Project Gutenberg's Pep: The Story of a Brave Dog, by Clarence Hawkes This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: Pep: The Story of a Brave Dog Author: Clarence Hawkes Release Date: July 13, 2019 [EBook #59909] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PEP: THE STORY OF A BRAVE DOG *** Produced by Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) “Pep sniffed at his master’s face eagerly.” Page 96 PEP The Story of a Brave Dog By CLARENCE HAWKES ILLUSTRATED By WILLIAM VAN DRESSER MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY SPRINGFIELD · MASSACHUSETTS Copyright, 1922 By MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY Springfield, Massachusetts All Rights Reserved Bradley Quality Books Printed in United States of America To Dog-Lovers, the whole world over, this book is fraternally dedicated I INTRODUCTION A FRIEND TO MAN By Clarence Hawkes T is almost like a stern irony of fate, that man’s faithful, gentle friend, the dog, should have sprung from one of the most thoroughly hated and despised brutes in the animal kingdom, the wolf. Yet this is a scientific fact. The wolf, with all his meanness and skulking cunning, is the progenitor of man’s friend, the dog. They belong to the same family, their breeding habits are alike, and the wolf is as surely the father of the dog, as was brute man, the cave dweller, the ancestor of the highly civilized creature we now know. In the case of the man it has taken untold ages to bring about the change, and so it has in the case of the dog. When in the dark ages the brute man crouched over his campfire, gazing fearfully into the darkness about him, encompassed by superstition and ignorance, the gray wolf hung upon the outskirts of his campfire. This man creature, that ran upon two legs instead of four, who had such strange power over fire and water, and over the forces of nature and the wild kindred, fascinated and drew him with a terrible power. Try as he would he could not keep away from him. Often this man creature wounded him with his sharp stick. He also poisoned the wolf pack, but still they could not be driven away, for it was an unwritten law of nature that some day they should be inseparable. So the wolf skulked upon the trail of the primitive man, until the famine, or the cold, or some other stern necessity brought them together. Indians, even now in the far north, often take the wolf whelps from the den and play with them, and they refer to the wolf as “Grandfather’s dog,” showing that they understand the gradual evolution of the dog. You can better understand this if you visit any of their villages where the dogs even now are little more than partly domesticated wolves, wolfish in habits, and looks. Such is the Husky, the famous team dog of the frozen north, without whose help the wealth of the Klondyke and other remote places could hardly have been brought to the outside world. The collie, which is one of the most faithful and lovable of the dog kind, is not so far removed from a wolf, and it is very easy for him to slip back to his wolf ancestry. There are many instances on record where collies have gone back to the wild and mated and run with the gray pack. Put a collie pup into a wolf den with a litter of wolf whelps and the old wolf will suckle him as her own. He will be brought up as a young wolf; will learn to hunt in the pack, and to stalk his game like a veritable wolf. Of course he will not be as fierce as his wolf brother, and he will still retain certain dog characteristics, but he will pass for a wolf in most particulars, while in two or three generations he will be a veritable wolf. When we consider all the varieties of dogs ranging from the great Dane of nearly two hundred pounds weight, to the smallest toy dog coming from Japan, this statement that all dogs are descended from wolves seems almost incredible, but all this change has been wrought by man himself. Breeding and selection for certain qualities have been the method by means of which he has attained such varied results. Climate, and the use to which the dog has been put has also played its part. Nature always adapts her creatures to their surroundings, and the dog is no exception to this rule. He has been molded like all of nature’s other creatures. Where he needed long hair to shield him from the cold he has been given a long, thick coat, and where he could not bear a coat because of the heat it has been left off. Certain types of dogs there are that have become famous all over the world, some for their beauty and others for their usefulness, but usually for both qualities. Every child is familiar with the St. Bernard dogs and their work in the Alpine passes, saving lost travelers in the terrible storms of those great heights. Perhaps the most famous of all those great dogs was Barry, whose record as a life saver covered a long period of years, and who is credited with saving forty lives. This is a record that any man might well be proud of, and one that few men have attained. Equally famous, and perhaps even more useful as a helper of man are the Scotch collies and the sheep and cattle dogs of England and Scotland. In countries where wolves are numerous these fine dogs are indispensable, and in some sections it would be impossible to guard the flock without them. The training of a fine sheep dog has become a science, and something that the shepherds take a deal of pride in. In order to encourage the breeding of finely trained dogs, each year in many parts of England and Scotland contests of sheep herding dogs are held. Then great crowds of people from far and near gather and all the fine sheep dogs are brought hither and put through their paces. Finally when all have contested, the judges award the cup or other trophy to the shepherd whose dog has made the best showing. Such an event is finely described in that famous dog story, “Bob, Son of Battle.” The wolfhounds of Russia, which are taught to run in packs and pull down their wild kindred, and hold them until the men come up are equally famous, if not so