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DOG STARS 
 
 THREE LUMINARIES 
 IN THE DOG WORLD 
 
 MRS. T. P. O'CONNOR 
 
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 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924001170731 
 
DOG STARS 
 
 Three Luminaries in the Dog World 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. T. P. O'CONNOR 
 
 author of "l myself," "little thanktod,' 
 "my beloved south," etc., etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY WILL RANNELLS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
COPTBIGHT, 1915, BY 
 
 GEOBGE II. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 0\R 
 
 
TO MY FKIEND 
 
 FREDERICK NORTON 
 
 WHOSE QUICK WIT SUGGESTED 
 
 THE HAPPY TITLE OF 
 
 THIS BOOK 
 
A WORD FOR DOG STARS 
 
 There is something intolerably pathetic in 
 those lines of Yeats, 
 
 "When you are old and gray and full of sleep. 
 And nodding by the fire, take down this book. 
 And slowly read, and dream of the soft look 
 Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep ; 
 How many loved your beauty with love false or true. 
 But one man loved — the pilgrim soul in you." 
 
 And there is more than one woman — even a 
 beautiful woman— who has never found the man 
 to love the pilgrim soul in her; and, after pas- 
 sionate protestations and broken vows, old, disil- 
 lusioned, sad, and deserted, she has regained 
 faith in love and fidelity through the devotion of 
 a — dog. 
 
 He does not change when beauty flees, nor 
 when poverty comes, nor when health goes. He 
 gives his heart, his true and single heart to his 
 mistress forever. 
 
 She may be old and gray, with furrowed face, 
 but he sees the pilgrim soul in her. He cannot 
 voice his devotion, but his love is never dumb. 
 It goes ever to the sorrowing heart and gives 
 
 7 
 
8 A WORD FOR DOG STARS 
 
 tender comfort. And it is not possible to over- 
 rate the unselfish devotion of a noble dog. 
 
 When I went to Edinburgh, my first visit was 
 not to the castle where a beautiful and romantic 
 queen had suffered, but to a bronze fountain, 
 erected by the Baroness Burdett-Coutts, to the 
 memory of Grey friars Bobby, a little Highland 
 terrier, who lived and plaj^ed and slept upon his 
 master's grave for thirteen years. It is the most 
 beautiful and the most touching record of fidel- 
 ity in all the world. 
 
 And, if the stories of Max Gladstone O'Con- 
 nor, his life and his friends, and Coaxey, the 
 comedian, seem exaggerated, it is only because 
 dogs are not understood by those who pass them 
 
 by- 
 
 Neither of my illustrious dead attempted any- 
 thing impossible for an intelligent dog. I talked 
 to them both a great deal — they were constantly 
 with me — and a little trouble and perseverance 
 produces surprising results in developing the 
 quick intelligence of an observant comrade. 
 
 A friend in England claims that her bulldog 
 talks. "What," I asked her, "does he say?" 
 
 "When, with my husband, he makes a visit, and 
 is bored, he cries out in a terrible voice, 'I want 
 to go home to mother.' " 
 
A WORD FOR DOG STARS 9 
 
 "You should teach him better manners," I 
 said, and truth compels me to add that when he 
 went to walk with his "mother" and myself, 
 though obviously bored — for he returned home 
 almost immediately — it was without a word. 
 
 His pertinent speech, however, pales into in- 
 significance before the brilliant accomplishments 
 of Rolf, the German Wonder Dog, who, looking 
 at pictures, taps with his paw, "A bird with a 
 blue tail," "A fat pig," laiows his multiplication 
 table, and converses with German savants. 
 
 But why educate dogs? We love them for 
 their indestructible fidelity and abiding trust, not 
 for wit or wisdom. Their days are lamentably 
 short, therefore it has not been difficult to record 
 the true history of these Dog Stars. 
 
 May their lives encourage other lonely people 
 to find the happiness which I have found in the 
 companionship of devoted, silent, understanding 
 — Friends. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 »AOB 
 
 Beau, a Nobie Cun ly 
 
 CHAPTER H 
 Max Gladstone O'ConnoHj Gentleman 26 
 
 CHAPTER in 
 Max Makes a Reformation 44 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 Max and Jack the Rippeb . . . o <■ . . 61 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Max Presents Himself at Buckingham Palace . . 80 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 Max Comforts the Sick, and Meets Punch , . . 96 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 Max Discovers a Romance 118 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Mr. Labouchehe Tells Max a Dog Story .... 136 
 
 11 
 
12 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Max Selects a Hat, and Finds a Ring .... 151 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 Max in Court Gives Testimony 169 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 Max Conquers Jealousy ........ 183 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 The End of a Noble Life ....... 194i 
 
 CHAPTER XHI 
 A Gay Dog Arrives 207 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 Coaxey Says His Prayers and Dances the Highland Fling 230 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 Coaxey As a Sportsman 239 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 Coaxey^s Victorious Battle, and the Lonely End of a 
 
 JoY'Ous Life . 256 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 And Indeed Max Looked a Thorough Aristocrat . . Frontisjricce 
 
 FAOB 
 
 Occasionally Stooping His Dear Head to Give the Sick Dog a 
 
 Lick of Encouragement and of Cheer 70 
 
 "Good Dog! A Rat. Bravo. A Rat!" 110 
 
 The Poodle was Kept in for the Whole Afternoon . . . 158 
 
 Coaxey Had Grown Affectionate and Appealing in His Old 
 
 Age ............. . 228 
 
DOG STARS 
 
DOG STARS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 BEAU^ A NOBLE CUR 
 
 In the dear days of my youth I said to an old 
 man of varied experience — he had made a bril- 
 liant name as a lawyer; he had amassed a for- 
 tune ; he had married a celebrated beauty, and as 
 a cabinet minister during President Lincoln's 
 administration he had become immortal in the 
 annals of history — "Now, tell me, while I am 
 young, what makes happiness?" And he said, 
 in quaint, stilted phraseology^, "The cultivation 
 of the affections around the domestic hearth. 
 Happiness is not for me — I am alone." 
 
 His words aroused instant sympathy and 
 touched me deeply, but youth is often shy and 
 inarticulate. Slipping my hand in his, I could 
 only say, "Why don't you keep a dog?" 
 
 When he saw me blushing rosily, he pressed 
 my hand reassuringly and, with a smile, said, "I 
 had never thought of that. Suppose you give me 
 one?" 
 
 17 
 
18 DOG STARS 
 
 "I will," I said, and then the intense joy of 
 living at busy sixteen made me forget. And, 
 months later, when I began to look for a fox 
 terrier, I could not find one to my liking. It had 
 been a rainy spring, and the many avenues of 
 trees made beautiful Washington a waving sea 
 of whispering green, and slanting vistas of pur- 
 ple and amethyst, from drooping banners of 
 wistaria. The sky was bluest of the blue, and 
 there was a fresh and saucy wind that thrilled 
 the air with a creative touch, making even the 
 flowers bend and sway toward each other. A 
 longish walk led me through Lafayette Square, 
 and, being rather tired, I sat down under a blos- 
 soming chestnut tree, a little distance away from 
 a group of merry, boisterous, little children. 
 
 I was too happy to have dreams or visions ; it 
 was enough to be alive in such a beautiful, sun- 
 bathed, flowery springtime. 
 
 I could almost hear the lilies opening their 
 buds, and see the gladioli laugh as the sun kissed 
 their vivid faces. What a gleaming, rapturous, 
 young world it was ! I laid my hat on my knee 
 and leaned my head against the body of the tree, 
 and I must have fallen asleep, when something 
 warm and soft, dropping on my hand, awoke me. 
 
 Suddenly I shivered, and, looking down, I saw 
 
BEAU, A NOBLE CUR 19 
 
 that it was blood. The warm bright air and 
 the world were not so perfect after all, for, al- 
 most fainting beside me, was a poor httle yellow- 
 and- white cur, with a heavy, old, jagged tin pail 
 tied to his tail, and a wound in his small, thin 
 shoulder, where a sharp stone had struck him. 
 
 Human beings had starved, and beaten, and 
 treated him cruelly, but his fine faith in the good 
 of humanity was indestructible. There he was, a 
 suffering outcast, sore and wounded, but gently 
 licking my hand with his dry, hot tongue, and 
 looking up at me with eyes full of trust and love. 
 
 I unfastened the bucket that was lacerating his 
 trembling legs, tore my handkerchief into strips, 
 bound up his shoulder, and a nurse carrying a 
 dimpled baby gave me a drop of milk in a tin 
 cup for him. 
 
 He drank thirstily, wagging his poor, lame 
 tail in gratitude. And, after a rest, he could 
 falteringly follow me home. 
 
 At first he was timid of everything and every- 
 body. He slept in my room, and during the 
 night he would start crying out in his poor fright- 
 ened dog dreams, and crouch down in his basket, 
 as if someone stood over him with a whip. 
 
 He could not believe that peace and kindness 
 would endure. Sorrow had sharpened his under- 
 
20 DOG STARS 
 
 standing, and he seemed always to be saying with 
 his soft, beautiful, honest, yellow eyes: "What 
 can I do to show you how grateful I am?" 
 
 He never let me out of his sight, in the 
 house, and when I went out he waited pa- 
 tiently and uncomplainingly on a chair in the 
 hall until my return. He knew when I was 
 going to a dance, and, while the maid fastened 
 my gown, he sat by the door in readiness to 
 descend the stairs with me, and at two or three 
 o'clock in the morning he was alert to ask if it 
 was a good party and if I had many partners. 
 He scarcely ever barked, although he frequently 
 made abortive attempts, opening his mouth; then 
 he remembered tliat noise was not for him, 
 snapped his fine white teeth together and re- 
 mained silent. 
 
 "He makes me uncomfortable," said my father, 
 "with his sad, accusing eyes. I haven't done any- 
 thing to him. A dog with a past isn't natural. 
 You know where you are with a rollicking puppy 
 who chews up your shoes. But this poor little 
 animal, unnaturally good and obedient, harrows 
 my feehngs. I wish, if you can find him a good 
 home, you'd give him away." 
 
 "I've got a plan," I said, "that will make two 
 people happy. Our household is too full of 
 
BEAU, A NOBLE CUR 21 
 
 change and excitement for him. Too many peo- 
 ple, too much company, too many cats, another 
 dog that he is not sure of. His nerves have been 
 so nearly shattered that what he wants is a quiet 
 home with a friend from whom he will never be 
 separated." 
 
 "I think," said my father, "you have diagnosed 
 his case exactly." 
 
 "Beauregard" — but everyday name "Beau" — 
 had been with us four M^eeks then, and had grown 
 almost plump, and his hair, with constant brush- 
 ing, was soft and silky. But he was not a beauty 
 — there was no denying his lack of race, nor that 
 he was mongrel. But his clear, speaking, yellow 
 eyes, beautiful and true, redeemed his mixed an- 
 cestry. 
 
 I wrote my old friend, telling him of my 
 treasure trove, and described Beau's character 
 and the manner of his finding. 
 
 "I had," I said, "intended to send you a gay 
 young fox-terrier of unimpeachable descent, 
 bearing with him his certificate of high degree. 
 But he would fringe the ends of your valuable 
 rugs with his sharp teeth, and start you from 
 your books by sudden barks when he saw other 
 dogs in the street. All fox-terriers, no matter 
 how well bred, are gregarious; and occasionally 
 
22 DOG STARS 
 
 he might tear your heart-strings by running 
 away. Many of them are adventurous vaga- 
 bonds, so on the whole, you will be happier and 
 have more satisfaction with Beau. His only 
 blemish is his plebeian descent, otherwise he has 
 all the virtues. 
 
 "He is clean and obedient. He knows that 
 silence is golden and practices it. He is intelli- 
 gent, and realizes his own limitations, never 
 going near a big dog to fight. He is loving: and 
 adversity has made him very patient. He will wait 
 for your affection, and, oh I dear friend, he will 
 win it; and, little dog that he is, he will make 
 you less lonely, and will sometimes remind you 
 of one who loves and offers you comfort through 
 a friend as faithful as herself." 
 
 In another year Beau was monarch of all he 
 surveyed. There were no children, or dogs, or 
 cats, to interfere with him. He lived in a very 
 beautiful, quiet house. He was never separated 
 day or night from the gentlest and kindest of mas- 
 ters. He slipped in among a pile of books, and 
 slept on a capacious sofa all the morning. He 
 went for long drives in the afternoon behind a 
 very old soothing pair of horses, and at nine 
 o'clock he accompanied his master to bed, and 
 
BEAU, A NOBLE CUR 23 
 
 rolled himself up on a worn patchwork silk quilt, 
 in a round willow basket. 
 
 Developed by happy environment in his ma- 
 ture years he became quite a gay dog, trying to 
 frisk and bark to amuse his master, for he noticed 
 the somber look on my old friend's face, and, 
 when he couldn't lick it away by applying his 
 tongue to the loved, withered hand, he would try 
 to turn a somersault and bark suddenly, always 
 with an eye to note the effect. And invariably 
 his efforts were rewarded, for his master smiled. 
 
 One day he fetched back a little paper ball 
 that my friend had thrown, and then, to liis joy, 
 when they went out to drive, the steady fat 
 horses, always ready to stop, were reined up op- 
 posite a windowful of joy- giving, round objects. 
 And his master went into the shop, and came 
 out with two beautiful balls : a little red one and 
 a white one. That was probably the happiest 
 moment of Beau's life, and he barked spon- 
 taneously and loudly. From that moment he was 
 a changed dog, more sure of himself, more pos- 
 sessive of his master. His courage increased, and 
 after a game of ball he even ventured into the 
 street alone, and occasionally made an impudent 
 remark to a dog of his own size. He knew in- 
 stinctively his master's grave character, and his 
 
24 DOG STARS 
 
 importance in the world, and he felt that when 
 he unbent so far as to play a game of ball with 
 him, his position was assured. And, while 
 he never gave himself airs exactly, no longer 
 humble and afraid, he was just a nice little dog, 
 loving to his master and old friends, but saucy 
 and indifferent to those whom he disliked. 
 
 He lived to a very great age, and his plebeian 
 blood served him well, for he never became deaf, 
 or blind, or obese. He had absorbed the strength 
 of many races, and his forbears, accustomed to 
 hardships and scant fare, had given him powers 
 of endurance, and made him abstemious. He 
 was never greedy for rich food, so, as the English 
 would say, he had kept his "figger," and his sense 
 both of smell and of hearing. 
 
 But, like verj?- old people, he grew weaker as 
 the days went by, and one morning, lying before 
 the fire, he closed his gentle, faithful eyes, and 
 never opened them again. 
 
