, and this time it was almost a pleasure, for though the colored boy had great, heavy hands like sledge hammers, he had been taught to use them carefully.
“While he was passing his soapy hands carefully over me, a number of dogs in near-by stalls screamed and jumped and barked jealously.
“‘You boardah dogs hush up,’ he said, ‘or Jim will lick de stuffin’ outen you.’
“They yelled all the louder at this, and I saw he was very indulgent with them.
“I was put in a hot box to dry, and then Mrs. Martin gave Jim a quarter and the doctor fifty cents, and we sauntered out to the street.
“Oh, how perfectly delicious the air felt on my clean skin! I tried to gambol a little, but did not make much of a success of it, as I was still stiff from my blow of yesterday from the car wheels.
“We went back to the hotel by way of the main street, and that day I enjoyed looking at the people and into the shop windows. Dogs like a gay, pretty little town, much better than a big city. When I went to New York for a few days and had to wear a muzzle I thought I should die, but that is another story.
“To my unutterable delight, Mrs. Martin went into a harness shop and asked to look at collars.
“‘What color?’ asked the man.
“‘The Lord has made her yellow and white,’ said Mrs. Martin, ‘suffrage colors. Give me a yellow and white one, please.’
“How often in the Bronx had I admired proud, rich dogs trotting by our cottage with handsome collars on and things dangling from them! True, mine was very uncomfortable, but what did that matter? I was ‘dressed to kill,’ as Angelina used to say when her friends got new blue or green dresses. Oh, if she and the children could only see me now!
“I held my head up, walked high and pricked my ears as we went down the street, being often gratified by remarks from passing ladies and children, ‘What a stylish dog! What a pretty creature! What a clean little fox-terrier!’
“When we got back to the hotel the ladies sitting knitting on the veranda called out, ‘Why, Mrs. Martin—where did you get that dog?’
“She smiled and told them about the night before, and one dear old lady, when she finished said, ‘I believe my grandchildren would like to have it.’
“My ears went down like a spaniel’s, and I pressed myself against Mrs. Martin’s dress. I had suffered much from the hands of children that I loved. How could I let myself be mauled by children that I did not love?
“Mrs. Martin heard me moaning, and gave me a sympathetic look, but said nothing.
“How I tried to please her the next few days! I ate nicely and not greedily, and if she went out of the room I left my choicest big beef bone to follow her. If we were out walking I kept closely at her heels and did not speak to a single dog we met. If she put me in her room and said she was going to see her sick sister, I wagged my tail and tried to look cheerful.
“The day after she found me I had discovered that Mrs. Martin was far away from her own home and she had come to New Rochelle to be with her younger sister who lived there and had been quite ill.
“In my anxiety to please her I grew quite sad faced, as I saw in the cheval glass. I wished her to be my new owner, for I had given up all thought of returning the few miles to the Bronx, as I knew Antonio would keep his word and shoot me.
“Mrs. Martin said nothing at first to reassure me, but sometimes she took me on her lap and rocked me. That did not look like giving me away, and one day I ventured to whimper and laid a paw on her arm.
“‘It’s all right, Billy,’ she said; ‘I understand. You are not to leave me.’
“I jumped off her lap and ran round and round the room very soberly and quietly, and trying to avoid the furniture, but still running.
“She laughed gaily, ‘And some people say that dogs don’t know what we say to them. Now remember, Billy, you’re to be my own true dog, and not run away nor do naughty things, and I’ll give you a home as long as you live. Do you promise?’
“‘Oh, yes, yes, yes!’ I barked loudly and joyfully, raising myself from the floor on my forelegs each time I opened my mouth.
“‘And bear in your dog mind,’ she said, ‘that I will talk to you a good deal and I expect you to talk to me. If I do not understand your language at first, you must be patient with me.’
“I went right down on the floor before her. I felt so humble. To think of this big, stout, grand lady saying that she would try to understand what a poor little cur dog was trying to tell her! I have never forgotten that remark of my beloved new mistress, and I do wish there were more people in the world who would try to understand dog language.
“‘Now come for a walk,’ she said. ‘I must do something that will seal this bargain, for the town authorities are very particular about dogs, and I may have to stay a long time yet.’
“I just tore down the staircase and into the street. We went right to the little red brick city hall and Mrs. Martin inquired for the license room. She paid a man a dollar and got a little tag which she fastened to my collar, and if you go to the New Rochelle town hall to-day you will see in a big book, ‘Billy Sunday, fox-terrier, 1917, N. R. D. T. L. 442.’
“My paws were just dancing when we came out, and when we got back to the hotel and met the dear old lady who wished to get me for her grandchildren I did the newest dog-trot all round her.
“‘The children are coming for that dog to-day,’ she said.
“‘The veterinary has a nice one for them,’ replied my new mistress. ‘I am going to keep Billy.’
“The old lady looked astonished. ‘But she is such a trouble to you.’
“‘Oh, no,’ said Mrs. Martin cheerfully. ‘I have nothing to do here but go to the hospital once a day to see my sister. It is good for me to have a dog to exercise.’
“The old lady looked down at me and exclaimed, ‘I believe that creature understands what you are saying.’
“‘Oh, Mrs. James,’ said my dear new mistress, ‘if you only knew! Dogs and cats and birds and all animals have a language of their own. They are crying out to us, begging us to listen to them, to sympathize, but we are blind and deaf. We do not try to understand.’
“‘Well, there’s one thing I understand,’ said Mrs. James bluntly, ‘you are calling that dog Billy Sunday when she ought to be Ma Sunday.’
“Mrs. Martin dearly loved a joke, and she burst out laughing. ‘I sent word to the famous preacher that I had named a dog for him, and I don’t think he approved, for I received no message, so I am going to change her name to Billie Sundae.’
“‘Which will be much sweeter,’ said the old lady, ‘though I am not one to run down a preacher. I suppose eventually you will take your sweet dog to Canada, and make her sing God Save the King.’
“‘Not if she wishes to sing The Star-Spangled Banner,’ said Mrs. Martin. ‘We Canadians have always been good friends with you Americans, and since we have fought side by side for the freedom of the world I feel as if we were brothers and sisters.’
“The old lady nodded her head a great many times and said, ‘Quite right, quite right—and now, you two birds, I am tired and want to go to sleep,” and suddenly stopping her tale, Billie dropped down on the hearth rug and put her nose on her paws.
“Won’t you tell us about the sudden death of Mrs. Martin’s sister and your trip here with her and the two children, Sammy-Sam and Lucy-Loo?” I asked.
“Some other day,” she said sleepily.
“I’d love Chummy to hear that, and also about Fort Slocum and the lovely American soldier boys.”
She did not reply, and Chummy spoke up, “Thank you, Billie. I’ve enjoyed hearing about your adventures. Lost dogs and lost birds have a very sad time of it, and now I must be going. It will soon be dark. Thank you for a pleasant time, Dicky-Dick,” and flying out the window, he went to his hole in the wall.