useful. But wolves in Russia are considered vermin so these dogs do a good work in helping to exterminate the pest. The Czar of all the Russias was himself interested in wolf coursing and is reported to have owned the finest pack of wolf [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] dogs in the world. The Alaskan dog teams are famous throughout the world; not only for the very material service that they render man in traveling over the frozen lands where not even a burrow could travel, but also because of the famous races that are held each year in Alaska. Then the fastest teams in the North are brought together, a course of perhaps four hundred miles is selected, and at a crack of the pistol the teams are off to run the course, in competition for a sweep stake of ten thousand dollars. Two men constitute the drivers. One rides for a ways upon the back of the sled, guiding it by what is called gee-pole, while the other runs behind. When the man who is running is tired he takes his turn upon the sled, while the other man runs. By alternating in this way, and only one riding at a time, fifty and sixty miles can be covered in a single day, and in their races even more. These Husky dogs with their thick coats and tough constitutions are wonderfully adapted to such strenuous work. They are fed but once a day and then only a pound of dry fish. After they have eaten this slight meal, they will bury themselves in the snow, putting their noses and their paws into their shaggy tails for warmth, and sleep soundly with the thermometer at fifty and sixty below zero. Their masters in the meantime are sleeping in their rabbit skin sleeping bags, which weigh from six to twelve pounds. Hard as the work is yet these faithful sled dogs are eager for each day’s work and are nearly heartbroken if they are unable to take their places in the traces. The teams driven by white men are driven tandem, while Indian teams are fan shaped, each dog being hitched to the sled by a separate thong. Of hunting dogs there are many varieties which are always of the utmost importance to frontier peoples, where they guard the flocks and the premises from all kinds of four-footed marauders. Upon the frontier these dogs also assist in the chase and thus furnish meat for the table and help rid the country of vermin, such beasts as the wolf that have to go before civilization is secure. These hunting dogs also serve a less important use among the leisure class. Field trials of pointers and setters have become important events in the annals of dogs, while the running of greyhounds and wolfhounds is a national sport in some countries. But what shall we say of the house dog, who is one of the family? The sharer of all our joys and sorrows: the one from whom we have no secrets: the social intimate whose tail is a perfect barometer of sunshine and storm in the family: the custodian of the premises, who always sleeps with one eye open, and one ear cocked for the sound of prowlers: the friend of the children who follows them about like a shadow, watchful lest any danger threaten them, often sharing in their romps with all the zest of a boy. This dumb creature worships you, to him you are a sort of God—often a rather sorry God, hardly worthy of his worship; yet a God to him, one whom he can look up to, can serve and love. How empty the door mat would be without him. How silent the premises without his occasional cheerful bark. Do cares oppress you and is the burden of life heavy, are you cast down and unable to see a sunbeam through the shadows? Look over in the corner. Your own anxious mood is reflected upon the face of your dog. He is the very picture of misery, uneasy and longing to comfort you. Presently he will come over to you unable to stand it any longer and put his nose into your hand, or fall to licking it frantically. He is not forward or aggressive, but full of humility and abasement. He knows he is only a dog, while you are a dog’s God, but he wants to comfort you, to take your load upon his own shoulders and help you bear it. Soon his paws are planted upon your knees and he looks up into your face beseechingly. He wags his tail and tries to smile, suggesting that you laugh it off. Then he jumps down and runs about the room to attract your attention by his funny pranks, or perhaps he even barks once in a deprecating way, but he is soon back again licking your face. If you are perfectly impassive and silent, he becomes almost frantic and will run about the room whining, often returning to look up into your face as though to pry out the trouble. Then he is down again. His tail droops and his face is a picture of despair. Now he is whining softly to himself. If you do not speak to him soon and reassure him that the trouble is not past mending he will lift up his voice and howl, just as his ancestors, the wolves, howled ages ago upon the desolate plains. The great Ibsen in “The Pretenders” epitomizes this fidelity of the dog when he causes King Skule to say: “I must have some one by me who sinks his own will utterly in mine, who believes in me unflinchingly, who will cling close to me in good-hap and ill, who lives only to shed warmth and light over my life, and must die if I fall.” And Jatgeir replies, “Buy yourself a dog, My Lord.” Many other great men have understood and appreciated this faithful creature. Pope said, “Histories are more full of the examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends.” Josh Billings exclaims in his humorous way, “A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself.” Tennyson in a simple but truthful couplet sings, “Faithful and true will be found upon four short legs, Ten times for one upon two.” [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] It was Eugene Field who said that a little rough dog can awaken a joy that enters eternity. The small boy who ties a can to the dog’s tail and then laughs as the frantic creature runs yelping down the street, or perhaps shies a stone at him, knows not that this same despised canine may drag him from a watery