Life — November 6, 1902 — page 8: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

“TOW DID YOU PEEL WHEN YoU SAW THOSE CHORUS GIRLS MARCH ON THE STAGE?” “I FELT LIKE SAYING ‘HIY, WIP, HORRAT f°"? friendship's tear in his eye, “but ’e, pore feller, was ‘it by a hottomobile, an’ that wuz the end of ‘im, A noble chap 'e was, too.’’ From that moment Crib assiduously taught Bill all the tricks of the fighting pit—the art of dashing in briskly and wrestling for an opening, how to fang an adversary and hold him helpless, the hold under the foreleg which makes your enemy punish himself in his efforts to tear away, and the fierce throat-hold that means cer- tain victory if you drive in deep enough and hang on. Bill practiced with old Crib every morn- ing, and in the afternoon—especially if his Man happened to walk along Central Park West, where the soft-eyed Isolde and the other ladies took the air—Bill made it a rule to rush at every dog he met, and fight him until he quit or run. The Jadies wagged approval of these gallant feats, They enjoyed the entertainment so much. “Isn't Willie a dear, strenuous fellow!” they murmured to one another. But these activities disturbed his Man. “Bill the Brute is your title hereafter,” he said sadly, after the pup’s fifth fight one day.‘‘and you'll live to regret it. If you keep on doing this sort of thing the In- evitable will overtake you.” Bill laughed a hearty dog laugh, and showed his Man all his strong, keen teeth. “You keep your eye on Bill,” he said re- + LIFE: assuringly, ‘and you'll see lots of good fighting. It’s the bulliest thing in the world. I put Crib out yester- day when we had a few words over @ bone. I know he's not fit now, but think of it, Man—TI beat Buxton’s And Crib in less than two minutes! no dog ever bested him before.” When Bill the Brute took his Man fora walk last Sunday afternoon, he was asplendid sight. His big chest, agile limbs, grand, wedge-shaped head, powerful jaws and supple back all shone like crusted snow. His eyes danced from pure joy of living. As he inhaled the fresh, flower-laden breezes from the Park he barked in boyish glee. He only bowed cere- monially to Isolde and the other ladies, for he had not yet decided which one was to be the joy of his life, and it wouldn't doto encourage any of them too much. “All have to do is to make my choice,” he told his Man in confidence. “T must do it soon, too. It’s pretty nearly time for me to settle down, I would like to beat a good big fellow this morning and give the girls a treat. Keeps ‘em interested in me, you know.” The victim appeared as if Fate were lead- ing him in leash. He was a tall, rangy- looking, red Irish setter, rather rusty and tattered as to the coat, but with clear eyes and springy movements that showed perfect health. The ladies tittered on beholding him. They knew just what was going to happen. ‘They drew their embroidered jackets and blankets closer around them- ‘selves with little anticipatory shudders and thrills of delight. Bill determined to add a wreath of humor to his laurels as a warrior. “Here, you,” he snarled contemptuously, as the red Irish gentleman approached with friendly eyes and wagging tail. ‘What are you doing in New York?” “Mo'ning, sub; mo‘ning, ladies,” the gen- tleman replied. ‘I’m hyuh on a little visit with my Man. He nevuh saw New York before, and I'm showing him about. My grandfathuh spent all his life up hyuh, though I've always lived in Gloucester Caounty, Virginiuh, hunting quail.” “Farmer, are you?” sneered Bill, raising the corners of his raw pink lips. “No, no, sub,” explained the gentleman, politely, though a trifle disconcerted. “I live in the country, to be suah, but I devote my energies to hunting rather than to agriculch’l pursuits. ** You'd better be careful, then, country- man,” Bill growled, ‘tor some bunco dog will come along and sell you a gold dog- biscuit.” Two of the ladies could not keep from tee-heeing at this. “Thank you kindly, sub, for your ad- vice,” the gentleman responded. “And you're also in danger of being well licked,” said Bill, retracting his lips fur- ther and showing formidable rows of teeth like white daggers. “T hope not, suh,” replied the Virginian, with dignity. And I just think I'll give you a nice, preliminary licking now,” snarled Bill, leaping for the stranger's throat. But the throat vanished. The gentleman frisked lightly aside from the rush of Bill the Brute, and, as his impetus carried Bill past, seized the latter deeply by the flank with a pair of jaws as powerful as those of an alligator. Bill was helpless. He snapped in every direction, but his fangs closed only on air. The Virginian held him aloft and shook him until his head whirled and his heart was surely going to fly out. The stranger's big teeth fast sapped Bill's vitality, and the shaking presently rendered him faint. Then, after contemptuously dusting the sidewalk with Bill the Brute, the Virginian flung him high over the stone wall and sent him crashing down inside the Park. The last thing of which Bill was aware before unconsciousness relieved him of his pain was the rangy form of the Virginian loom- ing high above him on the stone wall. “Anything furthuh I can do for you, suh?’’ he was asking. “Iftheyuh is, pray command me.” W. Q. Inglis, “ (TAMMANY is a sort of annex to ~ New York, isn’t it?” “ No—vermiform appendix.” Opulence. Is intimating the need of somebody ‘to save the republic from that kind of opulence by which public spirit languishes, and civic glory dies,” General John C. Black is none too clear. Unhappily, the various kinds of opulence look alike to many. Fancy our chagrin, were some of the best of usto act on General Black's suggestion in good faith, only to find in the event that we had rescued the republic from the kind of opulence that carries elections for Christianity and humanity, or the kind that keeps the tariff in the hands of its friends, or the kind that enables our territorial im- portance to be commensurate with our navy. comicbooks.com