Kitabı oku: «The Dogs of Boytown», sayfa 3
CHAPTER IV
IN ROME
Furnishing and decorating the new home of Romulus and Remus proved to be a most enjoyable task. They took a good-sized box over to the planing mill and got it filled with sawdust, and dragged it home on Ernest's sled. They swept out the old stall carefully and sprinkled the floor liberally with sawdust, holding the rest in reserve, so that there might always be a clean, fresh supply. Housekeeping was thus made easy by simply hoeing out the old sawdust.
For a bed they set a soap box on its side, put in a thick layer of straw, and tacked a piece of old carpet loosely over it so that it would be soft and yet the puppies could not scratch it out. They bought two enameled tin dishes, one for food and one for water, for they discovered that the puppies did not understand the system of each having his own. They nailed bits of wood to the floor to hold the dishes so that they would not be pushed about and overturned. The puppies enjoyed all this activity immensely, making laughable efforts to help, and only wailed and wept when their young masters left the room.
When it was done, the boys surveyed their handiwork with immense satisfaction, but Jack would not be satisfied until they had tacked to the wall several pictures of dogs clipped from papers and magazines, for Jack insisted that the place must be made homelike.
They had read somewhere about the original Romulus and Remus of history, and so they named the apartment Rome. They thought Sam Bumpus would approve of this since it began with the letter R. Then they nailed an old horseshoe to the door for luck, called it a day, and knocked off.
The next thing to consider was the education of the puppies, and here the boys felt somewhat at a loss. Romulus and Remus didn't seem to understand a word of English, and the boys couldn't speak Latin. All attempts to secure the prompt obedience that Sam had advised ended in utter failure. Romulus and Remus were very willful and headstrong puppies. Further advice from Sam seemed desirable.
Furthermore, about the end of the second week, both puppies appeared to be ailing. In spite of plenty of milk they had grown thin, and Romulus appeared to have trouble with the action of his hind legs. Remus seemed to be chiefly afflicted with itching, and had worn a bare spot under each foreleg.
Ernest and Jack became alarmed, and their father could not seem to tell what the trouble was. Various things prevented the boys from making the trip to Sam's shack, and besides they wanted him to take a look at the dogs. They had noticed his free delivery mail box and so Ernest sent him this brief summons on a postal card:
Dear Sam: -
Romulus and Remus are sick and we don't know what to do.
Could you come down some day after school and see them? Also we want to ask you some things about disaplining them.
Yours truly,Ernest and Jack Whipple.
Sam did not fail them. A couple of days later he appeared at the Whipple gate and gave the low whistle that he used with Nan. The boys, humoring his desire not to go into the house, led him at once to Rome.
"Well, now," said Sam, inspecting the puppies' home with evidences of approval, "this is quite a palace for the little princes. Some day I s'pose they'll have hot and cold water, electric lights, and a doorbell."
Then he proceeded to examine the puppies while the boys looked on anxiously.
"Hm," said he at length. "Just as I expected. Nothing but worms."
"Worms?" echoed the boys in chorus.
"Sure," replied Sam. "Most all puppies get 'em sooner or later, and sometimes they do a lot of harm if you don't get rid of 'em. But we'll get rid of 'em all right. Get a pencil and paper and write down what I tell you to get at the drug store and the directions."
When they reappeared with the necessary articles, Sam continued: "There's several things that'll take care of worms, but the best and surest is santonin and calomel. Write that down."
Ernest wrote as Sam spelled the words. It seemed to be much more of an accomplishment to be able to pronounce and spell such words than fulfilment or handicraft.
"Tell the druggist," said Sam, "to make you up half a dozen pills with half a grain of calomel and half a grain of santonin in each one. For big dogs we make 'em one grain each. To-morrow mornin' give the pups a little milk and then don't feed 'em again till after they've been dosed. About noon give 'em each a pill, and then, a couple of hours later, give 'em each a teaspoonful of castor oil. A couple of hours after that, feed 'em again, and I'll guarantee they'll be all right, though you may have to do it all over again in a couple of months. Big dogs have to fast longer and have to have a tablespoonful of castor oil."
"How do you give them the medicine?" inquired Ernest, looking at the squirming puppies doubtfully.