grave, or from a burning building on the morrow. A hundred to one the dog would remember neither the tin can nor the stone, if he saw the boy in peril. Forgiveness is the dog’s long suit. So if to err is human and to forgive is divine, then the dog must have a spark of that great love in his brute heart that knows how to forgive. Even more culpable than the boy with his thoughtless cruelty is the man with his deliberate cruelty, the brute who makes this faithful creature the butt for his ill will. There is a deal of truth in the statement of Roland Hill that every man’s dog or his horse knows whether he be a Christian or not. Where in the annals of mere humans, is there a story as touching in its absolute fidelity as that of “Gray Friar’s Bobby?” Lest this wonderful true story may not be familiar to you I give it here very briefly, the account being taken from our Four Footed Friends: During the fifties there lived in Midlothian a farmer named Grey. This man, like others of his calling, was generally to be found in Edinburgh every Wednesday, attending the market, accompanied always by his shaggy terrier, Bobby. It was Grey’s custom, as the time-gun announced the hour of one from the Castle heights, to repair to a small restaurant in the neighborhood of Greyfriars’ Churchyard, known by the name of Traill’s Dining Rooms. Here Bobby and his master had their midday meal, which in the case of the doggie consisted regularly of a bun. In 1858 Grey died, and was laid to rest near the historic church of Greyfriars, aptly named by Sir Walter Scott “the Westminster of Scotland.” On the third day following the funeral, and just as the echoes of the time-gun were dying away, the occupants of Traill’s rooms were surprised to see a dog, the picture of woe and hunger, enter the doorway and approach the proprietor, upon whom he gazed with a most beseeching expression. Traill immediately recognized in this visitor the once happy and well-cared-for Bobby. Stirred with compassion, he gave a bun to the silent pleader, who then, without waiting to eat it, ran out of the shop carrying his newly-found meal in his mouth. Next day at the same hour Bobby again appeared, and repetition of events followed; but on the third day, Traill, whose curiosity and interest were now thoroughly aroused, determined to follow the dog, and thus discover his destination. This was soon reached, for Bobby, bun in mouth, made straight for Greyfriars’ Churchyard where, approaching the grave of his master, he lay down and began to eat his scanty meal. It was now evident that the chief, if not the only mourner of the kind-hearted farmer, had been his four-footed friend Bobby, who, after following his late master’s funeral procession, had then refused to leave the humble mound which marked his grave, until forced to do so by the pangs of hunger. Bobby’s plight and the locality of his new domicile having come to the knowledge of the occupants of his former home, he was brought back, it is said, three times. However, all efforts to make him relinquish his chosen post proved unavailing and each attempt was followed by a speedy return to the same spot in Greyfriars. Here Bobby continued to spend both days and nights, taking refuge only in rough weather under a tombstone hard by, and stoutly resisting all friendly advances made by the compassionate strangers desirous of providing a home for him. In course of time a shelter was erected for his protection near his master’s grave. He continued his daily visits to the restaurant, arriving punctually at the same hour, and never failing to receive his bun from the kind-hearted proprietor. This went on for nine years when, owing to a more rigorous enforcement of the seven shillings yearly dog license, Bobby was arrested as a “vagrant,” and appeared in court accompanied by his humane sympathizer and defender, the restaurant keeper, who was accused of harboring the dog. They were tried before three magistrates who, after hearing the story, tempered the law with mercy and forgave him for not paying his rates, thus saving Bobby from an untimely end. This remarkable dog, who, by an irony of fate, had great length of days granted to him, lived until 1872, and then, like his master, was buried in Greyfriars’ Churchyard, where his grave, now marked by a rose bush, is often pointed out to visitors. A short time before Bobby’s death the Baroness Burdett-Coutts visited Greyfriars, and the sight of the Highland mourner so interested her, that when his demise occurred, she obtained permission to erect at the street corner, near the churchyard gate, a granite fountain with an effigy of the inconsolable dog sitting on guard. How can I better close this unworthy monograph upon man’s faithful friend, than by quoting Senator Vest’s immortal tribute to the dog delivered before a Missouri jury. He certainly epitomizes the subject as no one else has. “Gentlemen of the Jury: The best friend a man has in this world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son and daughter that he has reared with loving care may become ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has he may lose. It flies away from him when he may need it most. Man’s reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees and do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its cloud upon our heads. The one absolutely unselfish friend a man may have in this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is the dog. “Gentlemen of the Jury: A man’s dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in health and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, when the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master’s side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer, he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] “When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its journey through the heavens. If fortune drives the master forth an outcast into the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him, to guard him against danger, to fight against his enemies, and