Argosy, Vol. 122, No. 1 — page 71: what you’re looking at

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

FOUR man would insist; the only trouble was that John Malcolm couldn’t always understand what Collieboy tried to say as well as the dog understood him. But.that was the man’s fault, you see. A husky fifty-pounder, and twenty inches high at his shoulder the collie had been, when in the heyday of his full growth. “ Loyalty ” would have been a good extra name for him—still, to be referred to as a “‘ pal ” was considerable, after adversity hit. There had been a time or two when they hadn’t,eaten so heartily, or so regularly, but Collieboy made no complaint. They had kept going higher and cheaper to sleep, . always together, and the dog climbed extra stairs willingly—even eagerly, for he must be guard of this man now since the other ‘ dear one seemed to have gone away to stay. That guarding instinct remained strong in him, despite his advanced age. Once the motherly old landlady had ventured up into their attic room to clean the windows while Malcolm was out. Collieboy on his rug had offered no objection to this; all perfectly right and proper, and he wondered she hadn’t cleaned them before. But the land- lady happened to touch Mrs. Malcolm’s photograph on the shelf—an entirely dif- ferent matter. | The dog came up stiffly from the rug. He tried to growl, and couldn’t, but there was no mistaking the deep menace in his brown eyes. Motherly old landlady knew he was too old and feeble really to harm her, but those threatening eyes made her -retreat just the same. And she made it a point to tell Malcolm on his return that evening that he’d have to clean his own windows whenever they needed it agam, and goodness knew they could stand it pretty often. The attic lodger and his motherly old landlady had enjoyed many quarrels—dis- cussions, rather—over the old dog up-stairs. Their views on dogs, and on life in general for that matter, seemed so widely dissimilar. “It’s scandalous,” she would invariably begin, “‘ as old as you are, mornings, and as tired nights, to be always carrying that big, yellow thing down all them stairs and up again.” ‘But he must have his exercise,’ Mal- -the master. not? BITS. 61 colm would protest. ‘ And remember, you -must never bring him down in my absence; he can’t hear a lick, and some confounded automobile might run over him. _ She would promise solemnly, and then the old man’s tone would change into an- other anxiety, making him ask: ‘“‘ T—I trust you’re not: going to object to our continuing living here in your home?” “Lord, no!” she’d assure him. ‘“ That two-dollar room’s yours for life. Keep -some cats in it, too, if you like—or a parrot. But I vow I can’t see yet what good that old deaf-and-dumb dog is to you any more.” “He is my silent pal,” the lodger would always explain to her patiently. ‘I often call him that, and I like to have him that way. Collieboy is much better society than noisy, two-legged upstarts who talk back too much. And I am company for him at the same time; he enjoys my talking to him, in his way.” John Malcolm’s home-talk to his dog, had he but realized it, was gradually dimin- ishing down into bare whispers with the years—as any one’s speech will do when .there never is an audible reply. And, con- trariwise, the daily box-factory clatter in his ears was a worry to the old man; it made him fear that he himself might go deaf one of these days. “You average up a dozen dogs,” he would always continue to the motherly old ‘landlady in their tiffs, ‘“‘and then average up the dozen best human-being friends you've got, and see how you come out. Try it, madam, and you’ll hurry and get your- self a collie.” . *“ Well, I'd get one that could hear me and bark a bit if I did. But now, dear Mr. ‘Malcolm, why don’t you let the doctor—”’ And right there the old man, suddenly horrified anew, would lift his hand in quick remonstrance. That standing offer of the veterinarian to put the dog out of the way, painlessly and kindly, was like a sacrilege to Collieboy was his dog, was he And he wasn’t dying yet a while. And when he got ready to, which was doubtful as long as strictly fresh eggs held out, then it was still their own business exclusively. And when the sad moment should arrive, who had a better right than cComiclbooks.com