"Easy enough when you know how," said Sam. "I'll show you. Pick him up like this and take hold of his nose, pushin' his lips between his teeth with your thumb and fingers. He can't bite and he has to open his mouth. Of course, with a bigger dog it's harder if he don't want to stand still. Then take a pill in your other hand and put it down his throat as far as you can reach. Then shut his mouth and hold his head up till he has to swaller. He'll never know what went down. It's the same way with the castor oil, only you'll have to get Jack to hold the spoon and put it in when you give the word. Put it way down in, Jack, and don't get excited and spill it. Get a spoon and I'll show you how easy it is."
Jack ran for a spoon and Sam illustrated with a spoonful of water. Then the boys tried it until they felt themselves sufficiently expert.
"There's a way of pourin' medicine into the side of a dog's mouth outside his teeth," said Sam, "but he's apt to spill some of it before he gets through. Besides, he gets the taste of it that way, and may run from the sight of a spoon or a bottle ever after. I like my way better."
He looked at his watch and announced that he must be going.
"I'll look in on you again one of these days," he said, "but I know they'll be all right if you do like I said."
"And you like Rome, don't you?" asked Jack.
"Rome?" repeated Sam.
"We named it that because Romulus and Remus were Romans," explained Ernest.
"Yes, it's a mighty good place for them," said Sam. Then he considered a moment. "Do you expect me to get down and roll in the sawdust and try to bite things?"
The boys laughed at the idea, though they didn't exactly know what he meant.
"Why?" asked Ernest.
"Because I've always been told that when you're in Rome you must do as the Romans do," said Sam, and went away laughing silently.
The boys followed Sam's instructions to the letter, and when he came again a week later the puppies were as healthy and lively as crickets.
"Now," said Ernest, "we want to ask you about training them. We forgot about that the other day."
"You don't expect to go gunnin' with 'em for a few days, do you?" asked Sam.
"No," said Ernest, "but we want them to learn to come when we call and do what we say."
"Well," said Sam, "all it needs is patience. Keep talkin' to 'em and the first thing you know you'll find they understand words. Then try to make 'em do what the words mean. Remember they're only babies yet and be patient with 'em. Keep at it until they answer to their names. Don't be discouraged. Of course, it'll be harder gettin' 'em housebroken if you don't let 'em into the house, but I'll guarantee you'll do it.
"It ought to be about time to cut down to four meals a day now, and give 'em shredded wheat or puppy biscuits. And now I'm here, I might as well give you a little advice about feedin' in gen'ral. You'll remember it all later. In another month you can cut down to three meals and maybe add a little chopped meat and gravy at night. Keep that up till they're six or eight months old, and then you can begin to feed 'em like grown dogs.
"In feedin' dogs," he continued, "remember they're like humans. They ought to have meat and grain and vegetables to get all they want to build 'em up and keep 'em healthy. Some dogs is very finicky and won't eat vegetables, but you can learn 'em to eat right if you begin right. A grown dog don't need but one meal a day, near night, but sometimes a dog gets so hungry that he overeats or bolts his food, and then it's a good plan to give him a little breakfast, too. Bones they can have any time. Bones amuse 'em and help keep their teeth and digestion in good shape. A good rule is to give a dog a little bread and milk for breakfast, a bone without too much meat on it about noon, and a good dinner at night, with all sorts of things in it. Get shin of beef or some other cheap meat at the butcher's and boil it good. Save the bone and the soup. Cut the meat up in small pieces, mix it with bread or rice and any vegetables left over from the house – onions, cabbage, carrots, or anything but potatoes. They ain't very good for dogs. Mix the food all up together and moisten it with the soup, but don't have it too wet. Stale bread is better for 'em than fresh bread. Never give 'em chicken or rabbit bones that may splinter and injure 'em inside. Don't give too much pork or fat of any kind. Don't give 'em much candy or sweet stuff. Some folks bake bread or cakes specially for dogs, but if you do that, don't use much corn meal. It's too heatin' in summer and it's apt to cause skin trouble. If anything seems to disagree with 'em, like baked beans, or sweet corn, or rice, cut it out; you can tell. Last of all, always keep plenty of clean, fresh water where they can get it. A thirsty dog is never happy."
These and other instructions the boys obtained from Sam Bumpus from time to time, and as the days went by they were pleased to see their dogs growing bigger and stronger. Slowly, too, they began to learn the meaning of things and to obey their masters' voices. Raising dogs proved to be the most fascinating thing that Ernest and Jack Whipple had ever undertaken.
By February they were very proud of their charges and anxious to show them off. Consequently they welcomed a visit one Saturday morning from Harry Barton, a chum of theirs. Harry appeared unannounced and accompanied by his big, bow-legged English bulldog, Mike. He went directly to the barn, from which issued the voices of the Whipple boys and their dogs, and entered Rome. The unexpected appearance of Mike startled Jack, and he picked Remus hastily up and held him in protecting arms. But Harry only laughed.