 "In twelve years," his master said that after- 
 noon, "Beau has been my constant companion. 
 He wouldn't go out with any of the servants. I 
 had to take him for walks, and the exercise kept 
 me in health. He cheered my solitude. He did 
 not mind my being old, but loved me the more. 
 Oh, my dear, what am I to do without my Uttle 
 
BEAU, A NOBLE CUR 25 
 
 faithful friend? Either the days of dogs should 
 be lengthened, or the span of man's existence 
 should be more brief." 
 
 And sorrowing together we went out into the 
 old garden, and Beau was laid to rest under a 
 beautiful, brave, magnolia tree, which had put 
 forth two very early spring blossoms. I gathered 
 one, and dropped it on the little mound, which 
 now is hidden by a most stately marble monu- 
 ment. For the fine house and old, romantic gar- 
 den at the death of Beau's master were bought by 
 the Government, and a wing of the splendid Con- 
 gressional Library rises on the grave of the gen- 
 tle little dog. His happiest years were spent 
 sleeping among noble books. What more fitting 
 than that he sleep under them forever ! 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 MAX GLADSTONE o'cONNOE 
 
 (gentleman) 
 
 When I am most disapproving and dissatis- 
 fied with myself— and to me that state of mind 
 often happens — I try to remember the things 
 which have given me greatest satisfaction, and 
 chief among them is my gift of Beau to his lonely 
 old master. 
 
 I know that no household can be really happy 
 without a steadfast friend. One who never gos- 
 sips, nor betrays secrets, nor makes mischief, nor 
 asks tactless questions, nor exhibits embarrassing 
 curiosity, but with watchful understanding is 
 ever ready to be cheerful, or self-restrained, 
 silent, or boisterous, quiet or active, at the sug- 
 gestion of the master whom he trusts and loves. 
 All these virtues which are separately found in 
 man can only in combination be found in a dog. 
 Luckily they are continually reproduced in the 
 species, and a tiny bunch of rough hair often 
 possesses greater loyalty than a human being, 
 
 26 
 
MAX GLADSTONE O'CONNOR 27 
 
 good to look at, with a soul to save, but when 
 our friends die, we grieve for them, even as the 
 mistress of Hamish who calls 
 
 Little lad, little lad, and who's for an airing. 
 
 Who's for the wire and who's for a run; 
 Four little pads to go fitfully faring. 
 
 Looking for trouble and calling it fun? 
 Down in the sedges the water rats revel. 
 
 Up in the woods there are bunnies at play 
 With a weather eye wide for a Little Black Devil: 
 
 But the Little Black Devil won't come to-day. 
 
 To-day at the farm the ducks may slumber. 
 
 To-day may the tabbies an anthem raise; 
 Rat and rabbit beyond all number 
 
 To-day untroubled may go their ways: 
 To-day is an end of the shepherd's labour. 
 
 No more will the sheep be hunted astray; 
 And the Irish terrier, foe and neighbour. 
 
 Says: "What's old Hamish about to-day?" 
 
 Ay, what indeed? In the nether spaces 
 
 Will the soul of a Little Black Dog despair? 
 Will the Quiet Folk scare him with shadow faces ? 
 
 And how will he tackle the Strange Beasts there? 
 Tail held high, I'll warrant, and bristling. 
 
 Marching stoutly, if sore afraid; 
 Padding it steadily, softly whistling — 
 
 That's how the Little Black Devil was made. 
 
 Then well-a-day for a "cantie callant," 
 
 A heart of gold and a soul of glee, — ■ 
 Sportsman, gentleman, squire and gallant. 
 
 Teacher, maybe, of you and me. 
 Spread the turf on him light and level. 
 
 Grave him a headstone clear and true: 
 "Here lies Hamish, the Little Black Devil, 
 
 And half of the heart of his mistress, too." 
 
28 DOG STARS 
 
 A girl who from infancy had been blind, at 
 nineteen recovered her sight, and was taken by a 
 lady to see the world. Flowers and trees, and 
 grass, and streams, she had seen in her dreams; 
 but there were delightful mysteries to be named. 
 And, when a Bulldog came toward them, the lady 
 asked if she knew what the monster was called, 
 and the girl replied: "No, but he looks as if he 
 could be a faithful friend." And the bulldog 
 gratefully licked her hand. 
 
 Years before I went to London all I had ever 
 read of the Thames fascinated me. The deep, 
 enigmatic, placid river, pursuing its quiet way 
 through the greatest city in the world, guarding 
 all secrets, in the darkness of the night taking to 
 its still bosom the desperate and despairing, and 
 giving them cool and perfect sleep, bearing on 
 its broad bosom ships and barges to far away 
 southern ports, from England to India — • 
 
 This happier ship her course would run. 
 From lands of snow to lands of sun. 
 
 The Thames! beloved of poets, painters and 
 writers, of Thackeray and of Dickens. How 
 many of Dickens' books were conceived and peo- 
 pled, as he made his long, nocturnal walks on 
 the banks of that river of mysteries ! 
 
MAX GLADSTONE O'CONNOR 29 
 
 And Whistler understood its myriad varying 
 moods, and strange fantasies. How tenderly he 
 reproduced its intangible, transparent grays, its 
 fair English gold, when the sun of spring was 
 reflected on its broad bosom, or the deep, purple 
 twilight, when the river seemingly absorbed all 
 the richness of the sky. 
 
 "You must," he said, when I was looking for 
 a little house, "live on the Thames. It is like a 
 grown-up fairy-book, always full of beautiful 
 color and romance." 
 
 A few days after his marriage, when I went 
 with the Laboucheres to the White House in Tite 
 street— he had just returned from a winter in 
 Paris — nothing had been unpacked, and tea was 
 served on wooden boxes in quaint blue-and-white 
 china cups without saucers. 
 
 Mr. Labouchere, who loved the unusual, drank 
 two cups of tea, helped himself from a square 
 dish to several slices of bread and butter, and 
 highly commended packing-cases as tea-tables. 
 
 Whistler, who was in great spirits, roared with 
 laughter, and declared their unsettled condition 
 was due to the charm of the Thames. "The river 
 has changed during the last ten daj^s from minute 
 to minute, and I've done nothing but paint, paint, 
 paint," he said. "It has been glorious — our wed- 
 
30 DOG STARS 
 
 ding feast was eaten on the largest box, for the 
 sunset that night was a nocturne in ashes of roses 
 — the most wonderful thing. I painted until 
 nine o'clock." 
 
 "And have you," Mr. Labouchere asked, "been 
 to a ham and beef shop?" 
 
 "Yes," said Whistler, "we have." 
 
 "Ah I" said Mr. Labouchere, "that is where I 
 envy you. When Henrietta was taking a cure 
 in Germany the caretaker of our house deserted 
 me and I went to a ham and beef shop and 
 bought food. Never, never shall I forget the 
 excellence of that meal. I envy the poor." 
 
 Whistler lived and died on the Thames. I 
 hope the changing colors made a radiant arch 
 for the passage of that gay spirit Avhen at dawn 
 it winged its way from earth. 
 
 I followed his advice and found quite a pretty 
 little new house on the Thames near the beauti- 
 ful houses of Parliament. 
 
 How pathetically anxious I was to have the 
 interior charming, and above all to present an air 
 of culture I For was I not from Texas, and who 
 in London knew aught of the Lone Star State, 
 except that we bounded Mexico on the north? 
 
 An Englishman, wittj^ and daring in his con- 
 
MAX GLADSTONE O'CONNOR 31 
 
 versation, one day began a somewhat bold narra- 
 tive. 
 
 "Don't," his wife said, "tell that story. Mrs. 
 O'Connor will be shocked." 
 
 "No, she won't," he said. "She's a Mexican." 
 
 And the little house on the Embankment, 
 when finished, looked good to my eyes. It was 
 my first home after years of living in other 
 people's houses, and I loved it. There was a 
 dining-room "suite" of T. P.'s impecunious 
 bachelor days, bought on the hire system, which 
 was terribly philistine, but it was comfortable. 
 Men always select comfortable furniture, and 
 they would select comfortable wives, but for lack 
 of judgment. 
 
 The narrow dining-room was an Indian red, 
 which softened and mercifully blurred the out- 
 lines of the bachelor sideboard and chairs. The 
 drawing-room walls were apricot, a good back- 
 ground for the three landscapes by Inness, which 
 not even necessitous poverty had induced me to 
 part Avith, And a little valuable furniture, that 
 had begun life in France, sailed to New Orleans, 
 was discovered there by my father, bought and 
 shipped to Texas, and afterward forwarded to 
 me in New York, gave it an air of my beloved 
 South. 
 
32 DOG STARS 
 
 Considerable damage had been done in its 
 transport to England, for those were troublous 
 times, and Irish politicians were regarded more 
 suspiciously than our militant suffragists of the 
 present day. 
 
 When large, square boxes addressed to an 
 Irish member, arrived from New York, officials, 
 suspecting mischief, cautiously thrust iron spikes 
 through the contents. My pictures by Inness 
 escaped, but a cruel wound gaped in the breast 
 of Donna Isabella Teresa Iturbide, a lovely nun 
 of Mexico. It was restored at considerable ex- 
 pense, the furniture carefully repaired, and 
 finally the little house on the Thames was com- 
 plete. When I looked out of my window a sun- 
 shiny morning the river was like a burnished mir- 
 ror ; or more often a gray sky made it a tarnished 
 silver riband, livened by sails of red and orange, 
 which carried slowl}^ moving boats out to sea. 
 
 And when the gulls were hungry their fretful 
 cries woke me in the early dawn, and the air 
 was filled with beautiful, slanting black and silver 
 wings. 
 
 T. P. was working on the Parnell movement, 
 and Toodie was going to a day school. I was 
 busy housekeeping. There was always something 
 to be done, for a house is like a friend — it cannot 
 
MAX GLADSTONE O'CONNOR 33 
 
 thrive under neglect. There was but one thing 
 necessary to complete the happiness of the little 
 household — a dog. 
 
 I had planned to look about for a Highland 
 terrier, with a decent pedigree, when Fate, in her 
 sweetest mood, brought me Max. 
 
 We had tried Toodie, that too fascinating and 
 ingenious young gentleman, with home educa- 
 tion, but it had proved a failure. He developed 
 nine o'clock headaches, which disappeared gi-adu- 
 ally during the day. The teachers indulged him. 
 He made himself most agreeable to them. We 
 let him sit up late in the evenings, allowed him to 
 go with us to the theater, and, not being dis- 
 ciplinarians, we finally saw the absolute necessity 
 of sending him to a public school. 
 
 We were daringly poor, and his little outfit 
 and the school fees were about all we could man- 
 age. 
 
 "We have," I said to T. P., "everything now 
 except his second suit." 
 
 "Can't he do without that?" said T. P. 
 
 "No," I said, "the regulations call for three 
 suits, two for every day, and an Eton jacket and 
 gray trousers for Sunday." 
 
 "All right," said T. P. "I'll take him out this 
 morning and get him a tweed suit." 
 
34 DOG STARS 
 
 "Not too light, and not too dark," I said, "but 
 a gay, grave, bojdsh-looking tweed." 
 
 "Won't I," he said, "have to hunt about for 
 that a bit?" 
 
 "What if you do? The morning is young, 
 and so are you, and so is Toodie," I said. "Take 
 a httle trouble in your selection and reveal genius, 
 which is only a faculty for infinite pains." 
 
 "I don't claim," said T. P., "any genius for 
 tweeds." 
 
 In those days I was the treasurer, and from 
 my purse I took thirty shillings, and the two 
 boys — one nine, the other thirty-nine — stepped 
 j auntily forth together. 
 
 The day wore on and they did not return 
 either for lunch or tea. The long absence made 
 me a trifle anxious, and I wished that my elo- 
 quence on the subject of tweeds had been less 
 convincing. 
 
 At half past six o'clock, while I was dressing 
 for dinner, the front door opened noisily, a cold 
 blast of air penetrated to my room, and I heard 
 Toodie say: 
 
 "I'll bring him some milk; I think he'll like 
 that." 
 
 "Warm it a little," said T. P. 
 
 "Dear me," I thought, "can it be possible they 
 
MAX GLADSTONE O'CONNOR 35 
 
 have brought a baby back with them?" I fas- 
 tened my belt, ran down to the dining-room, and 
 there, sitting by the fire, was a noble black-and- 
 tan collie. 
 
 "Is he ours?" I asked T. P., with my hand on 
 his silky head. 
 
 "Yes," he said. "Isn't he beautiful?" 
 
 "Where," I said, "did you find him?" 
 
 "At the Dogs' Home," said T. P. "Before we 
 did our shopping we went to the Zoo. The wild 
 animals suggested domestic ones. We thought 
 of a dog. And after lunch we wended our way 
 not too hurriedly to Battersea. It was difficult 
 to make up our minds — at least there were half 
 a dozen dogs that I liked — but Toodie had set 
 his heart on this one. He was the most expen- 
 sive, so we bought him." 
 
 "What did he cost?" I asked. 
 
 "Exactly thirty shillings." 
 
 "All of the price of the tweed suit!" I said. 
 
 "He is the tweed suit," said T. P. "Toodie 
 insisted that he would much rather have a dog 
 than clothes — that settled it." 
 
 "We can't send a dog to school with him," I 
 said, "and the treasury is empty. Where are 
 the clothes to come from?" 
 
 "We'll manage somehow," said T. P. gayly. 
 
36 DOG STARS 
 
 "Maybe," said Toodie soberly, "I had better 
 wait a while before I go to school." 
 
 "No," I said, "you must go to Old Hall Ware 
 this week." 
 
 "And leave my dog?" said Toodie. 
 
 "We won't talk about that now ; we must think 
 of a name for him. What shall it be?" 
 
 "Max," said Toodie. "He's the nicest boy I 
 ever knew. I wish he was here." 
 
 "And I'll write to New York, and tell him 
 that we've named a beautiful coUie for him. 
 Dear, unselfish, old Max. He will be pleased." 
 
 T. P., whose mind those days ran prettj'- con- 
 stantly on home rule and Mr. Gladstone, said: 
 
 "Max has ej^es just like Mr. Gladstone." 
 
 Then I said: "We'll call him Max Gladstone 
 O'Connor." 
 
 "Max Gladstone O'Connor, Gentleman," cor- 
 rected Toodie. "The man who sold him to us said 
 if we bought him from a dog fancier who knew 
 all about him he would have had a splendid pedi- 
 gree. Didn't he, Tomse? Only the very best 
 dogs in the Dogs' Home are thirty shillings." 
 