when the last scene of all comes and death takes his master in its embrace and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by his graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws and his eyes sad, but open in alert watchfulness, faithful and true even to death.” PEP The Story of a Brave Dog [22] [23] CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I A Blue Ribbon Dog 25 II The Runaway 38 III The Crossing 56 IV The Hospital 73 V The Battlefield 90 VI The Rescue 105 VII Homeward Bound 116 [24] P PEP: THE STORY OF A BRAVE DOG CHAPTER I A BLUE RIBBON DOG EP sat up very straight at his end of the car seat and looked hard out of the window. This was his usual amusement when he and his master were traveling. But he did not travel often, as his master was a very busy man, so he appreciated every trip that they made. His full name was Pepsin. His master was a doctor so that accounted for the name. With the boys, however, who all loved him, the name stood for pep or grit. Pep was an English bull terrier, sleek and clean cut. His white coat shone like satin and it was as soft as velvet. Well it might have shone, for the doctor’s man had been washing and brushing the dog for weeks. Pep knew that the trip was momentous, but just where they were going, or what was up he could not have told. His master was usually calm and collected, but this morning, he was excited. The dog could feel it plainly. In fact he felt all the changes of temperament in his beloved master. If he was sad or glad the dog changed his own feelings to keep pace with his god. Pep was not as democratic as most terriers. He was quite particular about his friendships. There was but one person in the whole world whom he devotedly loved and that was the doctor. You could see this by the way he looked sideways at his master when he tired of the landscape. Also by the manner in which he met the advances of strangers on the train. Their destination was the New York Bench Show where Pep was to be entered. This was the momentous errand on which they were bent. Pep was the usual type of bull terrier, about sixteen inches at the shoulders and weighing nearly forty pounds. His ears were cocked and pointed. Their backs had been shaved that very morning, and the pink blood coursed through them freely. The doctor was reading a newspaper and occasionally the dog would give it a poke with his nose, to intimate that the man ought to stop and talk to him. The doctor and his wife had no children and they always referred to Pep as “the boy.” Arrived at the New York Central, Pep and his master took a taxi for Madison Square. Once they were fairly within this great arena, Pep thought it the most exciting place he had ever even dreamed of. Such a host of dogs he had not thought the world contained. There were large dogs and small dogs, short-haired dogs and long-haired dogs, excited dogs and complacent dogs, but most all were excited. A dog had to have a pretty good opinion of himself to keep his head in such a place as this. Such a chorus of yelping and barking, growling and whining greeted them as they walked down the main street that Pep did not know whether to be joyous or angry. For the life of him he could not tell whether it was only just play, or the preliminary to a great fight. If the men did really loose all these dogs and they should fly at one another’s throats, he made up his mind that he would get a good hold on the throat of a bulldog who had growled at him as he passed, and not let go until the cross fellow had apologized. Presently they stopped before a man in a small booth, who asked a lot of tiresome questions about Pep. He wanted his age, weight, breeding and many more facts, which the master patiently gave him. Finally Pep was given a number, 223, and they passed along. They passed by St. Bernard street, Newfoundland street, Collie street and finally down to the smaller dogs, until they came to the terriers, where they located permanently in Bull Terrier street. There were about forty dogs here, tied in a double row, with a broad walk between the rows. Here the master tied Pep in his own stall and told him to be a good dog, and went to look for some friends. For the first five minutes the dogs in Bull Terrier street were very disrespectful to Pep and called him all the bad names in the dog dictionary, but seeing how goodnatured he was, they soon ceased their jollying and asked him where he came from, what his master’s name was, and what his name was. Presently he was on speaking terms with the dogs on either side of him. “It is a very fast class, Pep old boy,” said a sleek terrier across the street. “If the judge so much as looks at you you will be lucky.” “My master says I am a sure winner, but I am not saying anything about it.” “You’ve told each newcomer for the past two hours,” growled a savage looking bull terrier next to him. “If I could only slip my collar, I would fix you so that the judge would kick you out of the ring. You have got too many airs, my fine fellow.” At this harsh threat the dandy slunk back in his corner and finally lay down and pretended he was asleep, but Pep knew he was just shamming. [25] [26] [27] [28] [29] It seemed an eternity before his master reappeared, but he was not really gone more than an hour. When he came back he had another doctor with him, whom Pep knew well. He was the master of Pep’s friend, Larry, a clever Irish terrier, who had also come to the show. Presently there was great commotion in Bull Terrier street. Men came from every direction and unchained their dogs. Some put them on fancy show leashes, and they were led away to the show ring. Here there was another inquisitive man, who entered their names and numbers. Finally the ring was nearly full of bull terriers, all excited and straining at their leashes. Each master was trying to make his dog hold up his head and look his prettiest. Pep’s master had been giving him lessons to stand for inspection on the leash so he stood like a drum major, with head up and his tail carried properly. The judge