"What you 'fraid of?" he inquired. "Mike wouldn't hurt a kitten. He looks ugly and that's what scares tramps away, but he never bit anything. You ought to see the baby walk all over him."
"Come on in, then," invited Ernest.
Mike went slowly up to Romulus and sniffed at him noisily. At first the puppy was frightened, but finding that he was not attacked he made one or two playful little lunges at the bulldog and then stood off and barked shrilly at him, Remus joining in the chorus and struggling to be set down.
"They've got spunk, all right," said Ernest, proudly.
Mike sniffed at Remus also, then yawned in a bored sort of way, waddled out of Rome as though his years and dignity forbade his association with such frivolous company, and thumped down on the floor outside. All three boys laughed.
"Well, what do you think of 'em?" Ernest asked presently. "Some dogs, eh?"
"Oh, they'll prob'ly be all right when they grow up," said Harry, unwilling to concede too much. "They'll have to grow a lot, though, before they know as much as Mike."
"But a bulldog can't hunt like a setter," said Ernest, flying to the defense of his breed.
"Who wants to hunt?" demanded Harry. "Hunting isn't all a dog's for, is it? A bulldog's a better watchdog than a setter."
Ernest, not knowing whether this was so or not, made no reply.
"But aren't they cunning, Harry?" asked Jack.
"Oh, sure, they're cunning," said Harry, satisfied that he had scored his point. "Can they shake hands yet?"
"Not yet," said Jack.
"Mike can shake hands," said Harry, "and take the mail from the postman, and do lots of things."
"But he can't hunt," insisted Ernest, returning to the attack.
"I'd rather have a bulldog than a setter, any day," said Harry. "Why, the bulldog is one of the best kinds of dogs. It's an older kind than the setter. They used them in England for fighting bulls hundreds of years ago. A bulldog is brave and faithful, and he sticks to things. He isn't a flyaway kind of a dog."
"But they're so homely," objected Jack, glancing out at Mike.
"Ho," cried Harry, "who ever heard of a pretty bulldog? We don't want 'em pretty. Mike's just like a bulldog ought to be, thick-set, muscular, with wide chest, elbows set far apart, and undershot jaw. See?"
It sounded very much as though he were reading it out of a book, and the other boys were much impressed. Ernest found himself wondering where Harry had picked up his dog lore.
"What do you know about setters?" demanded Harry.
Ernest, in the face of superior wisdom, admitted that he didn't know very much.
"Well, you ought to," said Harry. "What's the use of having dogs if you don't know all about them?"
"Sam Bumpus has told us a good deal about training and hunting," said Jack.
"Yes, but what do you know about the breed, where it came from and all that? Do you want to find out?"
"Sure," said Ernest.
"Well, I'll tell you where you can find out," said Harry. "I know a man that knows more about dogs than anybody else in the world, I guess."
"Who is he?" demanded Ernest.
"Did you ever hear of the Willowdale Kennels?" asked Harry.
Ernest was forced to admit that he had not.
"Well, they're over at Thornboro," said Harry. "They have twenty-eight dogs there. Mr. Hartshorn owns them, but the man that takes care of them is Tom Poultice. He's an Englishman, and he used to have charge of kennels in England once. He knows all about collies and greyhounds and – and every kind of dogs there are."
"I bet he doesn't know more about setters and pointers than Sam Bumpus does," said Ernest, loyally.
"Bet you a hundred dollars he does," said Harry.
"Bet you a thousand he doesn't."
The bidding bade fair to be unlimited, and though the millions and billions and trillions remained to be called upon, Harry desisted.
"Tell you what I'll do," said he. "I'll take you over there and then you can see for yourselves."
Ernest and Jack promptly forgot their controversy with Harry and accepted his proposal with animation.
"And can we see all those dogs?" asked Ernest.
"Sure," said Harry.
"How many did you say there were?"
"Twenty-four besides four puppies."
"Whew!" Jack exclaimed.
"When can we go?" asked Ernest.
"Why, this afternoon, if you want to. It's over five miles to Thornboro, but we can take the 2:10 train and be there in no time. You come along by my house after dinner and whistle," said Harry.
"Bully," said Ernest, and Harry turned and walked jauntily out of the stable with old Mike lumbering at his heels.