 And indeed Max looked a thorough aristocrat : 
 a silky, black blanket lay across his slender back, 
 his tan legs were well feathered, and his tail was 
 like a long waving plume. How so remarkable 
 
MAX GLADSTONE O'CONNOR 37 
 
 a friend had even been abandoned it was impossi- 
 ble to conjecture. Probably his owners were 
 only stopping temporarily in London and were 
 obliged to leave town at once. 
 
 The next day Mr. Parnell, a great dog lover — • 
 he asked when he was dying that his retriever, 
 Grouse, might sit where he could see him — made 
 the acquaintance of Max, and pronounced him 
 a collie with probably a Gordon setter ancestor, 
 which would account for his slightly blunt nose 
 and fine width of head between his black, well- 
 marked eyebrows. His eyes, deep brown, 
 thoughtful, kind, intelligent and, above all, rea- 
 sonable, were unforgetable. 
 
 Justin McCarthy said it was a pity that they 
 could not be transplanted into a human head. 
 
 He was dumb, but he spoke continually with 
 those true, honest eyes, transmitting his thoughts 
 like wireless telegraphy. He was different from 
 all other dogs. And he had a great personality. 
 
 For the first days of his life with us he was 
 dreadfully depressed, and even during a week 
 of mellow sunshine in November, when he and 
 Toodie went for walks along the golden river, 
 he was sedate, and his spirits never rose to a run. 
 Then my dear little son went to school, my spirits 
 went down to zero, and Max rose to the occasion. 
 
38 DOG STARS 
 
 I was sitting looking sadly in the fire, and won- 
 dering if my life were always to be saddened by 
 separations from those I loved — as, alas! it has 
 been — when Max turned his eyes up to mine with 
 infinite sympathy and understanding and gently 
 laid his paw on my knee. 
 
 I gravely shook hands with him. He dropped 
 his paw to my foot, and left it there, knowing 
 that a kindly human touch helps in time of 
 trouble. 
 
 After a while he got up and walked to the 
 front door, looked back at me, and barked gently. 
 
 "Do you think," I asked him, "that we had 
 better go for a walk?" 
 
 He barked cheerfully, saying, "Yes, I do," 
 and waited, while I put on my hat and jacket. 
 Having some errands at the Army and Navy 
 Stores, I walked to the Vauxhall Bridge road 
 tram. When we got in. Max, thinking to amuse 
 me, shook hands with all the passengers. He 
 would seat himself gravely in front of a man, 
 offer his paw, then move on to his neighbor, 
 until he had distributed his attentions equally 
 up one line of seats, and down the other. Then 
 he sighed gratefully that the effort was over, 
 for he did not care for poor, ill-dressed folk. 
 They called too greatly upon his sympathies and 
 
\ 
 
 \ 
 
 MAX GLADSTONE O'CONNOR 39 
 
 distressed him. He was always polite to them, 
 he was no snob, but he liked well dressed people, 
 and good company, and fine houses, and no peer 
 of the Realm ever observed class distinction more 
 rigidly. He detested going into the kitchen, even 
 for his meals. If I insisted on it he would go, 
 but in his haste to get back upstairs he swal- 
 lowed his dinner at one gulp, and suffered after- 
 ward from indigestion. And he would never, 
 under any circumstances, take a walk with a 
 servant; either he would accompany a member 
 of his family or remain at home. 
 
 When we arrived at the Army and Navy 
 Stores, the porter, whose duty it was to care 
 for dogs while their mistresses were shopping, 
 had already a large English mastiff, a restless 
 fox terrier, a Dandy Dinmont, an injured look- 
 ing, greatly bored pug, and a liUiputian Pome- 
 ranian to look after. Each dog had a strap 
 fastened to his collar and the strap was attached 
 to an iron hook near the doorway. 
 
 Max followed me up the steps, spoke politely 
 but distantly to the other dogs. Inspected the 
 straps and hooks. Then with a pitying, superior 
 air, he looked at me and said: 
 
 "Not if I know it. No forcible detention 
 for me. It may be necessary for these foolish 
 
40 DOG STARS 
 
 undisciplined canines to be stayed to reins of 
 leather. But I know enough to wait. Go and 
 do your shopping. Don't hurry. Stay as long 
 as you like. You will find me just where j^ou 
 left me when you come out." And he walked 
 to the other side of the door quite a little distance 
 away from the other dogs, found a sheltered 
 place for himself and sat down. 
 
 The dog man looked at him and smiled, "He's 
 a wise one. Madam. Not if you was to stay in 
 the stores all night would he budge. He's got 
 sense an' judgment, he has. You can see it in 
 them eyes of his." 
 
 Max gave a polite wag of his tail, which said, 
 "Thank you for your compliment. Seeing so 
 many dogs as you do every day, you must know 
 something about them. Of course I'll wait. It 
 would be supremely silly for me to do anything 
 else." 
 
 And, when I came out, an hour later, dogs had 
 come, and had gone. People had passed and 
 repassed, and there Max had remained serene 
 and calm. The dog keeper said he had intro- 
 duced himself and offered his paw to three peo- 
 ple: a very distinguished Colonel in the politi- 
 cal service from India, a member of the Cabinet, 
 and a pretty fair young lady. 
 
MAX GLADSTONE O'CONNOR 41 
 
 The next morning I said, "Max, you must 
 learn to follow an omnibus." 
 
 In those days we were dependent upon horses, 
 and it was quite possible for him to keep up 
 with a not too energetic vehicle. He was fleet 
 and strong, it was only a question of remem- 
 bering whether the omnibus was red, or green, 
 yellow, or brown. 
 
 That afternoon we made our first experiment, 
 starting from Victoria Station in the midst of 
 a maze of lumbering conveyances. I showed him 
 a blue omnibus, and said : "This is ours ; look up, 
 old lad, and see the kind-faced driver, wearing 
 a blue comforter, and a gray overcoat." The 
 fat, good-natured man waved his whip to him. 
 
 "First journey, old chap?" 
 
 "Yes," I said, "he's a country dog." 
 
 "Then," said the driver, "I'll look after him a 
 bit. How far are you going?" 
 
 "A good way up Baker Street," I said, "to 
 Cobb's, the tailor." 
 
 The horses started, the driver called out, 
 "Steady old chap. Keep to the right." 
 
 I looked out of the window whenever Max 
 hesitated between omnibuses; he searched the 
 diflferent windows, saw my face, and steered for 
 the blue omnibus. Only once, at Hyde Park, 
 
42 DOG STARS 
 
 when six vehicles crowded abreast, did he have 
 a moment of uncertainty and panic. Then the 
 driver gave a mighty whistle, and called out, 
 "Hi! old chap. Here's your bus. Wheel to 
 the right. That's it. Here we are." Max looked 
 up, and smiled, he had found me again, and 
 together we successfully arrived at the tailor's. 
 
 In those days there were genuine tailor 
 gowns. No flops or anxieties about "ligne." 
 Men dressed women according to their taste, in 
 straight, neat, trim, well-sewn, mannish gar- 
 ments. T. P.'s tailor was making me a re- 
 lentless bodice and skirt of a gray and black 
 gentleman's suiting. As heavy as lead, and as 
 tight as wax. With a dull, red silk waistcoat 
 like a jockey's. I thought it lovely, so did Max. 
 
 How strange it is that in those far away 
 feminine days we wanted to, and did dress so like 
 men! High, glossy linen collars like cadets. 
 Boyish round shining sailor hats, stiff shirts 
 with starched cuffs and neat cravats, and even 
 our evening dresses wthout grace were thick 
 black taffetas looped up here and there with good 
 wearing jet. And yet we fell in love, and fell 
 out of it, and made tragedies and comedies not- 
 withstanding our common-sense clothes. 
 
 And never a word about votes for women! 
 
MAX GLADSTONE O'CONNOR 43 
 
 Now when we are so feminine in attire, so di- 
 aphanous and graceful, so revealing and seduc- 
 tive, so flowery and picturesque, our minds are 
 bent on justice and freedom. We are going 
 to jail in slit skirts, displaying more than our 
 ankles, and gloriously dying for our principles 
 in low-necked chiffon and cobweb lace. What a 
 queer, inconsequent, sad, glad, thrilling world! 
 And never more absorbingly interesting than at 
 this chaotic moment. 
 
 After the fitting of that benighted gown, Max 
 and I went back to Victoria Station without mis- 
 chance and from that day he could follow — no 
 matter how long the distance — any omnibus in 
 London. 
 
 I often went on Saturday afternoons to the 
 Zoological Gardens, it must be four miles from 
 the Embankment, and Max always arrived be- 
 fore me and was waiting at the gate. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 MAX MAKES A BEFOEMATION 
 
 AxTHOUGH Max followed an omnibus with 
 joy when his Missy was in it, he much preferred 
 cabs, and occasionally after begging me to take 
 one, he would jump in alone and wait for me to 
 seat myself beside him. 
 
 The driver sometimes lifted the little top win- 
 dow, and, laughing, called down to him: 
 
 "I say, sir. Do you carry your fare in your 
 waistcoat pocket? And where do you want to 
 go?" 
 
 One Sunday we went to a little party in Chel- 
 sea. We were very late, and getting hastily out 
 of the cab I neglected to bid my dear lad to fol- 
 low, and, accustomed to implicit obedience, he sat 
 still and was driven away. 
 
 A mile or more from the house a gentleman 
 hailed the cab, got in, and saw a noble collie 
 calm and collected occupying the seat. Max, 
 extremely polite, offered his paw. 
 
 "I say, cabbie," said the gentleman, lifting 
 
 44 
 
A REFORMATION 45 
 
 the little window, "is this your beautiful collie?" 
 
 "No, sir," said the cabman. "He's a sly one. 
 I didn't Imow he was there. He belongs to a 
 lady, my last fare. She thinks a lot of him. I 
 heard her talkin' to him. If you'll let me drive 
 you to the nearest cab stand, sir, I'll take him 
 back to her. She'll pay his fare, right enough," 
 
 A friend who knew Max was on the point of 
 leaving the house as he drove up. He paid his 
 fare and escorted him to the drawing-room. 
 
 "This dog of yours," he said, "is as extrava- 
 gant in cabs as T. P. Do you know that he's 
 been to Piccadilly and back?" 
 
 "Oh, Max!" I said. "And your missy doesn't 
 go beyond a shilling fare." 
 
 He begged pardon with his beautiful eyes, 
 gravely shook hands with me, and with his hos- 
 tess, and tactfully placed himself in a dark cor- 
 ner of the room until I was ready to leave. 
 
 Our house on Grosvenor Road was within a 
 stone's throw of Millbank prison, that sad, gray 
 building, where John Boyle O'Reilly spent years 
 in solitary confinement and during the time be- 
 came a poet and mathematician. It was here he 
 wrote on a flagstone — but did not publish it until 
 years later: 
 
46 DOG STARS 
 
 The red rose whispers of passion. 
 The white rose breathes of love. 
 
 Oh, the red, red rose is a falcon. 
 And the white rose is a dove. 
 
 But I send you a cream white rosebud, 
 
 With a flush on its petal tips, 
 For the sweetest love and the purest. 
 
 Has a kiss of desire on its lips. 
 
 Many men of less sturdy mental fiber, under 
 this merciless and inhuman treatment, have gone 
 mad. But he not only stood the test and the 
 strain, he profited from those silent years and 
 left the prison sane, and confident of the future. 
 
 When Max exercised alone, he trotted around 
 and around the prison, and I hoped the sight 
 of him gave a little comfort to the embittered 
 souls behind those bars. The sentries got to know 
 him, and when Max saw a bayonet glisten he 
 would stop at the gate and gravely offer a peace- 
 ful paw. 
 
 Early one morning an unfortunate throng, the 
 flotsam and jetsam of a great city's submerged, 
 left the prison together, walked down the Em- 
 bankment and passed our house as they drifted 
 aimlessly toward London's dark purlieus. 
 
 One woman, her gaze fixed on the river, lagged 
 behind. Her companions never looked back to 
 see what had become of the lonely creature, and 
 
A REFORMATION 47 
 
 she sat down heavily on an h-on seat just oppo- 
 site my window. And there she remained, hour 
 after hour, without stirring, looking at the darkly 
 flowing water. 
 
 At noon Max started for a constitutional. He 
 crossed the street, stopped for a moment and 
 gazed at the woman's desperate face. She took 
 no notice of him. He left her, trotted up the 
 Embankment toward Chelsea, meditated on the 
 world's tragedies, wheeled about, ambled stead- 
 ily back, and looking very kind and friendly sat 
 down just in front of the friendless creature, and 
 laid his paw in her lap. If she was conscious 
 of his presence, she never showed it. Despair 
 seemed to have paralyzed her. No marble 
 woman could have been more still. Max's limpid 
 eyes were large with sympathy. He jumped 
 up on the seat, moved close to the poor waif, 
 and leaned his body comfortably against hers. 
 Still she did not stir, after five or ten minutes he 
 softly and persistently hcked her cheek. Her 
 shoulders twitched, suddenly she turned, threw 
 her arms around him, and saving tears rained 
 down on his silky head. 
 
 His noble instinct led him to comfort the af- 
 flicted and hft up the weak hearted. 
 
 I opened my window, and called, "Hello, old 
 
48 DOG STARS 
 
 lad!" He did not leave the woman, but gave 
 a sort of whining bark which expressed, "I've 
 done all I could. It's your turn now. Come 
 along." 
 
 I put on my hat and crossed the street. The 
 woman was crying bitterly. 
 
 "Are you hungry?" I asked her. 
 
 "I don't know. I didn't feel anything until 
 your dog made me cry, I wish he hadn't," she 
 said in a flat dull voice. "Nobody, and nothin's 
 ever kind to me, an' I don't care now." 
 
 "Come with me," I said, "I live just across 
 the street." 
 
 She had ceased to expect anything from the 
 world, and followed slowly. 
 
 The door was open. I led her doT^oi the hall 
 and put her in my beloved little Japanese room. 
 How long it had taken me to find that paper 1 
 She sat down, and Max laid himself at her feet. 
 
 I closed the door, went to the dining-room and 
 rang the bell. 
 
 "Annie," I said to the parlor maid, an Irish 
 woman somewhat addicted to the flowing bowl, 
 and, unlike her class, sympathetic to unfortu- 
 nates. "Get the cook to prepare a meal and take 
 it, with a pot of strong tea, to my sitting-room 
 to a poor waif and stray who is there." 
 
A REFORMATION 49 
 
 "Ach," said Annie, "the poor, foolish, dumb 
 head on her to make her that. Where did ye 
 find the crayther at all?" 
 
 "She's Max's friend. He brought her here," 
 I said. 
 
 "He's a Christian dog, if iver there was wan," 
 said Annie. Max had been with us when Cardi- 
 nal Manning gave her the temperance pledge in 
 his own private chapel. 
 