spotted him almost as soon as he came into the ring. He stopped short in his tracks at the sight of Pep and stood very still. The other dogs were straining at their leashes, but the judge did not see them. His eyes were all for Pep. Finally he lifted his eyes to the doctor’s face and winked at him knowingly. The doctor looked down quickly, but he gave Pep a confidential shove with his leg. Pep did not just understand this, but thought it a good omen. After that, the judge did not even glance at him, but went methodically about his work. One by one the dogs were led from the ring. Each one took his cue from the dejected manner of his master, so all went with tails drooping. Finally, there were only two left besides Pep. Then the judge stood these two dogs upon a little platform at the center of the ring and examined them carefully. Occasionally he would stop and glance across at Pep. Pep saw that his master was watching the judge intently so he did the same. When the judge looked his way he wagged his tail, for he felt sure that this was a man to be cultivated. Finally the judge got up with a deep sigh. “Take them both away,” he said shortly. “They are good dogs, but they are not in the class with this one,” and he came over and stroked Pep’s head. “Here’s his blue ribbon. Take him up to the free for all. It may not do any good, but I want to see him lined up against the old champion, Lord Lansdale. Somehow I can’t keep my eyes off him, but I presume he will look small enough beside the champion.” The doctor stooped down and hugged Pep and he was very happy. He felt sure that the man had liked him and that pleased his master. He loved to please his master above all else. So they went back to Bull Terrier street, Pep with his blue ribbon and his master looking very happy. There they received the congratulations of the surly dog who had threatened to chew the dandy’s throat if he could get at him, while the dandy sulked in his corner. “I liked you the first minute I saw you,” said the surly terrier, mellowing up and fairly smiling. “You don’t put on airs. I can’t stand airs in a dog. That is, unless he is a champion.” “Wait till he goes up to meet the champion,” whimpered the dandy. “He’ll come back with his tail between his legs, or I am a liar.” “You are a liar all right,” growled Pep’s new friend, “but he won’t come back with his tail between his legs. If he’s licked he’ll take it like a thoroughbred. If the other dog’s better than you are, admit it and don’t sulk as you are doing.” Here the conversation was interrupted by a call for the winners in each class to go up to the ring for the finals, so Pep went with his master and both were much excited. The judge did not so much as look at him when he entered the ring and poor Pep thought it was all up. He felt sorry for his master, who, he at once saw, felt the slight. “Keep your head up, old chap,” whispered the master, and Pep looked as haughty as he could, copying the manner of the old champion who stood at the center of the platform, his eyes half shut, gazing off into space, just as though the whole show bored him to death and he would be glad when it was over. One by one the winners were placed on the platform by the champion but it needed only a glance at most of them and the judge said, “Take ’em away.” Then master and dog would slink out of the ring. The last dog who went on before Pep lasted much longer than his predecessors had. The judge looked him over for several minutes and even held his head beside the champion’s before pronouncing his doom. Then he turned about quickly. “Where’s the doctor’s dog?” he said. “He is the only dog in the show that can give the old champion anything like a go. Bring him on.” Pep mounted to the platform much excited, although he tried hard not to show it. The champion looked at him sleepily out of the corner of his eye. Pep thought his manner said, “So here’s another. Well, they will soon take him away.” The judge stepped back several feet and looked at them very hard, without saying a word. Then he scratched his head and said, “Well, I’ll be darned. I never expected to be up against it like this.” “The judge examined them carefully.” [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] Then he went up and began feeling the two dogs over very carefully. He passed his hand along their backs, and legs. He let their ears slip gently through his fingers. He lifted up their paws. Then put them down. Pep watched him from the corner of one eye. He could see that the judge was more and more worried. Then he stood off and looked at them again. He scratched his head and pulled his mustache, then came back and went all over the handling process once more. Finally he held a muzzle in either palm and laid their heads side by side. His hand trembled and Pep felt that he was much excited. At last he stood up and heaved a deep sigh. “I am very sorry,” he said, and stooped down and stroked the old champion’s head. Poor Pep’s heart stood still. He felt as though the judge had struck him. He wanted to yelp with pain. He knew it would disappoint his master so, but the judge’s next words fairly stunned him. “Take away the old champion,” he said. “He is outclassed. This,” and he laid his hand caressingly on Pep’s head, “is the better dog. I never dreamed that I would live to see Lord Lansdale dethroned.” Then a great shouting went up around the ring. “Hurrah for Pepsin. Congratulations, doctor. Let me stroke him. Let me get inside and feel him over. Bring him out, doctor, we want to take some photos of him for the press.” Pepsin was so astonished at all this fuss that at first he thought he had done something bad and was to be punished, but when his master caught him up in his arms and hugged him joyously his happiness was complete. From that time on, as long as they stayed at the show, he was a much petted and flattered dog. If he had been a silly, vain dog, it would have turned his head, but he was a sensible fellow and he took it as a matter of course. The following day, when Pep and the doctor