The Argosy, Vol. 84 No. 2 — page 125: what you’re looking at

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

SOME all right, but there’s individuals as well’s breeds. Pedigree don’t cut much more figger in a dog nor it does in a man. There’s dogs with blood so pure yuh c’n see through it, an’ what can chase their ancesters back to the canine Adam, an’ what air wuth all kind of money to weak- minded men an’ society women, but what, in actual dog values, ain’t wuth the pizon it’d take to kill ’°em. And there’s just common scrub dogs that’s so good an’ useful an’ true that if they ain’t got souls God made a mistake. “ An’ it’s the same way with men. There’s men that hide their no ‘count- ness behind a lot of great, great grands; an’ there’s men whose dads was hung for hoss-stealin’ an’ whose mothers boozed an’ swore, an’ yet for all that they was as clean as sunshine an’ as true as a oak- tree. It’s all in the individual. Nature’s a wise ole bird. She c’n start with some mighty ornery material, when she has to, an’ show some darn good results at the finish.” “And your dog died of old age?” I guessed, curious to know how the dog that was “some” had’ come to his end. ‘“ And you buried him on your own place so as io keep alive his memory?” “Old age nothin’!” grunted Meaney. “They thought he had hydrophoby. It was this way. Capt’n was a-gittin’ old an’ I’d give ’im the run of the place an’ divided my pension with ’im. I’m a ole soldier, yuh see. I'd set aside five dol- lars a month fer Capt’n’s benefit to buy ‘jm just the right kind of meat an’ to -make ’im comfortable in his old age, an’ with nothin’ to do but lie in his kennel at night an’ bask in the sun daytimes. The children was all growed up an’ gone, an’ Capt’n was about all me an’ the ole woman had left. “Well, there was a kid youngster down below here, a pesterin’, teasin’, no-’count young un, that was allers a-comin’ up here an’ botherin’ the ole dog. He’d roll over Capt’n when the dog wanted to sleep an’ dream in the sun. He’d throw sticks an’ stones at the pore ole feller; he’d pull DOG. 307 Cap’s ears an’ poke ’im in the ribs an’ do all kinds of devilment. ‘Capt’n stood it, patient like, as long as he could till one day, just to teach the kid a little manners an’ decent respect for old age, he up an’ snapped at his tor- mentor. He hardly drew blood on the boy’s leg; hardly left a mark that you could see with readin’-glasses. But you ought to have heard the holler that that kid an’ his folks raised! : ‘“* Hydrophoby!’ they shouted. His mother throwed a fit, an’ in no time they had a yard full of doctors. Of course nothin’ ever happened, an’ that howlin’ brat never lost a meal. “But they sure had it in for pore ole Cap, an’ the first thing I knowed here come a couple of policemen an’ says, says they, ‘ Newt, you’ll have to kill the dog.’ ” Old Newt Meaney paused here a mo- ment while he got a big, red bandanna handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped something out of the corner of one of his * eyes. Then he emptied his mouth into the cuspidor, shifted his crossed legs, cut a corner off his plug, and went on with his story. - ‘““ Say, mister,” he said with emotion, “that was the hardest thing I ever tried to do. Of course I had to tell ’em I’d do it. Hard as it was for me, I wasn’t goin’ to let them do it for fear they’d bungle it an’ give ole Capt’n a painful death. So I promised ’em I’d put ’im out of the way m’self; me who had never laid the weight of my little finger on ’im in violence since the day the boys brought ‘im home as a pup full fifteen year ago. ‘““ Hardest thing I ever tried to do, mis- ter, an’ I could scarcely bring m’self to do it. Why, sir, I might as well have shot one of my own flesh an’ blood. Didn’t I remember all the years he’d a-been with us? Didn’t I remember all the service he’d been to us? Come here, stranger.” The old man arose and led me to a window. ‘* See all that stretch of residences?” he waved, indicating a newly but thickly built-up portion of the town beyond a CORMICLOOOKS (C@)