 "Put the tray down on a little table and leave 
 the woman alone to eat," I said. "She must be 
 very hungry." 
 
 When I went in the room she had left no food 
 on the tray; and was sitting on the floor beside 
 Max, with her hand on his head. 
 
 "Have you," I said, "any place to go? I saw 
 you come out of Millbank prison this morning, 
 so I know you have had trouble." 
 
 "Trouble!" she said. "Oh, my God, it's more 
 than that. Despair's eatin' me up. There's no 
 place for such as me, but the river. An' this 
 dog's took the heart out of me for that." Her 
 pale hand lingered on his noble head, and the 
 tears ran down her cheeks again. Max got up 
 and licked them away. 
 
 I am sure a dog followed that unthinking, ter- 
 rible crowd who went past Golgotha to the hill 
 
50 DOG STARS 
 
 of Calvary. Perhaps he belonged to the Syrian 
 who helped hft the Cross. And for the frac- 
 tion of a second maybe those Divine Eyes rested 
 upon the forlorn outcast and ennobled his race 
 forever. 
 
 "I was born on a farm and used to love ani- 
 mals before " 
 
 "Never mind," I said, "you needn't tell me 
 anything. You can merge your past into a re- 
 generate future. You are a young woman yet." 
 
 "Who's goin' to help me?" she said. "I haven't 
 a friend in the world." 
 
 "Max," I said, "he knows when people are 
 worth saving. Are you a Catholic?" 
 
 "I was once a Catholic," she said. "A child 
 of Mary, now I'm the devil's own child." 
 
 "I'll send a page boy with a note to a priest 
 I know. I'm sure he'll help you," I said. 
 
 William, who hadn't yet been discharged for 
 using my toothbrush, and complaining afterward 
 that its hardness made his gums bleed — whistled 
 for Max, but Max scornfully refused to acknowl- 
 edge the whistle and remained perfectly quiet. 
 
 Luckily Father Casey was at home, and ar- 
 rived long before the advent of the loitering Wil- 
 liam. 
 
 "You don't mean to tell me," he said, "that 
 
A REFORMATION 51 
 
 you've picked up a woman, an ex-prisoner, from 
 the streets?" 
 
 "No," I said, "I didn't pick her up. It was 
 Max, he found her, and has saved her hfe, such 
 as it is. She was only waiting for nightfall to 
 throw herself into the river." 
 
 "Oh, dear, dear!" said Father Casey. 
 
 "I believe if you could get her a place in the 
 country she might have a chance," I said. "Her 
 face isn't bad, and she's young." 
 
 "So are you," said Father Casey, "and rather 
 soft, I fear." 
 
 "If you were complimentary, you'd say hope- 
 ful." 
 
 "It is difficult, my child," said Father Casey, 
 with a twinkle in his kind old ej^e, "to combine 
 compliments and truth. Where's your treasure 
 trove? I'll see her, and hear what she has to 
 say." 
 
 "Well?" I said when he came out. 
 
 "A sad, and I'm afraid rather hopeless his- 
 tory ; twice in prison and it is only five years since 
 she left a farm in Ireland." 
 
 "Do you happen to know anybody with cows?" 
 I asked. 
 
 "Yes," he said. "A farmer from St. Ives came 
 to see me this morning, who wants a dairy maid. 
 
52 DOG STARS 
 
 Servants are difficult to get in Cornwall. He 
 might give her a chance. And now I'll take 
 her to a convent, where the sisters will give her 
 shelter for the night. Hadn't Max better come 
 along to explain the situation or can you trust 
 it to me?" 
 
 "Don't be sarcastic," I said. "Truly, but for 
 him, this woman would have drowned herself in 
 the Thames to-night." 
 
 "That's possible," said Father Casey. "Tell 
 her that I am waiting. We must be getting on." 
 
 These were chill gray days in November. The 
 following spring a little damp box arrived from 
 Cornwall filled with badly packed early prim- 
 roses. 
 
 Among the pale blossoms was a scrap of pa- 
 per and written upon it were a few badly spelled 
 words. "Tell Max an' Father Casey that I'm 
 all right, an' doin' all right. Mary." 
 
 Some years later, when I went to St. Ives, 
 and found the farm where Marj^ had worked, 
 they told me that she was married, and living in 
 New Mexico. 
 
 The former manager of the dairy had saved 
 his wages, gone to Santa Fe, bought a few acres 
 of land, prospered in market gardening, and sent 
 Mary money for her passage; she had gone to 
 
A REFORMATION 53 
 
 him, they had been married, and upon their rep- 
 resentations other friends had emigrated to join 
 them. 
 
 The same year that Max had rescued Mary he, 
 among a crowd of human beings — and some of 
 them must have known how to swim — made the 
 sole effort to save a child from drowning. 
 
 On a drowsy unusually hot Sunday in the lat- 
 ter part of June the working classes in their Sun- 
 day clothes strolled up and down the Embank- 
 ment or stood in groups looking at the river 
 and the copper-red sunset. 
 
 As I went out with Max for a breath of fresh 
 air, there was a little excitement among the peo- 
 ple gathered in front of my house, as if they saw 
 a pleasure boat passing. 
 
 When they made way for me, I saw the water 
 seemed disturbed and bubbles were coming to the 
 surface. 
 
 "What is it?" I asked. 
 
 "A boy drowning," a man answered carelessly. 
 
 "Where? I don't see him!" I said. 
 
 "He's gone down. No, there he's up, fighting 
 still!" he said. 
 
 I looked. Only the back of a boy's head was 
 visible. The hair was the color of Toodie's. 
 
54 DOG STARS 
 
 "Oh, God!" I cried, "is there no one here to 
 save him, are you all cowards?" 
 
 No one answered. I ran forward screaming, 
 and prepared to dive in, though only an experi- 
 enced swimmer could have grasped the child's 
 naked, slippery body. 
 
 Two men seized and held me on either side. 
 "There, there, steady, Missis. You can't swim 
 with all your clothes on and there's a bad un- 
 dertow here." 
 
 "Let me go, you beasts !" I cried. Then a most 
 noble beast splashed into the water, and Max 
 was swimming toward the child. "Toodie!" I 
 frantically called to him, "Toodie!" and then I 
 burst into tears. 
 
 The boy had come up once more, but his whole 
 body and face were submerged in the water. 
 Only the crown of his head and his back were 
 visible. 
 
 Max tried to hold him by his scalp, and did 
 succeed in keeping him up for a few minutes. 
 
 "I'll give ten pounds to anybody who goes 
 to help the dog!" I cried. "I'll give anj^thing." 
 Nobody stirred! The soaked hair was slipping 
 through Max's teeth. The little fellow couldn't 
 lift his head to see and seize his companion's 
 collar. He threw up his arms in a last wild spas- 
 
A REFORMATION 55 
 
 modic effort to catch at something and sank to 
 rise no more. 
 
 Max kept on swimming, with his big eyes full 
 of hope, until he was chilled and tired. 
 
 Finally I called him, and he scrambled up the 
 bank, shook himself, and trotted across the street 
 to the house as if he had done nothing in par- 
 ticular. I dried him with my own bath towel, 
 and told him he had just missed the hfe saving 
 medal. 
 
 What a night of wakefulness and heart-broken 
 dreams followed. Toodie and I, and the boy 
 with hair like his were sailing in a monster 
 steamer across a rough sea, when the ship struck 
 an iceberg and we began to sink. The lifeboats 
 were lowered lumberingly, and I pushed Toodie, 
 and the boy and Max into a boat already 
 crowded, then I was struggling in the water, and 
 Toodie called out, "Is there no man who will 
 save my mother?" And Max jumped from the 
 boat, and kept me up by my hair, and we passed 
 a man, and he swam away from us, and we were 
 both sinking, down, down, when I awoke. 
 
 The parlor maid had brought me my tea, and 
 Max by her side, looking silky and beautiful, was 
 asking me to get up. 
 
 The policeman whom I had consulted the 
 
56 DOG STARS 
 
 evening before, told me that boys were forbidden 
 to bathe in the river, and called my attention to 
 a wooden placard marked "Dangerous." But 
 what reckless boy had ever been deterred by the 
 word "dangerous"? And within a week two lit- 
 tle lads had been drowned. 
 
 "If I could be here all the time, I'd give any 
 one of 'em that went in a sound thrashing, but 
 I only make my round about nine o'clock. Don't 
 you worry, mum. You can't do nothin'." 
 
 And T. P., when I consulted him, agreed with 
 the policeman. 
 
 "Remember that you are not in Texas," he 
 said. "You can't expect to stop the wheels of 
 government in England. American women 
 are " 
 
 At that point I interrupted him. Indeed, I 
 find it a great saving of irritating argument 
 never to let any other nationality get further 
 than "American women are " 
 
 "Never mind," I said, "about American 
 women. Being one myself, I know much more 
 about them than you possibly can know. And 
 I'm going to ask an English official for some- 
 thing I want, which will stop boys from being 
 drowned, and I'll wager you a sovereign that I 
 get it." 
 
A REFORMATION 57 
 
 "You ought not to ask for it," said T. P. 
 
 How inevitable that the most optimistic hus- 
 bands become pessimists where the endeavors of 
 their wives are concerned. 
 
 "What is it you want?" 
 
 "I'll tell you that, after I've asked for it," I 
 said. 
 
 "And been refused," said T. P. gloomily. 
 
 "I've got quite a lot I've asked for in this life," 
 I said cheerfully. "Quite a lot, which encour- 
 ages me to try again." 
 
 Max barked vociferously at this. He at least 
 always understood American women. And when 
 I told Annie to call a cab — "cab" was the best 
 beloved word of his vocabulary — he was wait- 
 ing at the door, and had seated himself before 
 I had given our destination to the di'iver, who 
 remarked : 
 
 "He seems to like cabs, mum." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "he must have belonged to 'car- 
 riage people,' once upon a time." 
 
 "Where to, mum?" 
 
 "Scotland Yard," I said. A pleasant sound- 
 ing word in my ears, for I never went to consult 
 that portentous body without getting help and 
 comfort. This was my first visit. 
 
58 DOG STARS 
 
 "I want," I said to the clerk, "to see the chief 
 person in authority." 
 
 "I am in authority," he said. 
 
 "Yes," I said, "but I want to see the official 
 who gives orders to Scotland Yard in particular, 
 and London in general." 
 
 I was densely ignorant of England's official 
 life, but I do know — having learned my lesson 
 in America, that if you want a favor granted, 
 ask it, if possible, from the President of the 
 United States, or the next person in authority. 
 So I appKed my experience to England. 
 
 The clerk told a policeman to take me up- 
 stairs. My card was taken to the chief of po- 
 lice, and in a few moments I was shown into his 
 august presence. He shook hands with me, and 
 said genially, "Well, what can I do for you? 
 Are you an envoj^ of the Irish party?" 
 
 "No," I said. "I'm not Irish. If I were, I 
 probably wouldn't be here. It is my American 
 cheek that has brought me." 
 
 Max meantime had shaken hands three times 
 with Sir E — . 
 
 "He seems to be a sociable fellow," said Sir 
 E — . "He has wonderful discrimination," I said. 
 "He only shakes hands once with ordinary peo- 
 
A REFORMATION 59 
 
 pie. A man must be pure gold to have Max 
 give him his paw three times." 
 
 Max again offered his paw. 
 
 "I don't see," said Sir E — , taking it and smil- 
 ing, "how a mere man can resist a combination 
 of both you and Max." 
 
 "Now," I said, "you are in the proper frame 
 of mind for me to ask a favor. And I'm not 
 wanting anything for Irish or Americans. I 
 am here to save the lives of English boys." 
 
 "Good!" said Sir E — -, "that sounds disin- 
 terested and humane. How am I to help you?" 
 
 Then I described my experience of the day 
 before, and asked for a policeman to guard that 
 part of the river, until the weather was too cold 
 to bathe. 
 
 "You see," I said, "if two boys are drowned 
 every week, that would make twenty-six boys by 
 the first of October. Tliey may be embryo 
 heroes and statesmen, who knows? But whether 
 they are or not, every healthy English boy is 
 worth saving." 
 
 "Indeed he is," said Sir E — , "and I think we 
 can manage a policeman for you." 
 
 At that moment a young Irishman with flam- 
 ing red hair came into the room with a paper. 
 
60 DOG STARS 
 
 "McDermott," said Sir E — , with a humorous 
 twinkle in his eye, "go to number 38 Grosvenor 
 Road, and await orders from Mrs. T. P. O'Con- 
 nor." 
 
 "The mimber of Parliament, sor?" 
 
 "No," said Sir E — , "the member's wife, this 
 lady here." 
 
 "Yes, sor. Very well, sor." 
 
 Max got up, and as the policeman closed the 
 door licked his hand. 
 
 "I hope," said Sir E — , "you observe that Max 
 approves of my choice." 
 
 "You are not joking?" I said. "It is really a 
 matter of life and death." 
 
 "You don't think that Scotland Yard jokes, 
 do you?" said Sir E — . "Believe me, when you 
 want to save any lives come to me." 
 
 Max and I left Scotland Yard very jauntil}^ 
 We walked to Gorringe's, in Buckingham Palace 
 Road, where I had a gown fitted, and tried on 
 various harbingers of summer, gayly blooming, 
 flowering hats, but none of them were just what 
 I wanted. 
 
 When I came out Max had gone. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 MAX AND JACK THE RIPPER 
 
 I WHISTLED and called, "Max! Max! Come 
 along. Where are you? Hurry up." What 
 could have become of him ? His patience was in- 
 exhaustible. He always waited, no matter how 
 long the time. My heart sank. He must have 
 been stolen. Forcibly abducted. I walked hur- 
 riedly to the end of the street, where an authori- 
 tative policeman was standing. 
 
 "Have you," I said, "seen a beautiful collie 
 anywhere?" 
 
 "Was he in front of Gorringe's Shop for some 
 hours?" 
 
 "Yes," I said, "he was waiting for me." 
 
 "Oh, you young ladies!" said the policeman. 
 "I thought he was a lost dog, and took him to 
 the nearest police station." 
 
 "You did," I said, "well, you might just as 
 well have taken me! Did he go willingly?" 
 
 "No, he didn't, he lagged a good deal, and 
 looked back. I ought to have known. But he 
 
 61 
 
62 DOG STARS 
 
 was very sweet-tempered. I'm sorry, mum. The 
 station ain't very far. They ain't yet took him 
 to the Dogs' Home." 
 
 "I certainly hope not," I said. "A second visit 
 there would break his heart." 
 