were having a fine time, walking about the great hall, along the main street, looking at the dogs, a boy in uniform with a blue cap came up to his master and gave him an envelope. Pep sat on his haunches and watched the doctor very closely while he looked at the piece of paper. Somehow he did not like these messengers with their pieces of paper. They always upset things. This one seemed to be even more disturbing than usual, for the doctor put the telegram hurriedly into his pocket and they started out of the building not stopping to speak to any one. “It’s my call, Pep,” he said as they took a taxi for the Grand Central. “I’m off for the war, old chap.” [35] [36] [37] P CHAPTER II THE RUNAWAY EP’S master was very quiet all the way home and the wise dog knew intuitively that he was disturbed about something. He tried several times by rubbing against him, to get him to notice his “blue ribbon dog,” but after several futile attempts he settled down at his end of the seat and went to sleep with his muzzle on his master’s knee. He had often seen the doctor like this, when studying on some perplexing case, so he wisely left him to his thoughts. Occasionally he would wake up and look at him out of the corner of one eye, when he would find him studying the disturbing letter that the messenger boy had given him. It was not until they were almost home that the doctor aroused himself and took the dog into his confidence. “Pep, old boy,” he said, stroking his sleek sides, rubbing his nose, and pulling his ears gently in a way he loved, “we have got a hard task ahead of us. I don’t know what the mistress will say. We have expected it for weeks, but it will be a shock just the same.” The motor was waiting for them at the station as the doctor had telegraphed ahead and they were soon whizzing through the darkness towards Pep’s kennel, which he considered the best spot on earth. “How did the mistress take it, Thompson?” asked the physician as they bowled along. “I did not say what was up, but I imagined she would guess. You know I had intended to stay the rest of the week.” “She knew right off. She is bearing up well, sir, but it is a great blow to us all. She’s a brave little woman, doctor, and won’t show the white feather.” The little woman referred to met them at the door. She had a warm embrace for the doctor, and a pat on the head for Pep, but she did not even notice the blue ribbon, which showed how disturbed they were. “It’s come at last, Betty,” said the doctor briefly as he removed his overcoat. He handed her the hateful telegram and stood watching as she read it. Pep watched both his mistress and master narrowly and his dog heart was troubled. For he noticed that his mistress shivered as she took the telegram. The little cry that escaped her as she read it, made him whimper and go to her, standing on his hind legs and putting his paws on her knees. She reached down and stroked his glossy head and a tear fell on his upturned muzzle. “I wouldn’t have you miss it for the world, John,” she finally managed to say. “It’s a man’s part and you are every inch a man, but it has come so suddenly.” “You are a brave woman, Betty,” the doctor returned chokingly. “I thank you for making it so easy for me. It is just as hard for me to go as it is for you to have me. There is little danger to a surgeon. I will come back all right. “Look at Pep, Betty. He wants you to see his blue ribbon. He is a blue ribbon dog now. He’ll take care of you while I am gone. Won’t you, old sport?” The mistress admired the trophy as much as Pep could have wished, but somehow it did not satisfy him. He knew instinctively the house was filled with tragedy and what was a blue ribbon more or less when such things were happening. For the next two hours every one hurried frantically to and fro; such confusion Pep had never seen in the well-ordered house. The mistress would suffer no hands but her own to finally pack the doctor’s suit case. Others might hand things to her, but her hands must tuck them away for him. Pep followed disconsolately from room to room, keeping out of the way as well as he could. He finally took up his position by the front door and waited. This was the door through which his master always left when he went on important missions. He determined not to be left behind. If it made his mistress feel so badly to have master go away he would go with him, then she would know he would be safe. Of course all this packing meant his master was going away. He had seen it many times before, but why they hurried so, and why every one’s heart ached, he could not imagine. At last, everything was ready and Thompson and the motor were at the door. The doctor came into the office. Pep saw that his face was very white. The mistress came in also and stood close to him. Her face also was white and she was trembling. Neither spoke for several seconds. Then the doctor took her in his arms and held her tight for at least a minute. Then still without speaking, he set her gently down in the large easy chair and with a sudden motion, slipped out of the front door with his suit case. He went so suddenly that the cry of the mistress and the bang of the door sounded almost together. The closing door missed Pep’s muzzle by barely an inch. He leaped at it and whined frantically and whimpered as the motor rolled away. Then like the faithful companion and sympathetic friend that he was, leaped into his mistress’ lap to kiss away her tears and comfort her. She hugged him to her heart and poured out her grief in his sympathetic ears. Of course he did not know just what made her feel so badly, but he snuffled in unison with her and told her as plainly as a dog could that he felt just as badly [38] [39] [40] [41] [42] [43] as she did and that they were fellow sufferers. Finally, the mistress dried her eyes and went to straighten out the house. Pep lay down upon his favorite rug to think. He did not intend to submit tamely to being left behind in this unceremonious manner. He thought to such good advantage that when Thompson came back