CHAPTER V
THE WILLOWDALE KENNELS
As Harry Barton had said, it was only a short run on the train to Thornboro. The three boys disembarked at the station and walked up a winding, muddy road, for the sun was gathering strength and the snow had been melting fast. The fields and hillsides lay brown and dry, but not uninviting. It was a glorious day to be out of doors, especially upon such a quest.
They came at length to an entrance in a privet hedge and passed up a long driveway with maple trees along both sides. At the end of it they could see a large brick house with white pillars along the front.
"My, but this is a big place," said Ernest.
"Sure," said Harry. "Mr. Hartshorn is a rich man. If he wasn't, how do you s'pose he could keep so many dogs and hire a man just to take care of them?"
"What does he do with so many?" inquired Jack, to whom the care of one small puppy seemed a considerable responsibility.
"Oh, he shows them," was Harry's somewhat vague explanation. "He takes prizes with them at dog shows. Some of them are champions. He breeds them, too, and he sells the puppies he doesn't want to keep. I guess he makes a good deal of his money that way."
"What kind of dogs are they?" asked Ernest.
"Mostly Airedale terriers and white bull terriers," said Harry. "Not common bull terriers, like Frank Symonds's, but the finest kind, all white."
As they neared the house, Harry led them into a path through the shrubbery which brought them at last around to the rear, where there was a big stable and garage, a greenhouse, and some other buildings.
"That long low building is the kennels," said Harry. "The dogs are in their runs out back, I expect, and prob'ly Tom is out there, too."
"Why!" exclaimed Jack, "it's just like a house for people."
The Willowdale kennel house was indeed a more elaborate affair than the boys had imagined could ever have been built just for dogs. It made Rome appear very humble in comparison. It was a well-built house, long and low, with windows all along the front and a door in the middle. Over this door was an ornamental gable and there was a cupola at the top. The whole was painted white.
The boys passed around the end of the building, from behind which issued the voices of many dogs which they presently saw running about in yards built of wire fencing. Some of the dogs were smooth and pure white and some were wiry-coated and a rich black and tan – tan on the legs and head and black or a very dark grizzle on the neck and body. They all appeared to be very lively, active dogs, and some of them seemed rather pugnaciously anxious to get at one another through the wire fences.
"There's Tom," announced Harry, and the other boys, following his pointing finger, observed a man in brown clothes and leather leggings apparently engaged in mending the fence at the rear of one of the runs. As they approached he straightened up and came forward to meet them, with a little smile on his broad face.
"Well," said he, "'ere we are. An' 'ow's the little man to-day? An' 'ow's the dog Mike?"
"Pretty well, thank you," said Harry, in a rather more subdued tone than he had been using toward Jack and Ernest. "These are my friends, Ernest and Jack Whipple. They want to see your dogs."
Tom Poultice regarded the newcomers quizzically. "Sure you aren't afraid o' gettin' bit?"
"Oh, no, we aren't afraid of dogs," asserted Ernest.
"Right-o," said Tom. "Come along and I'll show you our new Hairedale, Bingo's Queen Molly. She's a 'ummer, Molly is."
He led the way through a wire gate into one of the runs and called the new dog to him, whereat the dogs in the neighboring runs set up a loud barking.
"They're all jealous," said Tom, "but they wouldn't touch 'er. A male dog scarcely ever attacks a female."
Molly proved to be a sweet, gentle creature, and allowed the boys to pat and stroke her hard little head.
"She's the genooine harticle," said Tom. "See the straight legs of 'er an' the square muzzle. She'll win something, or I'm no judge."
"She's a little smaller than some of them, isn't she?" asked Harry.
"Yes, but she's just about the right size for showing," said Tom. "Thirty-seven she weighs. I'm partial to the bigger dogs, myself, but the judges generally favor a smaller dog if he's got the points. Molly's certainly got the points."
Much to the edification of the boys, Tom went on to describe the standard points of the Airedale, illustrating with several of the dogs, all of whom seemed to be very fond of the kennelman. Then he took them in to see the bull terriers.
"'Ere's a different kind of dog entirely," he said. "As good a fighter and watchdog as the Hairedale, but not useful in so many ways. It's an older breed than the Hairedale. I can remember when the bull terrier was a heavier dog, and brindles were just as good as whites, but now they want only this kind in the shows, with a long skull and pure white. Eyes small and shaped like almonds, and set wide apart. That's the kind. The ears have to be cropped in this country to win prizes. Beastly custom. They don't do it in Hengland any more. I'm glad they let the Hairedales' ears alone."
For some time Tom Poultice discoursed learnedly on these two breeds and answered numerous questions.