 And when I hurried to the station, there sat 
 Max, quiet, serene, and certain of delivery. 
 Shaking hands with all the policemen, he had 
 made friends, and was the center of an admiring 
 crowd. 
 
 "He's quite a gentleman, Miss," said the ser- 
 geant in command. 
 
 And then I explained that only Max's po- 
 hteness, and respect for the force had brought 
 him there at all. As we left the station I met 
 Mrs. Labouchere, who insisted on my going 
 home to Queen Anne's Gate to lunch with her. 
 And afterward we drove in the park, with Max 
 trotting sedately behind the carriage, and it was 
 six o'clock when we arrived at Grosvenor Road. 
 
 T. P. was in his study, rather disturbed and 
 anxious. 
 
 "These dashed English suspect me of some- 
 thing!" he began. "All day long a red-headed 
 policeman has been standing just outside the 
 door. Several members of the Irish party have 
 been here and noticed it. We are going to have 
 
JACK THE RIPPER 63 
 
 a consultation at the League to-night, to see 
 what course we had better pursue. What they 
 think they have up their sleeves I can't imagine." 
 
 I began to laugh. 
 
 "It's no laughing matter," said T. P. "I dare- 
 say the neighbors imagine we are concealing dy- 
 namite. The fellow's got a most foolish face. 
 If I had tried, I daresay I could easily have got 
 out of him why he's there. I don't know, though, 
 if it's wise to speak to him. He looks the sort 
 of sly dastardly Irishman that these English 
 would set on us." 
 
 I laughed still more. 
 
 "You are about as foolish as the policeman," 
 said T. P. irritably. "I must say, it doesn't seem 
 to me at all a laughing matter." 
 
 "Have you spoken to the servants?" I said. 
 
 "No," said T. P., "and I hope they haven t 
 noticed the assassin." 
 
 "Trust a housemaid to spot a policeman," I 
 said. "I'll ring and ask Annie." 
 
 "Don't do anything of the kind until I've been 
 to the League." 
 
 "You won't have to go," I said. "I'm respon- 
 sible for that policeman." 
 
 "You?" said T. P., astonished. I rang the 
 bell, and when Annie answered it, asked her if 
 
64 DOG STARS 
 
 she had spoken to the policeman standing by the 
 door. 
 
 "Yes'm," she said. "He come here at twelve 
 o'clock, an' said he had a note for you. An' was 
 to give it to you himself, an' if you wasn't in he 
 was to wait until you come in and you was to 
 tell him what to do." 
 
 "Well, upon my word," said T. P. "What is 
 the meaning of this?" 
 
 "Tell him I'm in, Annie, and fetch me the 
 note," I said. It was from Sir E — and read: 
 
 "Dear Mrs. O'Connor, 
 
 I send you one of your husband's countrymen, a young 
 policeman, to prevent boys from bathing in that part of 
 the Thames which you have convinced me is so dangerous. 
 Will you and Max show him the exact spot where he is to 
 stand.'' I have told him to await your orders. 
 
 With kind regards. 
 
 Yours very truly. 
 
 "When," said T. P., "Ireland has Home Rule, 
 and I am in the Cabinet, I shall only remain 
 there two days on account of some extraordinary 
 performance of yours." 
 
 "You owe me," I said, "half a sovereign." 
 
 "Well," said T. P., "you American women 
 are " 
 
 "Excuse me, I must give my policeman his or- 
 
JACK THE RIPPER 65 
 
 ders," I said. "He isn't to stand permanently 
 in front of our door. Come, Max." 
 
 The policeman smiled, greatly relieved, when 
 I came out, and Max greeted him like an old 
 friend. 
 
 "It's been a tryin' day," he said. "People's 
 bin wonderin' what I was doin' forninst the dure. 
 But I was told to wait. An' I waited." 
 
 It was then half -past seven o'clock, a soft, clear 
 English June twilight. I crossed the street with 
 him, and pointed out the swift-flowing current 
 where two accidents had occurred and told him 
 he must stop all boys who wanted to bathe. 
 
 "Niver a one will be wet with the wather, this 
 summer, ma'm," he said, "niver a one." 
 
 I looked at his lithe six feet, and well be- 
 lieved it. 
 
 "And I'll write to the chief of police," I said, 
 "and tell him how manfully you've stuck to your 
 duty to-day." 
 
 "Whin Mr. Tay Pay O'Connor hiked at me 
 the way that he did luk, I was put to it to stajr, 
 an' I wud have spoke, but he wint by so quick 
 I didn't have the chanst." 
 
 And how Max and Annie did adore that po- 
 liceman! I am sure he had lashin's of drink — - 
 for T. P.'s whisky disappeared as if by magic 
 
66 DOG STARS 
 
 — and partook of every dainty provided for our 
 table. And Max walked with him hour after 
 hour, until he got a regular policeman's stride. 
 And he saw and hailed, and tried to deliver every 
 boy that came up or down the Embankment, in- 
 nocent or guilty, into Patrick McDermott's red 
 shining hands. 
 
 That autumn T. P. started the Star, and as 
 he insisted that he could only edit it on the prem- 
 ises, we gave up our dear little house on the river, 
 and moved down to a flat which occupied the 
 two top floors of the Star Building. 
 
 This was not a very happy time for either Max 
 or me. The rooms shook and trembled from the 
 whirring machinery, the air reeked of printer's 
 ink, and boys came up and downstairs with tele- 
 grams, and messages, and copy, from morning 
 until night. Max detested boys to such an ex- 
 tent that he must have had some painful memory 
 connected with them. Perhaps he was entrusted 
 to a boy who lost him, when he was found at 
 the Dogs' Home. 
 
 I asked him about that mysterious mishap, 
 once or twice, but it made him so sad that I ig- 
 nored it ever after. Pie considered it a reflection 
 against his intelligence, and a reflection against 
 his former master, that a dog of his importance 
 
JACK THE RIPPER 67 
 
 should have gone through the experience of quite 
 ordinary dogs. Like human beings who are 
 brave, he did not wish to nurse his sorrow, but 
 to endure, and, if possible, to forget. 
 
 The most agreeable part of his life during his 
 journalistic career were the long Sundays which 
 he spent in the country with the night watchman, 
 who lived in an old cottage surrounded by a lit- 
 tle garden on the outskirts of Brixton. 
 
 At seven o'clock on each Sunday morning he, 
 Ram Jones — a very inferior German dog — and 
 the watchman, departed for green fields, return- 
 ing at eight o'clock in the evening. 
 
 The Star Building, a thing of mushroom 
 growth, was largely composed of wood, so fire 
 was to be dreaded; and every hour of the night 
 the watchman made frequent inspections to see 
 if we were safe. And Max, although he enjoyed 
 long nights of undisturbed sleep, considered it 
 his duty to follow the watchman. 
 
 Up and down, up and down the stairs I would 
 hear his quiet footfall, with always, — though Pe- 
 ters and Ram Jones continued their rounds — a 
 listening pause at my door to see if all was well. 
 
 Oh, devoted, loyal friend, you never forgot 
 your mistress for one moment, in the whole of 
 your gentle life. There was ever in your noble 
 
68 DOG STARS 
 
 heart, a background of her whom you loved 
 faithfully, and obediently to the end. . . . 
 
 Max was more of a statesman than a journal- 
 ist. He could think over, and come to a very 
 logical conclusion. His brain was rather seri- 
 ous and contemplative, than nimble and quick. 
 Only once did he show the true reporter's in- 
 stinct and nose for news. 
 
 It was the time that Jack the Ripper, in the 
 open, populous streets of London, with super- 
 human cunning and absolute immunity of being 
 discovered, was slaughtering like sheep one 
 woman after another. 
 
 T. P. was in Scotland. A friend had taken 
 me to drive, and we had gone to the East End, 
 to see the "damned spot" where the last horrible 
 murder had been committed. 
 
 The wide clean street suggested neither mys- 
 tery nor tragedy. Customers were continually 
 entering and leaving prosperous shops well 
 stocked with pleasant looking merchandise, boys 
 and girls, men and women, laughing, talking, 
 grave and gay, careless, careworn, or happy, 
 passed and repassed. There were always peo- 
 ple. But in the midst of this pulsing life one 
 solitary moment came, and it shrouded a grew- 
 some murder in utter darkness. 
 
JACK THE RIPPER 69 
 
 We got out of the carriage, and I showed the 
 affrighting place to Max. He barked, snuffed, 
 became excited, and behaved as if he compre- 
 hended that a terrific drama had been enacted 
 there. 
 
 That night my dear lad and I dined at the 
 Laboucheres'. Mr. Labouchere always said Max 
 had the best and least obtrusive manners of any 
 dog he had ever known; being a gentleman, he 
 was always a welcome visitor, first to Queen 
 Anne's Gate, and afterward to the historic house 
 in Old Palace Yard. 
 
 A number of letters, including one that Mr. 
 Labouchere said was from the Ripper himself, 
 had been written to Truth. And, when I left, 
 which I did early, we were still talking about 
 the destroying Moloch with his lust of blood and 
 apparent power of invisibility, 
 
 Mr. Labouchere went with me to the door. 
 
 It was a cold night, but clear, and the air 
 was charged with electricity. 
 
 "He'll do a murder to-night," said Mr. La- 
 bouchere. "It's time for another." 
 
 "Oh, no," I said, "the stars are shining. He'll 
 wait for a fog." 
 
 When we reached the Star Building I went 
 
70 DOG STARS 
 
 upstairs, leaving Max with the watchman, but 
 I could not get to sleep. 
 
 When eleven o'clock came, and I heard Peters' 
 heavy footfall on the stairs, I opened the door, 
 and to relieve my loneliness said, "Everything 
 all right?" 
 
 "Yes'm," he said, "but I've just give a evil 
 looking man a' arf crown for bringing Max 
 home. He went out at ten o'clock, and never 
 came back. About five minutes ago a man 
 brought him in. He seen his address on his col- 
 lar, an' said he was makin' for the East End. He 
 seems to have somethin' on his mind." 
 
 "Oh," I said, "Max was with me this after- 
 noon when I went with Major Webster to see 
 the street where Jack the Ripper murdered his 
 last victim. But I wonder what he wanted to 
 go back for." 
 
 Max barked, and indicated that he wanted to 
 go downstairs. 
 
 "The man that fetched him back," said the 
 watchman, "looked like he might have been Jack 
 the Ripper himself. His skin was green white, 
 just the color of the stomach of a frog. He didn't 
 have a drop of red blood in him. And his fin- 
 gers was like tough white roots. He had little, 
 awful eyes. A hat down to his collar, an' he 
 
iiUBUiisUS IS" 
 
 (K'CASIOXALLY STOOPIXC: HIS DKAR HEAD To Cn'E THE SH'K 
 DOG A LICK OF EX( OURAGEMEXT AND OF CHEEK 
 
JACK THE RIPPER 71 
 
 spoke so queer. Once he looked up at the buildin' 
 and smiled most horrible, as if he had a blood 
 curdlin' joke all to hisself. He was a rum cus- 
 tomer, he was, and yet Max wanted to follow 
 him." 
 
 "Oh, Peters," I said. "Do you really think 
 we've had a visit from the Ripper ? I won't sleep 
 a wink to-night. Watch Max. Don't let him 
 out again. See how restless he is." 
 
 "You go to bed, mum," said the watchman, 
 "and be quiet, me and the dogs will be up and 
 down constant to-night." 
 
 I opened a book, and read for a while, then 
 I laid it aside, and thought what a strange per- 
 sonality the man with the hvid face must have 
 to arouse Peters, who had no imagination to such 
 picturesque description. 
 
 Then I closed my eyes and willed myself to 
 sleep until seven o'clock in the morning, when 
 the buzz of the machines would rouse me whether 
 I would or not. 
 
 Suddenly there was a quiver, and the bur-r- 
 r-r of grinding machinery. I listened. The Star 
 was an evening paper, what had happened to 
 warrant a morning edition. The big linotypes 
 were going at full speed. 
 
 There were hurrying footsteps, and voices call- 
 
72 DOG STARS 
 
 ing out orders. "Go ahead. Look sharp, and 
 we'll be out with the Telegraph and the Times." 
 
 "Wire for Massingham" (the assistant edi- 
 tor), I heard someone say. 
 
 Max was barking, barking in a strange hoarse 
 voice. 
 
 Peters was coming upstairs with hurried feet. 
 I opened my door and called out: 
 
 "In Heaven's name, what's the matter?" 
 
 "Jack the Ripper has murdered two women 
 to-night!" 
 
 "My God," I said, "how shocking! Where 
 did he do it?" 
 
 "Not far from where you was to-day, mum." 
 Max, still barking, had rushed to me with wildly 
 excited eyes. 
 
 "He knew it," said the watchman, "long be- 
 fore we did. When the poor woman was bein' 
 butchered, maybe, he lifted his head right in my 
 box, an' he howled, an' he howled, an' howled, 
 and looked just as if he seen some awful thing. 
 I tell you my blood run cold." 
 
 "Be quiet. Max," I said, "be quiet, sir." 
 
 He began to whimper. 
 
 "An'," said the watchman, "it wasn't long 
 after that a reporter run in and fairly shouted: 
 'The Ripper's at it again. He's killed two this 
 
JACK THE RIPPER 73 
 
 time. We must make things hum, and get to 
 press at once.' " 
 
 The watchman left Max with me for the rest 
 of the night. He was quite unlike himself. 
 Quivering with nervousness, restless, and dissat- 
 isfied. He seemed to be making a protest, and 
 to be saying with his wonderful eyes : "If I had 
 been allowed to go to that fatal spot, I would 
 have seized the Ripper, held him until help 
 came, and saved the woman." And he did not 
 recover his serenity for many days, not until I 
 had my accident in the fire escape. 
 
 An expert on buildings had estimated that if 
 the Star Building caught on fire it would burn 
 to the ground in ten minutes. And there was 
 no way of escaping, except by the ordinary stair- 
 case. So a fire escape had been ordered, and two 
 men arrived with it in the afternoon. It was a 
 long thick canvas bag; fastened at the top to a 
 semicircle of iron, which in time of necessity was 
 to be attached to two strong iron hooks inserted 
 in my bedroom window. 
 
 Men standing on the ground at the end of the 
 bag were supposed to hold it in a slanting posi- 
 tion. And the person would slip down to safety, 
 rounding out arms and legs in a sort of spread- 
 eagle fashion to somewhat arrest the descent. 
 
74 DOG STARS 
 
 Both men employed in the job seemed rather 
 too genial, but I only thought of that during my 
 subsequent days in bed. One of them said: 
 "Now, mum, if you could go down to-day, it'll 
 be a jolly thing to do. You can then be pre- 
 pared in time of fire to show Mr. O'Connor and 
 the servants how easy it is." 
 