with the motor, he had fully made up his mind. When the chauffeur at last came in after putting up the car, Pep was waiting for him at the front door. He had his muzzle close to the crack so as to be ready. Thompson had barely opened the door and squeezed partly through, for he had been warned to look out for Pep, when the terrier shot between his legs and with a scurry of feet along the walk, he was gone into the darkness. A second later, he was out on the street running frantically for the depot. Thompson and the mistress whistled and shouted but he paid no attention to them, and they saw him disappear twenty rods away around a corner, running like the wind. “He’s gone after the doctor. The little cuss has gone to war,” cried Thompson. “What shall we do? The doctor told me half a dozen times to-night to keep an eye on him.” “Take the motor and follow to the station. He can’t go further than that.” So for the second time that night, the doctor’s machine whizzed away to the depot. Thompson had to put some gasoline in the car before he could follow, so Pep reached the depot five minutes ahead of the machine. Instead of finding the train puffing away on the tracks as he had expected, the rails were clear. His master had gone. He was too late. He sniffed frantically up and down the platform to find the scent but there was none that he could recognize. Then he remembered the track. The two shining sticks that the train always ran upon. He knew which way his master had gone, the one way to New York. He looked up at the station platform and away into the darkness. Then Thompson and the motor whizzed up: That decided him. He turned his nose towards New York and galloped frantically down the track. Meanwhile the doctor sat in the smoking car chewing savagely on the end of his cigar, and looking gloomily out of the window. His home and his wife had hitherto been all and all to him. Now his country had called him. He found to his surprise that there had been all the time a deep sense of love of country lying dormant in his nature. A newsboy on the train was selling small silk flags. The doctor purchased one and placed it in his buttonhole. His fingers now fondled it lovingly as he mused. All that he loved here in the homeland was dropping further and further behind. This new strange passion for country was taking him far from home, wife, and friends, to what hardships and struggles he knew not. It did not matter though as long as he came through safe and sound. At this point in his reflections, a shiver ran through the train. At first it was only a tremor, but immediately it grew into a crashing, grating, grinding sound. The train buckled in the middle, raising three cars fairly from the track. Others swayed this way and that. There was the sound of breaking car floors, of shattered glass, and grinding car-frames. Together with the more frightful sound of the ripping of rails and the breaking of ties, but shot through all these mighty sounds of destruction, was the frantic screams of women, and the hoarse cries of men, who fought and struggled as they felt themselves hurled to doom. It was only a broken axle that had caused all this destruction of life and property. So the superintendent’s report said a few days later. The car in which the doctor was riding fared better than many of the others and merely toppled on its side after being butted off the track. The physician was thrown across the isle, but not injured. Almost before the rest of the passengers knew what had happened he was on his feet and breaking his way out through a window. Five minutes later, he was going from point to point attending the injured, organizing relief and giving what aid he could with the limited means at hand. Meanwhile, Pep was galloping frantically after the express train. He had not dreamed it was such a long way to New York. It had always seemed like a very short ride to him while sitting on a car seat looking out of the window. Surely the great snorting thing which drew the train had long legs and ran very fast. For an hour the terrier galloped at his best pace, but the straight and level way stretched on just as straight and unending as it had been when he started. By this time he was getting tired, so he slowed down and began to wonder if he should ever reach the great city where he had been so recently to the dog show. Perhaps he had not done right to come. He knew well that Thompson and his mistress had called him. He had heard them plainly. Perhaps his master would not even be glad to see him. Maybe he would rather he had remained at home to guard the place while he was gone. His thoughts were not probably quite as definite as this, but he began to have misgivings about running away. Now a bright light loomed up in the distance. It was the train. No, it could not be. It was coming towards him. On it came like a terrible demon, rushing straight at him. He bolted down the embankment to safety just as the train swept by. It was on one of the other tracks and would not have harmed him, but it was just as well not to take any chances. He had seen a careless dog cut in two once at his home town station. Again Pep took to the rails and galloped on for another fifteen minutes. Then his patience was rewarded for he saw a [44] [45] [46] [47] [48] light ahead. Not one but several. There were men running hurriedly about. The train had stopped. It must be the doctor’s train for it was on the right track. He would find his beloved master soon. Almost the first person that Pep saw as he galloped up to the wreck was the doctor. He was kneeling beside a man lying on the ground. The man was groaning and the physician was doing something for him. Pep was a doctor’s dog and quite well versed in the ways of doctors. He had often sat on his favorite rug in the office during a serious consultation. He did not notice that his master was trying to replace a dislocated shoulder, or he never would have jumped and pulled his coat tail as he did. To the doctor at this critical time, all dogs were alike. So without even