"What-ho," he exclaimed suddenly. "'Ere's Mr. 'Artshorn coming. Get 'im to tell you about dogs. 'E knows a thing or two 'imself."
A well-dressed gentleman in a gray overcoat and hat, with a gray pointed beard, and carrying a cane, appeared around the end of the kennel house. The boys appeared a little ill at ease.
"Don't be scared of 'im," said Tom. "'E likes boys."
"Well, Tom," said Mr. Hartshorn, stopping now and then to poke his stick through the fence at the dogs that came yelping down their runs to greet him, "how's Molly?"
"Mighty fine, sir," said Tom; "mighty fine."
"Some of your friends?" he inquired, indicating the boys.
"Yes, sir," said Tom. "This is Harry Barton, sir, from Boytown, and these – what did you say your names were?"
"Ernest and Jack Whipple," said Ernest.
"Ah, yes," said Mr. Hartshorn, just as though he had been reading about these boys in the paper. "Glad to meet you, I'm sure. Came up to have a look at the finest dogs in Connecticut, I suppose."
He had a pleasant, friendly face, and though the boys were a little awed by his imposing appearance and courtly manner, they soon lost their shyness and found themselves asking him many questions about dogs.
"Come up to the house," said he at length. "I can explain things better up there, where I have some pictures."
Tom went back to his work and the boys, bidding him good-by, followed Mr. Hartshorn up to the big house. He took them into a room that he said was his den. There was a big desk in it, all littered up with papers, and well filled bookcases around the room.
"Are all these books about dogs?" inquired Harry.
"Well, a good many of them are," said Mr. Hartshorn. "I have about every book on dogs that has been printed, I expect."
On the walls above the bookcases were photographs and colored pictures of dogs and horses in frames, and at one side of the room was a long leather sofa. Mr. Hartshorn seated himself at his desk and began rummaging in a drawer full of photographs, while he told the boys to be seated on the sofa.
"Now, then," he said when they were all settled, "you were asking me about the different kinds of terriers, and I guess I've got pictures of good specimens of about every kind. How many kinds of standard breeds of terriers do you suppose there are?"
"About eight, I guess," said Harry, who was a little more forward than the Whipple boys.
"Wrong," said Mr. Hartshorn. "There are nearly a hundred recognized breeds of dogs in this country, all different, and eighteen of these are terriers. To make them easier to remember, I will divide them into three classes, smooth-coated, wire-haired, and long-haired. The smooths are the bull terrier, the Boston, the smooth fox terrier, the Manchester, and the Doberman pinscher. The wires are the wire-haired fox terrier, the Airedale, the Bedlington, the Irish, the Welsh, the Scottish, the West Highland white, the Dandie Dinmont, the cairn, and the Sealyham. The long-haired ones are the Skye, the Clydesdale, and the Yorkshire."
"My!" exclaimed Ernest. "I never heard of some of them before."
"Lots of people haven't," said Mr. Hartshorn, "but they're all worth knowing. You can see nearly all of them at a big show like the one held every year in New York. I'm going to tell you something about them all, if you'd like to listen."
"Oh, yes, please do," said Ernest.
"Well," said Mr. Hartshorn, arranging his photographs, "first let me explain what a terrier is. Most of them come from England and Scotland. A few from Wales and Ireland. Terrier means earth dog, and that's what they were called hundreds of years ago when they were first used to hunt animals that run into the ground or under stones. They had to be brave and gamey and not too big, and they became very active little dogs and mighty efficient. At first, some were smooth-coated and some wire-coated. Finally, however, Englishmen began to breed certain favorite kinds, and so the different breeds were gradually established.
"One of the oldest kinds is the Manchester or black-and-tan terrier. He was first bred by the mill hands in the Midland counties of England where he was famous as a ratter. Here's a picture of one. Handsome chap, isn't he? Nice, intelligent dog, too. His ears are cropped but his tail isn't. The white bull terrier is a near relative of the Manchester. I've already told you about him.
"Now here's the Boston. I guess you know this kind."
"Oh, yes," said Ernest. "Theron Hammond has one named Alert."
"This is an American-made breed," said Mr. Hartshorn, "out of British raw material. Some Boston fanciers developed it from the brindle bull terrier about 1890. It's one of the most popular breeds here now. A smallish dog – sometimes too small, I think – brindle and white. And here's the smooth fox terrier. You've seen lots of those. Another small one, not over twenty pounds. He was developed from the old English working terrier about fifty years ago.