 Max looked down the bag, and barked vio- 
 lently — saying quite plainly: "Don't listen to this 
 man. He's been drinking." But who in youth 
 does not dream of being a heroine? A vision of 
 myself in the future sitting in the mouth of 
 a fire bag, with flames in the distance, beckoning 
 to T. P. and the servants to follow, then flying 
 down like a bird, and bounding lightly forth in 
 the court below, inspired me to the great deed. 
 
 How often I have credulously taken the ad- 
 vice of people more foolish than myself, and suf- 
 fered in consequence, but never more than when 
 I heeded the words of a drunken fireman. 
 
 The windows were filled with spectators. It 
 was a propitious moment to display courage and 
 presence of mind. 
 
 Max barked all the time. It rather deafened 
 me and prevented my thinking. 
 
 When I climbed up, sat on the window ledge, 
 and hung my legs down the bag, he almost 
 
JACK THE RIPPER 75 
 
 frothed at the mouth, and seized my dress in his 
 teeth. I spoke severely to him, for the first and 
 the last time in all the years we were together. 
 
 "Don't be a fool," I said, "I'm going to pre- 
 pare myself to save lives." Max barked loudly. 
 
 By this time, completely paralyzed by fear, I 
 was cold all over, and yet perspiring freely. 
 
 "Be quiet. Max. Be quiet. You don't under- 
 stand this fire escape," I said. "It's jolly." 
 
 My voice rather quavered, and Max again 
 seized hold of my dress with his dear, wise teeth. 
 
 "I hope," said the fireman, "your dog won't 
 come tvimblin' down on to you." 
 
 "Oh, no," I said, "he'll be all right in a min- 
 ute. To tell you the truth, I'm horribly afraid 
 of any height. It makes me sick and dizzy." 
 
 "Shut your eyes before you start," said the 
 fireman. "Spread your arms an' legs, an' you'll 
 be as right as rain. Now, mmn, we'll wait for 
 you below." 
 
 The men went down to the court, which was 
 completely surrounded by newspaper and print- 
 ing offices. 
 
 On occasion, I can rouse my lazy, indifferent 
 will to do my severest bidding. And quite sud- 
 denly, without any warning to the firemen be- 
 low, I dropped. And I dropped four stories. 
 
76 DOG STARS 
 
 There was no thoughtful, cahn, spread-eagle 
 poise given to my body. On the contrary, I lifted 
 my arms in a frenzied effort to find something 
 to which I could hold on. My elbows, when 
 they touched the new rough canvas, wore in- 
 stant holes in the cloth tailored sleeves. My gar- 
 ments, by mj^ velocity — I suppose I was going 
 at the rate of ten thousand miles a minute — left 
 their moorings, and turned the wrong way up. 
 I knew exactly how a man felt who was being 
 hung. 
 
 It is said people who are drowning review all 
 the events of their past lives. 
 
 People who go down in fire escapes do not. 
 There is no tune. The firemen had barely a sec- 
 ond to lift the end of the bag, when I shot by 
 them like an arrow. 
 
 My hair was flowing. My hands were skinned. 
 And as my body, still traveling at the rate of a 
 million miles a minute, skimmed over the cobble- 
 stones, each stone claimed its portion of skin. 
 
 My right foot struck an obstacle, turned, and 
 the result was either a broken or a badly sprained 
 ankle. When my velocity lessened into qui- 
 etude, I could not move, but was thankful to be 
 alive. 
 
 I heard an anxious whimper. Max was lick- 
 
JACK THE RIPPER 77 
 
 ing my face, and saying: "Oh, missy, are you 
 hurt? What did you do it for, honey? I begged 
 you not." 
 
 The firemen ran up, adjusted my clothes and 
 righted me. I tried to stand, but felt faint and 
 groaned with pain. Max growled threateningly, 
 and was none too amiable to the two men. 
 
 Then Mr. Parke, the city editor, ran out, asked 
 what had happened, cut off my boot, — my ankle 
 was already greatly swollen — the firemen lifted 
 and carried me between them, and the cavalcade 
 started up the four flights of stairs. 
 
 Instead of an example of steadfast and tri- 
 umphant courage in time of fire, there I was, a 
 maimed and lacerated warning against fire es- 
 capes. 
 
 Such is life, at least such is my life. A series 
 of visions, dreams, stern realities, and disappoint- 
 ments. 
 
 The moment Max became a nurse he was 
 quiet, considerate — no longer remembered Jack 
 the Ripper — and scarcely left my room for the 
 next ten days. 
 
 That evening he went downstairs to speak to 
 the watchman, and tell him what had happened, 
 but came back at once and gave up his rounds 
 for the night to lie by my bed. 
 
78 DOG STARS 
 
 When T. P. saw my red swollen ankle, my raw 
 and blistered hands, and a grazed cheek, he de- 
 cided that rather than trust himself to a fire es- 
 cape, he would perish in the flames. Both the 
 servants gave warning, and I was confined to the 
 house with my various lacerations for a fortnight. 
 And to Max, at least, another dreadful worry 
 came at tliis time. 
 
 Peters, his good friend the night watchman, 
 was discharged. Several times when T. P. re- 
 turned home late from the House of Commons, 
 he had discovered him asleep, by the side of an 
 empty beer jug, and as the building was like 
 tinder, of course his dismissal was imperative. 
 
 And he was such a kind creature that every- 
 one regretted his weakness and was sorry to have 
 him go. As for Max, he was terribly depressed, 
 and the moment I could limp about and he felt 
 justified in taking a holidajr, he left the Star 
 Building at seven o'clock on Sunday morning, 
 started for Brixton, spent the day with Peters, 
 and I'eturned about nine o'clock in the evening. 
 He never miscalculated the day, going on a 
 Wednesday or a Friday, although he made the 
 journey for months all through the late winter 
 and spring until the early summer, when T. P. 
 brought him to me in Germany. 
 
JACK THE RIPPER 79 
 
 Now instinct may direct a dog momentarily; 
 but only thought and remembrance can assert 
 itself on a certain day of the week for a pro- 
 tracted length of time. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 MAX PRESENTS HIMSELF AT BUCKINGHAM 
 PALACE 
 
 It was at the Star Building that Max met and 
 loved at first sight Monsieur Johannes Wolff, the 
 celebrated violinist, who was at that time greatly 
 the vogue in London. He lived in Wellington 
 Square, quite three miles away, but Max fol- 
 lowed him home, and after that would often go 
 to Chelsea, station himself in the Square, watch 
 and wait until he saw a dark, handsome gentle- 
 man, with a violin case, enter a cab; then at a 
 discreet distance he would follow and appear 
 smiling on the doorstep of one of the great houses 
 where his friend was to play, just as Johannes 
 entered the door. 
 
 It was then impossible to send him back and 
 he would take his place among the crowd of silk- 
 stockinged lackeys, hear the concert in the dis- 
 tance, and patiently wait for Monsieur Wolff to 
 reappear. 
 
 Later we moved to a flat in Victoria Street. 
 80 
 
AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE 81 
 
 Monsieur Wolff, who had left Chelsea, lived in 
 a nearby street and, after a party, could stop on 
 his way home and leave Max with the night por- 
 ter. 
 
 One evening Monsieur Wolff was playing at 
 Buckingham Palace for Queen Victoria, and 
 Max slipped by the sentry, met his friend at the 
 palace entrance and the lackeys laughed to see 
 him enter the hall and seat himself in a chair 
 of great antiquity. 
 
 "There is one member of your family who is 
 a Tory and a loyal subject of the Queen," said 
 a Cabinet minister to me. "I met him the other 
 evening at Buckingham Palace. Did the Lord 
 Chamberlain send Max a card?' 
 
 "No," I said, "his invitation miscarried; but 
 being recognized as a gentleman of charming 
 manners, he was, I hear, made entirely wel- 
 come." 
 
 "When I saw him he was receiving at the door, 
 and shaking hands with everybody who stopped 
 to speak to him," said the first Lord of the Ad- 
 miralty. "He'll bring T. P. into the right fold 
 
 yet." 
 
 I hadn't been well the winter of Max's social 
 triumphs, and intended going very early to the 
 baths in Kreuznach. 
 
82 DOG STARS 
 
 "You had better take Max along," said T. P. 
 "The season has not begun. You will be lonely." 
 
 It seemed wise, however, from motives of econ- 
 omy, and other reasons, to leave him at home; 
 although it was a heartbreaking thing to do. 
 
 The moment the trunks were brought in the 
 room his gay spirits began to flag. 
 
 He would sit by them and utter a mute pro- 
 test over every garment which was folded and 
 packed. And the morning after I left Carlisle 
 Place he rushed back to my room, crawled under 
 the bed, and for several days sighed his heart 
 out, and refused to eat. Even cheese, which 
 usually made his eyes bright with joy, did not 
 tempt his appetite. 
 
 T. P. wrote, saying: "I don't know what we 
 are going to do with Max. He is gi-ieving him- 
 self thin over your absence. I sent for Sewell (a 
 distinguished veterinary surgeon), but he says 
 there's nothing the matter with him, except a 
 sorrowing heart." 
 
 It was during this period of Max's loneliness 
 that Cardinal Manning, who lived in the palace 
 only a few doors away, attracted by the noble 
 dog's appealing eyes, spoke to him, and Max 
 quietly followed him up the steps, trotted after 
 him, until they reached the pleasant shabby li- 
 
AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE 83 
 
 brary, where only books were considered, and 
 unobtrusively stowed himself away in a corner. 
 
 When the Cardinal drank his tea, he gave Max 
 a drop of milk, and a bit of bread and butter, 
 and after that my dear lad made frequent visits 
 to his Eminence. 
 
 When I went to call on the Cardinal, he would 
 tell me that a member of my family was already 
 there. And Max would wave his feathery tail 
 in glad welcome, look at me with speaking eyes 
 that said, "You see, we both love him," and the 
 prince of the Church would place a gentle hand, 
 thin to transparency, on my lad's noble head, and 
 say, "If ever you want a home for this gentle- 
 man, he can find one here." 
 
 At one time a minor political question arose 
 upon which the Cardinal and T. P. differed. 
 Fearing the strong will power, and persuasive- 
 ness of his Eminence, T. P. was rather avoid- 
 ing a meeting. The Cardinal knew it, and said 
 to me: 
 
 "Surely you, and Max, and I, together, ought 
 to be able to steer T. P. in the right direction." 
 
 After my arrival in Kreuznach, as T. P. pre- 
 dicted, I was lonely, and he wrote: 
 
 "I may be able to get away at Easter, and if 
 
84 DOG STARS 
 
 it can be managed I shall have a pleasant sur- 
 prise for you." 
 
 It was managed, and the joyful surprise was 
 —Max! 
 
 Early one beautiful spring morning, when the 
 earth was carpeted with lilies of the valley, and 
 the birds — what quantities there are in Germany! 
 — were fluttering and busy with housekeeping af- 
 fairs, I looked out of my window, and there was 
 T. P. Stepping along the nice, wide, clean 
 gravel path, and following him, his eyes big and 
 bright with loving anticipation, a smile on his 
 black lips, and his pink tongue visible from emo- 
 tion, was Max! 
 
 I threw open my window. "Oh! come up 
 quick!" I called, "the two of you." Then there 
 was a wild rush, and Max in hysterics licked my 
 face and hands, with quick, ner^^^ous flashes of his 
 tongue, interrupted by sudden barks, ending in 
 gratified joyous whines; then, to relieve his over- 
 wrought feelings, he whirled and whimpered 
 through the corridors and down the stairs, dashed 
 to the garden, made a wide circle on the grass, 
 and sped back with violent delight to my room 
 again. 
 
 T. P.'s eyes beamed with satisfaction. 
 
 "This alone is worth a trip to Germany," he 
 
AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE 85 
 
 said. "You must never leave England again 
 without Max." 
 
 And what a happy, luxurious, satisfactory 
 summer he had. Toodie was in Kreuznach ab- 
 sorbing the language, with a delightful German 
 family, who made surprisingly good coffee, and 
 saved all their soup bones for Max. 
 
 For a time there had been a rival in Toodie's 
 affections. Fritz, a dachshund of high degree, 
 whom Frau Schule Inspecterin Bornemann ac- 
 cepted as a charming and welcome guest. But 
 the dachshund, always of a delicate constitu- 
 tion, after a winter of colds, succxmibed toward 
 spring to pulmonary troubles. 
 
 Toodie had written to me: "My dear Fritz 
 choked up in the middle of the night, and I called 
 Herr Bornemann, who came at once, in his pa- 
 jamas and an overcoat, and tried to give him a 
 teaspoonful of brandy, but he couldn't swallow. 
 Then Bobby Melville got up — a student of Ger- 
 man, now a brilliant diplomat — and we three sat 
 by him until he died at daylight. He was 
 a Christian dog, and mj^ heart is broken." 
 
 But Toodie found consolation in Max for the 
 loss of his much lamented "Dax," and they made 
 long walks together. And Max became familiar 
 with many of the beautiful castles on the Rhine. 
 
86 DOG STARS 
 
 Herr Bornemann was a valiant pedestrian. 
 Once a week, in a little green hat, he and his 
 four or five English boys, wearing other little 
 green hats, with Max bringing up the rear, would 
 take the tiny train to Bingen, "sweet Bingen-on- 
 the-Rhine," where a soldier of Algiers, after 
 leaving quite a number of instructions, which 
 have made him immortal, died. From the beau- 
 tiful National Denkmal auf dem Niederwald, 
 that proud and fine perpetuation of Germany's 
 war with France, they trudged to every castle 
 within a radius of ten miles. 
 
 Max had often been to the top of Ebenburg, 
 and the Dhaum, and the Kyrburg. He loved 
 every hilltop and, finally, "Ein Schloss" made 
 him prick up his ears and start for the door. 
 
 He knew those two pleasant German words 
 meant a long active afternoon, listening to Herr 
 Bornemann's agreeable voice as he poured Ger- 
 man history into his boj^s, and when appetite 
 called for "restauration," stopping in lovely, 
 leafy forests, while a waiter brought beer for the 
 party, and crisp zwieback for him. He was in 
 fine form at this happy period of his life, he 
 could walk and run for hours without fatigue. 
 His body was lean and lithe from much exercise, 
 and his coat, from constant brushing, was as 
 glossy as silk. 
 
AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE 87 
 
 When he drove up the steep hill to the castle 
 of Ebenburg, where the great scholars, Franz 
 von Sickingen, and his friend Ulrich von Hut- 
 ton, gave shelter to Doctor Faust, whose learn- 
 ing was so great that he suffered persecution as 
 a wizard, and his history so picturesque that it 
 inspired Goethe to his immortal poem, Max, run- 
 ning fleetly, was there long before us, standing 
 in the castle door, and barking a fine forte bark 
 of welcome. 
 
