The Argosy, January 1907 — page 40: what you’re looking at

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

ed 222 she had unhooked the swivel, and Mr. Scales experienced all the agonies of ap- prehension of the early Christian martyr when the lions entered the arena. With one finger hooked lightly in the ring of his collar, Mrs. Scales led Jim up to her husband, and permitted him several satisfying sniffs at the latter’s legs. ‘Put your hands where he can lick them,’”’ she commanded. ‘‘ Then he will make friends.” Mr. Scales, with little nervous chills running up and down his spine, obedi- ently laid his hands on his knees. Jim transferred his attentions from Mr. Scales’s legs to his fingers, but failed to make the advances which Mrs. Scales expected. “It’s that horrible tar-soap you will insist on using,” she said. “ You can’t expect a dog to enjoy the taste of tar. Can’t you go and wash it off?” ‘““And rub some butter on instead, IL suppose,’ Mr. Scales returned sarcastic- ally. “ No, thank you. If Bill Sykes, here, can’t make friends without licking my hands we'll have to let it go at that.” The sound of the dinner-gong put an eid to further argument, and husband and wife proceeded to the dining-room, the third member of the party waddling behind, with his gaze focused on Mr, Scales’s calves. During the meal Mr. Scales contrived, through the medium of several large pieces of steak, to establish relations which, if not absolutely friendly, were at least not hostile, and by the time the evening was well advanced was able to move about without the paralyzing feel- ing that at any moment those formidable teeth might be fixed in some portion of his anatomy. When bedtime came Jim was accom- modated with several large and downy cushions in a corner of the breakfast- room, the husband turning a resolutely deaf ear to his wife’s hints that the poor fellow’ would feel lonely. “Kk K *K ** K Mr. Scales had just fallen into his first refreshing slumber, when he was awakened by a long-drawn howl, which seemed to come from under the bed. ‘‘ What the mischief’s that?” he asked, THE ARGOSY, starting up, and temporarily oblivious of his unwelcome guest. ‘Jim, I suppose,” responded his wife sleepily. “I told you he would feel lonesome, but you wouldn’t listen. You'd better go down and make him keep quiet.”’ “Make him keep quiet?’ echoed Mr. Scales indignantly. “ How on earth am I to do that?” “Give him a few good hard slaps,” suggested Mrs. Scales, in the same som- nolent tone. much; I want to go to sleep.” Mr. Scales, who would as readily have entered a cage of ravening tigers as ven- tured his person inside the breakfast- room while occupied by its present ten- ant, resigned himself to the inevitable. He was a light sleeper, and the re- mainder of his rest was broken by the protesting yowls of the imprisoned dog and a series of terrifying dreams in which the animal took a leading part. Next morning Jim, eager for human society after his solitary confinement, greeted his host in a comparatively friendly fashion. A few pieces of fish, administered at breakfast, still further cemented the alliance, and when Mr. Scales left for his office the animal graciously accompanied him to the front door. Unfortunately, at the moment Mr. Scales opened the door a large Persian cat, the cherished pet of a maiden lady who lived two doors away, was sunning herself contentedly on the steps. ‘There was a short, grunting bark; the hurtling of a heavy body against Mr. Scales’s legs, almost throwing him off his balance; a strangled squall, and the next moment a hundred-dollar cat was. lying dead on the stoop, while Jim, lick- ing his lips with infinite relish, was slowly lumbering back into the house. Appalled by the-suddenness and enor- mity of the tragedy, Mr. Scales stood, for a few seconds, staring at the lifeless bundle of fur. Then rallying his scat- tered faculties, he hurriedly seized it by the tail, and dragged it into the vestibule. He carried it at arm’s length up-stairs, closely followed by the delighted jim, and presented the thing to the horrified gaze of his wife. “Look what your precious dog has Comichboo (G ‘Please don’t talk so cS) (S@)