"Now here's one that I don't believe you know. It's a Doberman pinscher. Funny name. Wonderfully smart dog, though. They call him the dog with the human brain. He comes from Germany, where he was first a watchdog and was later trained as a police dog. I believe the first ones were brought over here in 1907. A muscular dog, weighing forty or fifty pounds. He is marked like the Manchester but his coat is less silky.
"Now we come to the wires. The wire-haired fox terrier is really just like the smooth, but he looks quite different because of his stiff, wiry coat. Then there's the Airedale. You know about those. Best all-round dog in the world in my opinion. This is a Bedlington. You won't see many of those. Has a head like a lamb, hasn't he? And notice the silky topknot. He's a good little sporting dog if he does look so mild. They're mostly blue-gray and tan, and weigh about twenty-four pounds.
"Here's the liveliest one of the lot, the Irish terrier. Sometimes they call him the dare-devil. He's a great little scrapper. He comes from Ireland, of course. He's a red dog, weighs twenty-four pounds, and makes one of the best comrades a boy can have. The Welsh terrier is related to the wire-haired fox, though he looks more like a small Airedale, being black and tan. He's a little smaller than the Irishman.
"Several terriers come from Scotland, and as you can see from these pictures they're a short-legged, strong-headed, long-bodied lot. That's because they were bred to go into the ground and the piles of rocks after badger and such-like game. They had to be pretty tough to manage it, too. This is the cairn terrier. He used to be called the Highland terrier, and I guess he's more nearly like the original terrier of Scotland than any of the others, He came from the Hebrides Islands. I expect you've never seen one, for they aren't common in this country. But they're jolly little beggars. They're the smallest of the lot, weighing only twelve to fifteen pounds, but mighty hardy and gamey. They are various sandy and grizzled colors and always have this foxy little head.
"You may have seen one of these. It's a Scottish terrier, once called the Aberdeen, and we have a lot of good ones over here now. Some call him the Scottie or the die-hard. See how wise he looks, with his bright eyes under his big eyebrows. Notice the big head and short legs and upright tail. There are some sandy ones, but mostly they're a dark grizzled gray. They weigh eighteen to twenty pounds. Here's his first cousin, the West Highland white terrier. He comes from Argyllshire, on the west coast of Scotland, and he's always pure white. Like most of the other Scotchmen he has a harsh outer coat and a soft under coat, which are practically waterproof. He has a more pointed muzzle than the Scottie and he's smaller."
At the next picture the boys all laughed. It was such a queer-looking dog, with such a big head and long body, and a face like that of an old Scotchman.
"He's a Dandie Dinmont," said Mr. Hartshorn. "If you ever read 'Guy Mannering' by Sir Walter Scott, you may remember that he speaks of Dandie Dinmont's pepper and mustard terriers. The book was published in 1814, and Dandie Dinmont terriers have been popular in the border countries of Scotland ever since. The Dandie is related to the Bedlington. You see he has the same drooping ears and the topknot. Gray and fawn are the colors.
"This is the last of the wires. It's a Sealyham. He looks as though he might be related to the Scotch breeds, with his short legs and strong head. He was, in fact, bred for badger hunting, as they were, but he comes from Wales. We have had them in this country only since 1912. The Sealyham is a mighty lovable little dog. He is white, often with black or brown markings, and he's about the same size as the West Highlander.
"Now we come to the long-coated ones, and the first of them is the Skye, another of the Scotch breeds. He's a close relative of the cairn, but he has a long coat and hair over his eyes. He's about the same size as the West Highlander and he's blue-gray or fawn. They used to be much more common than they are now. By the way, did you ever read the story of Greyfriars Bobby?"
None of the boys had read it.
"Well, do so the first chance you get. That's on of the loveliest dog stories ever written, and it's true. Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye terrier.
"This is the Clydesdale or Paisley terrier. Not at all a common breed. I doubt if you'll ever see one in the United States. He looks something like the Skye, but his coat is silkier. He's steel blue on the body and head, with golden tan feet. The Yorkshire comes from the other side of the border, and he's something like the Clydesdale, only with longer legs and shorter body. He's a fancy dog with a wonderful coat, parted down the middle and sweeping the ground. He's steel blue with tan markings on the head, chest, and legs.
"There you have all the terriers," he concluded, "and I guess you've had a long enough lesson for one day. These facts are all very interesting, but they become prosy and confusing if taken in too large doses. Here, take this book home with you, and look it over at your leisure. You'll find in it all the things I've told you and a lot more besides."