 "Ja, ja" said Toodie. "Sei ruhig wir komen. 
 Pianissimo, Max." And Max barked softly. 
 His friend. Monsieur Wolff, had taught him 
 musical barks, which he understood perfectly, 
 and never forgot that forte meant a loud, full, 
 manly effort, fortissimo indicated the utmost vol- 
 ume of his voice, "piano" meant a softly gliding 
 sound, and pianissimo was just the indication of 
 a bark. 
 
 No one, not even Queen Victoria, appreci- 
 ated Monsieur Wolff's beautiful interpretation 
 of music more than Max. He was indifferent to 
 the piano, but the moment his quick ears heard 
 a bow drawn across the strings of a violin, he 
 prepared to listen. And when his beloved friend 
 threw his whole musical soul into Thomas' An- 
 
88 DOG STARS 
 
 dante Religioso, and a thrilling voice seemed to 
 soar in a prayer of passionate appeal, Max would 
 press his paw deep into the hollow of my hand, 
 and politely swallow one whimper after the other. 
 Though full of ecstasy and deeply agitated, he 
 always remembered that he was an English gen- 
 tleman, and when he could, he suppressed any 
 outward demonstrations of emotion. 
 
 There never was such a true, tender, loving 
 heart as his, but he did not wear it on his tail. 
 He was far too proud for that. His waggings 
 and enthusiasms were intelligent and sincere. 
 And he was by no means alwaji's on the wag. His 
 dignity and reserve were too great for that. 
 
 The proprietor of the Oranienliof, Herr Al- 
 ten, recognizing another gentleman in Max, 
 treated him with marked consideration. 
 
 "There is," he said, "a small, vacant room next 
 yours, Madame O'Connor. I see no reason why 
 Max should not occupy it." Then my old lad 
 did most pointedly and politely wag. 
 
 The communicating door was unlocked, and 
 Max had a quaint little room papered in blue 
 roses all to himself. And for the first time in his 
 life he slept in a bed with a blanket over him, 
 and a pillow under his head. How he loved, like 
 any fine gentleman, luxury and comfort I 
 
AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE 89 
 
 When T. P. came again in midsummer, he 
 brought Monsieur Wolff, and Max with all those 
 he loved best about him was the happiest dog in 
 the world. 
 
 "Forte! forte!" his friend said, when Max 
 leaped up foreign-fashion to kiss him on each 
 kind cheek, and Max let off a volley of fine, loud, 
 welcoming barks. 
 
 The day we left Kreuznach, when with pretty 
 German sentiment Herr Alten presented me a 
 farewell bouquet of sweet autumn roses, there 
 was a tiny nosegay to tie on Max's collar, and 
 from the important oherhellner to the humble 
 page boy, everyone had a farewell word for him, 
 "Auf wiedersehen. Max," "Auf baldiges wieder- 
 sehen. Max," and he stopped to offer a regret- 
 ful paw to all his good German friends. When 
 we arrived at Ostend the sea, in the wake of 
 a storm, was very rough, though the sun shone, 
 so we decided to stay on deck. 
 
 Monsieur WolflP, an experienced traveler, 
 placed a chair for me amidships, unfolded my 
 rug, wrapped it about my feet, lighted a cig- 
 arette, opened a paper, seated himself near me, 
 and told Max to lie down and be quiet. 
 
 "I think Max already looks distinctly uncom- 
 fortable," I said, "Shut your eyes. Max," M. 
 
90 DOG STARS 
 
 Wolff said, "and go to sleep." We had scarcely 
 left the dock when there was a miserable motion 
 of the sort that induces instant pallor and tightly 
 closed eyes, and silences all conversation. 
 
 The deck steward began getting busy. He 
 strapped a number of chairs that insisted upon 
 sliding about to stationary iron seats, covered a 
 few cold indifferent feet with hastily unstrapped 
 rugs, and started his terrible rounds, with num- 
 berless little tin basins, which, fitting into each 
 other, made a long tube of shining metal. And 
 he was as neat and dextrous in distributing them 
 as a prestidigitator. 
 
 All the people near me had been provided with 
 bowls. My turn came next. M. Wolff said, 
 "No thank you," then the facetious steward, with 
 a grand flourish, whirled one to Max. Laughing, 
 he placed it just in front of his wise, uneasy nose, 
 saying: "Here's one for you, old fellow, maybe 
 you will need it." There were sickly smiles from 
 the passengers, who still had their eyes open, and 
 a moment later a very sickly smile from the stew- 
 ard himself, for Max had instantly taken his 
 advice and used the bowl! 
 
 Monsieur Wolff was delighted. 
 
 "Oh, Max," he said, "what you do dere? 
 What you do?" 
 
AT BUCKINGHAJ^l PALACE 91 
 
 And he laughed uproariously, with the hearti- 
 ness of a carefree schoolboy. 
 
 Poor Max was so bad a sailor that he looked 
 quite thin when we arrived at Dover. The Eng- 
 lish sky was gray and our happy, careless sum- 
 mer was a thing of the past. 
 
 "You must," I said to Monsieur Wolff, 
 "speak German with Max so that he will not for- 
 get it." 
 
 "I give de man a pourboire for him," said 
 Monsieur Wolif, "he was so shamed in his joke." 
 
 Max treasured one German memory, the bed 
 he had slept in; it made him determine never 
 to sleep on the floor or on a mat again. 
 
 That night when I undressed and turned to 
 get in my bed he was under my blankets, with 
 his head on my pillow, and I had a long argu- 
 ment with him before he would consent to get 
 up. The next night he tried T. P.'s bed. And 
 finally he settled himself permanently in the 
 spare room. 
 
 There never was a creature of more fixed or 
 intelligent habits. Once a week the parlor maid 
 gave him a bath. The water was softened with 
 soda, he was lathered with good carbolic soap, 
 and I cleaned his teeth with pumice stone. 
 
 Although he disliked his bath, the warm water. 
 
92 DOG STARS 
 
 the scrubbing and combing of his thick tangled 
 hair, at eleven o'clock on every Friday he went 
 unsolicited to the bathroom, stood for a moment 
 disconsolately sighing, then jumped into the tub 
 and waited for Annie to turn on the water. 
 
 After his bath he was always sweetly patient 
 until the completion of his toilet. In the after- 
 noon combed, brushed, and looking the aristo- 
 ciatic gentleman that he was, he accompanied T. 
 P. to the House of Commons, where one of the 
 policemen always seated him in state in a fine 
 old hooded leather chair in the lobb5^ And af- 
 terward, whenever he found himself in the hall 
 of a splendid house, and saw a big hooded chair, 
 he at once seated himself in it. 
 
 Every member of Parliament who passed, 
 whether he belonged to the Government or the 
 Opposition, stopped to speak to him. For Max 
 was universally popular. 
 
 At the second reading of the Home Rule bill, 
 in the excitement of the great night. Max was 
 forgotten; and at three o'clock in the morning a 
 policeman found him still obediently waiting. 
 
 At half-past three I heard a door bell ringing, 
 threw on a dressing gown and went downstairs. 
 
 There stood a tall policeman, swinging a lan- 
 tern above Max's noble head. He said: 
 
AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE 93 
 
 "I was surprised in makin' my rounds to find 
 this gentleman. He had been waitin' all night. 
 I knew he was Mr. T. P. O'Connor's dog, so I've 
 just brought him home." 
 
 I thanked him and brought a stout peg of Irish 
 whisky for him to drink to the success of Home 
 Rule and the health of Max Gladstone O'Con- 
 nor. 
 
 One Friday evening we were dining in the 
 House with Doctor Wallis, a well known and 
 witty Liberal Member. He had kindly included 
 Max in his invitation, and my silky lad sat at the 
 right hand of the host. It is true on the floor, 
 but Doctor Wallis, profuse in his hospitality, of- 
 fered him various succulent morsels; and Max, 
 with his perfect manners, declined nothing, not 
 even a stalk of asparagus. Taking it daintily in 
 his teeth, he retired to a remote corner of the 
 room, secretly deposited it, and gravely returned 
 to his seat. 
 
 Finally I said, "Max doesn't eat the half of 
 what you give him. Doctor Wallis." 
 
 "Shall we make room for him at table and 
 give him the menu?" said the doctor with a smile. 
 Max lifted a reproachful paw to his knee. 
 
 "Never mind, old fellow," said the witty Lib- 
 eral member, shaking hands with him, "you are 
 
94 DOG STARS 
 
 the only four-footed member of the House of 
 Comimons, but there are plenty of them with long 
 ears." 
 
 My dear lad gave his thanking, pianissimo 
 bark, and we laughed and drank his health. 
 
 And if T. P. forgot Max on a Friday, very 
 frequently he would make the journey to the 
 House of Commons alone. The policemen of the 
 lobby gave him welcome ; and when the Member 
 for Liverpool issued forth for hat and coat, there 
 he would find the "four footed member" smiling 
 and waiting. 
 
 Undoubtedly, when pleased. Max did smile, 
 his mouth pleasantly opened, the muscles con- 
 tracted at the corners, and his black lips ex- 
 pressed a subtle sense of humor. 
 
 But for his friend, Monsieur Johannes Wolff, 
 he reserved a very special and individual atten- 
 tion. 
 
 "Max! Smile at me! Smile at me!" — ^with 
 the delightful titillation in his voice that all dogs 
 loved — and Max would curl back his trembling 
 lips in a broad grin that disclosed every tooth 
 in his head. 
 
 And Monsieur Wolff would reward him by 
 effusive enthusiasm. 
 
AT BUCKINGHAM PALACE 95 
 
 "Wunderharl W under schon! Colossal! Er 
 ist ein gute knabe. Nick ein Tiund." 
 
 Again Max would lift his lip, and then dash in 
 the garden, making circles on the lawn to reheve 
 his overwrought feelings. 
 
 The mere advent of his beloved friend, al- 
 though he was a frequent visitor to Oakley- 
 Lodge, aroused my dear lad to moving enthusi- 
 asm; as Monsieur Wolff would have said: 
 
 "Widout to know it," he did the bunny hug, 
 and the turkey trot by instinct; as both dances 
 were unknown at that time. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 MAX COMFORTS THE SICK AND MEETS PUNCH 
 
 Brighton, where ill health at this period of 
 my life compelled me to spend the winters, is a 
 veritable paradise for dogs; and at one time or 
 another, "on the front," every variety of this 
 varied race known in the world sallies forth for 
 exercise with his master or mistress. 
 
 Russet colored, blue tongued chows regarding 
 Western civilization with small, indifferent, sus- 
 picious Eastern eyes. Well set up, cleanly cut, 
 evenly marked, gay hearted, saucy, frank fox 
 terriers. Long, lithe, graceful, gentle, aloof, 
 feathery Russian wolf hounds — as if a great os- 
 trich plume had been transformed into a dog. 
 King Charles spaniels, with little, turned-up, 
 aristocratic noses, and a covering of fine, sUky 
 hair — unchanged in appearance, since an ances- 
 tor was painted in the round hollow of the arm 
 of laughing Nell Gwynne, or on the satin lap of 
 beautiful and radiant Emma Hamilton. 
 
MAX COMFORTS THE SICK 97 
 
 English mastiffs, big enough in stature to have 
 outgrown all small jealousies, stopping in their 
 lumbering stride to good naturedly speak to 
 every other dog, regardless of race, nationality 
 or pedigree — great-hearted, sure of their posi- 
 tion, old fashioned English gentlemen — ^like 
 Whigs and Tories, their ranks are thinning every 
 day. These mastiffs should belong to that nota- 
 ble conference which alas! no longer meets at 
 The Hague to try to spread Peace over this war- 
 ring, tragic world. 
 
 They actually smile and roll aside like portly 
 sailors to avoid stepping on the airy trifles known 
 as toy Pekinese and Pomeranians. Sometimes 
 they give an immense, deep sounding wow! 
 which makes the little creatures jump with ner- 
 vousness, and emit a whole gamut of shrill, irri- 
 tated barks, then fearfully rush to their mis- 
 tresses, and safely snuggle themselves up in rich 
 jackets and furs. And there are important look- 
 ing black poodles, beribboned and beautifully 
 shaved, with fine woolly rosettes reposing on their 
 black skins. Tails trimmed to a tiny plume, and 
 wagging patronizingly to their friends as they 
 pass. 
 
 Little, flossy, shining gray and orange York- 
 shire terriers. — How I love all of this family, so 
 
98 DOG STARS 
 
 full of character, and their own individual ways. 
 — Oh, Mr. Phelan, dear little Mr. Phelan, a no- 
 ble scion of this species, who died in March, how 
 much happiness you gave me, — and big, broad- 
 faced, tender, kind, gnarled, and knotted bull 
 dogs, — how they get into the core of the hearts 
 of their masters! An old Irishman who kept a 
 hotel in Dublin closed it for four days when his 
 bull dog died. 
 
 On a certain sunny morning in late November, 
 under a blue sky, and by a blue sea, every dog 
 in Brighton was taking a promenade, and among 
 them all the personality of Max Gladstone 
 O'Connor stood out, and he was a noticeable 
 gentleman. A trifle dandified in dress, his silky 
 hair brushed to brilhancy and wearing a silver 
 collar, he carried himself with great dignity, not 
 even nodding to one among the world of dogs, 
 although he liked seeing them. 
 
 Shivery, tiny ones in Paris coats, with scraps 
 of pocket handkerchiefs, almost induced the 
 Wolff grin ; but he restrained himself and passed 
 on. 
 
 He never voluntarily spoke to another dog in 
 his life, and if one said good-day to him, no mat- 
 ter how charming or friendly the gi'eeting, he ac- 
 knowledged it briefly, and went his way. 
 
MAX COMFORTS THE SICK 99 
 
 Very often, on account of his noble, contem- 
 plative expression, he was appealed to, and ap- 
 pointed umpire in a dog fight ; but he considered 
 all street brawls vulgar and ill-bred, and when 
 a dog preparing for a duel ran up to him and 
 pointed out the other dog waiting for combat 
 with bristles stiffened on his back. Max raised his 
 fine eyebrows, in cynical protest, made a wide 
 circle about the warriors and traveled away, as 
 fast as dignity would allow. If a dog was sick 
 or in trouble, that was another matter, then he 
 was kind friend and faithful nurse, but dogs as 
 dogs did not interest him. 
 