looking around, he kicked at the intruder who was disturbing his work. The kick though slight, caught Pep under the jaw and made him yelp, but it hurt his feelings mightily. Here he had nearly run his legs off to catch up with the train and his master did not even look around when he barked. Also an unheard of thing had happened, he had kicked him. So he retired to the edge of the circle of light that surrounded the wreck and sat on his haunches watching the doctor work. Presently the shoulder snapped back into place and the surgeon passed on to other unfortunates. Pep followed at a distance, always keeping on the rim of light at the edge of the darkness. For half an hour he dodged about, keeping himself half in the shadow watching, then a wrecking train came up and a score of doctors and nurses descended. At about the same time, the forward part of the wrecked train, which had not left the rails, was made ready for completing the run to New York. The conductor went up and down calling for every one to get aboard. With genuine alarm, Pep saw his master climb into the car nearest the engine, but he did not dare to follow him. He was probably very angry and would not like to see him at all. He saw the conductor wave his arm at the engineer who was leaning out of the cab window, then the locomotive began to puff and the train to move. While two cars went past him Pep stood uncertain, then with a scramble and a glad bark he sprang upon the rear platform of the third and last car. He went with such a rush that he nearly slid off on the other side, but he finally gained his footing, and crouched down beside the door. Presently the train got up speed. The car swayed from side to side and he slipped and slid on the smooth floor. The train also made a great noise, which terrified him. He was lonesome also, as there was no one to notice him out there alone in the dark. There certainly was a difference between traveling in a warm coach with one’s master, and slipping and sliding about on the rear platform, stealing a ride like an ordinary tramp. After about half an hour, which seemed much longer to Pep, the train entered the long, dark underground passage which he had always noticed just before they reached the great city. They were almost there. When the train at last stopped, Pep slid down from his platform and ran along towards the engine, but his master was too quick for him. When he reached the car where he had seen him enter, he was walking rapidly down the platform, almost running in fact. A taxi driver was carrying his master’s suit case and they seemed much excited. The official at the gate saw they were in a great hurry so did not detain them and Pep slipped through between his legs, while he was looking at the ticket of a passenger who was just entering. Pep had all he could do to keep his master’s legs in sight and not confuse them with some other man’s legs. To him the place was all legs; legs and skirts hurrying this way and that. Electric gongs were ringing, men and women were calling to one another, the megaphone man was shouting out the trains, and engines were thundering in the train sheds. “We’ve got just forty minutes to make the boat,” said Pep’s master as he scrambled into the taxi and the driver hurled the suit case in after him. “Can you make it?” The man’s reply was lost by the slamming of the door, but he sprang into the driver’s seat and the motor started. Pep had not been allowed to follow the doctor’s car at home, but this was different. His master had gone off and left him. He had not dared even make himself known. For a second he hesitated, then fell in behind the motor and began a wild race for the wharf. Such a bedlam he had not even dreamed of as that which filled his ears, once they were fairly out on Broadway. Machines whizzed by at every rod. He kept close to the taxi so as not be run down by some passing machine. Several times the taxi almost stopped and once the doctor shouted to the driver that they must hurry. Out and in they twisted, breaking many traffic rules, but always making sure and steady progress towards the wharf. At last they whizzed down into the great noisy thoroughfare leading to the waterway. Finally, the machine stopped. The driver snatched the suitcase and the doctor fairly ran after him as they hurried towards a strong gate that was constantly opening and closing with a loud bang. Even before they reached it, Pep made up his mind that if his master got through without seeing him, he would lose him. So as the gate opened, he sprang upon the physician with a glad bark. The doctor turned and looked down at him. Then Pep leaped full in his arms and planted a dog kiss on his cheek. [49] [50] [51] [52] [53] [54] “For Heaven’s sake, Pep,” exclaimed the astonished physician. “Is that you? Where in the world did you drop from? I must find some one to take you back home.” “You’ll have to hurry, mister,” shouted the taxi driver. “What can I do with this dog?” cried the perplexed physician. “I don’t know how he ever got here, but I can’t leave him alone.” “You are going to miss the boat. You can’t wait another minute.” “Take him along. You can ship him back on the boat, or find some one to take care of him on the other side.” Pep stood on his hind legs looking up into his master’s face. The doctor was dazed and uncertain. The taxi man shouted again. “I tell you the boat will sail in just one minute. Take him along, or miss the boat.” “All right, old pal. It’s us for Europe.” With these words, the doctor stooped down and gathered Pep up in his arms partially covering him with his overcoat to shield him from fussy officials, and followed the excited taxi driver into the elevator. Up they shot, and then along the gangplanks to the great floating palace which was to be Pep’s home for the next ten days. About ten seconds later the tug began straining at the hawser working the great boat out of her slip. The adventure had fairly begun. Dog and master were upon their way across the Atlantic to take part in the great struggle against the Hun. [55]