 One night after he had been with us a few 
 months he went out at seven o'clock for a little 
 airing, and never came back. It was dreadful 
 weather in January, raining, sleeting, and very 
 cold. At eleven o'clock I called and whistled, 
 there was no sound or sight of him, the street 
 was empty and I finally closed the door with a 
 very heavy heart. Although his collar bore a 
 full inscription. 
 
 Max, T. P. O'Connor's friend, 
 38 Grosvenor Koad, S. W. 
 
 surely that would bring him back, if only for the 
 reward, but I felt disappointed in him, he seemed 
 
100 DOG STARS 
 
 so wise, and it was positively stupid to get lost 
 after his last experience, 
 
 I slept badly, and asked Annie the moment 
 she fetched my tea if there was any news of Max. 
 She said no, and I dressed, wrote out a descrip- 
 tion of him, slipped on my waterproof, as it was 
 still raining, and started for the nearest police 
 station. Walking down Grosvenor Road, toward 
 Westminster, I passed an untenanted house, and 
 there on the doorstep sat Max, wet and bedrag- 
 gled, beside a sick dog, who, stretched at his feet, 
 was breathing heavily. Max stooped his noble 
 head and licked him. Lifting it, he saw me, and 
 gave a whole series of joyful, explanatory barks. 
 He knew that relief had come, and he told me 
 why he had been out all night. 
 
 I got a policeman to carry the dog to the Dogs' 
 Home, and, notwithstanding the painful associa- 
 tions connected with that institution, Max fol- 
 lowed behind, saw the homeless stranger safely 
 sheltered, then ran back to Grosvenor Road, too 
 fatigued to eat, but drank thirstily of water, and 
 slept all the rest of the day. 
 
 The policeman on night duty told my Annie 
 that at nine o'clock he had seen Max seat him- 
 self by the helpless stray spaniel, and every hour, 
 when he passed on his rounds, my dear lad was 
 
MAX COMFORTS THE SICK 101 
 
 still keeping faithful watch, and occasionally 
 stooping his dear head to give the sick dog a lick 
 of encouragement and of cheer. 
 
 Max was full of sympathy and tenderness for 
 man or beast in trouble, but his genius made him 
 sohtary. His great superiority placed him apart. 
 He was so nearly human in intelligence, so con- 
 templative and understanding, that I always cau- 
 tioned the family nevei to mention the word 
 dog in his presence, not being certain that he 
 knew he was one. 
 
 Oh, my constant companion of many years, it 
 was not only your Missy who found you peerless 
 among your race, but the many friends who knew 
 and loved you. 
 
 The shops are things of splendor on the King's 
 Road, in London by the sea. Thackeray, who 
 loved Brighton, speaks of them with commenda- 
 tion. Possibly the Marquis of Steyne found 
 more than one expensive bauble on "the front" 
 to please the critical taste of Becky Sharp. 
 
 Now great jewelers, displaying immense trans- 
 lucent pearls, pigeon-blood rubies, flawless em- 
 eralds, strings of diamonds, and splashes of rain- 
 bow opals, alternate on that long street by the sea 
 with antique shops whose windows are filled by 
 exhibits of such beauty and probity — they will 
 
102 DOG STARS 
 
 furnish you both pedigree and guarantee — that 
 even the veriest tyro is safe to buy. 
 
 Like Henry Ward Beecher, I love jewels, 
 their purity and depth of color, their high lights 
 and faceted brilliance fascinate me. And, 
 more even than precious stones, I delight in 
 enamels, carved crystals, cups of jade, specimens 
 of peachblow, painted snuff boxes — with perhaps 
 a grain of Pocahontas snuff clinging in a crevice 
 — icons of bold Russian colors, little figures of 
 ivory, brown with age, standing on a base of 
 onyx or lapis lazuli. Luster, light as a cotton 
 boll, with the iridescent tints of a century play- 
 ing on its warm brown glaze. All these beautiful 
 objects are to be seen through the great revealing 
 sheets of glass in the shop windows on the King's 
 Road. 
 
 And, in other windows, old historic furniture, 
 with reticent brass handles and fine-grained 
 wood, satin smooth from the careful polishing 
 of many hands — what a pleasure to look upon 
 its fine proportions — and Indian red cabinets of 
 priceless lacquer, and rare old English mirrors, 
 and delicately colored steel engravings, "Early 
 Spring in Devonshire," "The Harvesters," "A 
 Hillside in Kent," beckon you from the sea to 
 view their mellow attractions. 
 
MAX COMFORTS THE SICK 103 
 
 Max became a perfect expert in jewels and 
 antiques. The faintest sparlde in a shop win- 
 dow, and he sat down opposite the diamond twin- 
 kle prepared to discover a stone of purest water. 
 And he waited contentedly any length of time, 
 if I lingered before pearls, amethysts, diamonds, 
 emeralds or rubies. 
 
 Running ahead of me, when I passed without 
 stopping, before a shop of his selection, having 
 seated himself in front of the window, without 
 getting up, he would look over his shoulder, say- 
 ing: "There are some good things here ; you bet- 
 ter come see. No ? All right," and, with a linger- 
 ing glance at a ring or a pendant, he ran to over- 
 take me. 
 
 How suspiciously he would regard a tablet 
 marked "Genuine Queen Anne," sit down before 
 it, and become quite immovable, while he meas- 
 ured its height, the slender legs and the color 
 of the wood, with the knowing eye of an intelli- 
 gent buyer. He had also a very pretty apprecia- 
 tion of old china and antique silver candlesticks. 
 
 One morning he was sitting entranced before 
 a beautiful chest of drawers, and a fine sofa when 
 a gentleman in passing laid his hand on my dear 
 lad's head and said: "Hepplewhite your spe- 
 cialty, old man?" 
 
104 DOG STARS 
 
 Max looked up, and said quite plainly: "Yes, 
 I understand all periods of English furniture," 
 then gracefully yielded his place to the connois- 
 seur. 
 
 Another day he was examining a few fine 
 jewels on a red velvet cushion. A tall, beautiful, 
 sad lady, in mourning, stooped and kissed his 
 head. When Max looked up and acknowledged 
 her caress with a pianissimo bark, she smiled and 
 said: "Do you want a crown of diamonds, you 
 darhng dog? I'm sure you deserve it," and, turn- 
 ing to me, she continued: "He's so like a collie 
 I gave to a friend in Scotland. I had to part 
 with my home and — my dog." Max heard the 
 trouble in her voice and laid his head against 
 her hand. 
 
 She was silent for a moment, and almost 
 touched to tears; then she said cheerfully: "I 
 must not make an exhibition of myself on the 
 King's Road before a strange lady. They divine 
 everything, these companions of ours." And she 
 looked down tenderly at Max. 
 
 "They even make their mistresses understand." 
 I held out my hand, she placed hers in it, and we 
 shook hands right heartily over his dear head. 
 "Ships that pass in the night," for I never saw 
 her again, though I looked for her many days. 
 
MAX COMFORTS THE SICK 105 
 
 I wanted to tell her that my old lad's name was 
 Max. 
 
 There never was such a softener of obdurate 
 hearts as he. Never any dog, and few human 
 beings possessed of such boundless tact. We 
 were together one evening traveling on the 
 underground. A pale, worried, dyspeptic-look- 
 ing man got in at Kensington Station, seated 
 himself opposite us, pushed his hat wearily 
 back from his forehead, unfolded a newspaper 
 and began to read. Max jumped down from 
 his place beside me, sat himself in front of the 
 stranger, and laid his paw gently on his knee. 
 There was no notice taken of him. He tried the 
 other paw on the other knee. Still there was no 
 response. He then jumped lightly onto the seat 
 beside the gentleman and leaned against his 
 shoulder. The man read on. Max leaned more 
 and more trustingly toward him but the obdu- 
 rate individual completely ignored him. The 
 minutes were slipping by — we were to get out 
 at Sloane Square, when, quite gently and softly. 
 Max dropped his silky paw on the man's opened 
 newspaper. 
 
 He turned to find my old lad smiling a dear 
 and amiable smile in his very face. 
 
 "You've conquered, old fellow," he said, shak- 
 
106 DOG STARS 
 
 ing hands with him. "I don't like dogs, but if 
 they were all like you I'd bless the tribe." 
 
 Twenty-five years ago it was difficult to find 
 furnished houses in Brighton. Many great 
 English landlords and well-to-do Londoners 
 were quite content to spend their winters there, 
 instead of as now going to the South of France, 
 to Italy, and even farther afield to Egypt. 
 
 At this period the English were more home- 
 staying than those of the present day. A cozy 
 house, not too far from "the front," open Eng- 
 lish fires, long walks over the health-giving 
 downs, which even in mid-winter are emerald 
 green, was considered a very pleasant thing to 
 do, as indeed it was and still is. 
 
 Every variety of carriage passed up and down 
 the wide King's Road. The family barouche, 
 swinging lightly on its perfectly poised springs, 
 smart victorias, high dog-carts, little governess's 
 carts of shining basket work, filled with rosy 
 children, trig footmen driving the well-rounded, 
 steadily going ponies, gay parties of equestrians 
 and fine mounted policemen here and there to 
 keep order, completed the quickly moving and 
 picturesque scene. 
 
 Now mounted policemen are unnecessary, for 
 
MAX COMFORTS THE SICK 107 
 
 the populous splendor of the road has passed. 
 The opulent rich only occasionally patronize 
 Brighton during the autumn, while a quarter of 
 a century ago the season was gay and crowded. 
 The smaller houses were so much in demand that 
 I had to wait until just before Christmas for what 
 I wanted, and Max and I went to a characteristic 
 hotel, now also a thing of the past. 
 
 It was kept by a man who modelled himself — 
 and he was no mean copy — upon the polite and 
 old-fashioned, well-bred members of the English 
 aristocracy. 
 
 His hotel, year after year, had been liberally 
 patronized by them. His port and his wines 
 were unimpeachable. He considered advertising 
 vulgar and demeaning. The recommendation of 
 his faithful guests filled his house. And it was 
 really a most home-like and agreeable old place. 
 
 For many years he had been to every titled 
 sale in Brighton. There were cabinets that had 
 belonged to Lord So-and-So, vases that had been 
 bought at Lady So-and-So's sale, luxurious sofas 
 that had belonged to Sir John — a Scottish baro- 
 net, and one cherished table of satinwood which 
 once adorned the boudoir of a dowager duchess. 
 
 There were splendid, old, heavy, brocade cur- 
 tains, thick carpets on the floors, and, in spite of 
 
108 DOG STARS 
 
 the very distant relationship of each heterogene- 
 ous object, the sunny rooms presented an inter- 
 esting and pleasing appearance. 
 
 The proprietor himself was part of the scheme, 
 neat, well groomed, trim, conventional, and cor- 
 rectly dressed for every occasion. Pleasant, 
 cheerful looking tweeds for the morning, not too 
 new — he wore his clothes easily like a gentleman 
 — a slightly more dignified garb for the after- 
 noon, beautiful fitting full dress for the evening, 
 and, like Mr. Chamberlain, he always wore an 
 orchid for his button-hole. 
 
 "My aim," he said, with his imitated county 
 accent, "is not so much to keep an hotel, as to 
 make a permanent home for ladies and gentle- 
 men. 
 
 "Lady Tenterton, from Berks, has been with 
 me seventeen winters. She brings her own but- 
 ler, and has her meals served in her private din- 
 ing-room. 
 
 "Major McGillicuddy has been with me eight 
 winters, and says" — like the Irish he's fond of his 
 joke — "that he will come as long as my port 
 lasts" — the Irish major's wit was military — "I 
 bought the entire cellar of the late Lord Havers- 
 ford, so the major is likely to be with me for 
 many y'ars." 
 
MAX COMFORTS THE SICK 109 
 
 How he came to extend hospitality to such an 
 undistinguished person as myself I don't know. 
 Perhaps it was because of Max, whom he loved 
 at first sight. 
 
 And, while Max was grateful for his affection, 
 he was made uncomfortable by Mr. Janeway's 
 lack of tact. 
 
 No one had ever talked either dog-talk or 
 baby-talk to Max. His dignity and intelligence 
 forbade it; but our first day at the hotel Mr. 
 Janeway said to him: "Go wid Simpkins and 
 get 00 din-din." Max first shivered with disgust, 
 and then gave a sensible protesting bark. 
 
 "What's the matter?" said Mr. Janeway. 
 "Isn't he hungry?" 
 
 "Oh, it isn't that," I said. "Max is a dignified 
 statesman. You might just as well have asked 
 Mr. Gladstone or an American Senator if he 
 wanted his din-din." 
 
 "I beg your pardon. Max," said Mr. Janeway. 
 "Simpkins will serve j^our dinner in the butler's 
 pantry. Please allow him to show you the way." 
 
 Max accepted the apology, amiably wagged 
 his silken tail, and trotted off at once for his 
 dinner. 
 
 Mr. Janeway, in the most correct riding kit, 
 at exactly eleven o'clock in the morning, mounted 
 
110 DOG STARS 
 
 a large, showy, safe, conventional-minded horse, 
 with no desire to dance the tango or to do any 
 other fancy steps, but just to amble steadily and 
 monotonously to the downs and back. 
 
 Max, waiting at the door, watched Mr. Jane- 
 way mount, and swtmg along behind the middle- 
 aged hunter in a long stride, returning in great 
 spirits and smelling of the sea, for often his 
 friend dismounted at Rottingdean, threw a piece 
 of driftwood on the top of a receding wave, and 
 Max valiantly swam out, and joyously brought 
 it back. 
 
 Mr. Janeway was not only proud of his hotel, 
 but of the length of time his servants had been 
 in his employ. 
 
 "My housekeeper," he said, "has been with me 
 twenty y'ars, my head chambermaid fourteen, 
 the boots ten, and my butler seventeen. I even 
 trust him with the keys of my cellar." 
 
 And Simpkins looked it. All that was visible 
 of him, face, neck and hands being a rich, deep, 
 purple red. 
 
 "Simpkins," Mr. Janeway continued, "has 
 only been in two places. He began as first foot- 
 man in one of the best county families of Suffolk, 
 and then came to me. And now, I try not to let 
 him know it, but I couldn't do without him." 
 
' GOOD dog! a eat. bravo, a rat! 
 
MAX COMFORTS THE SICK 111 
 
 When eight o'clock came, Simpkins, very im- 
 portant in evening attire — he didn't wear, but 
 he looked an orchid — waited at the dining-room 
 door, civil and soft of speech, to welcome and 
 elaborately seat each guest. 
 
 Max approvingly watched him from the draw- 
 ing-room. He always recognized good manners, 
 and patronizingly liked the plum-colored butler 
 who gave him plentiful "din-dins," but I think 
 Simpkins and I understood each other from the 
 first. His sly little watchful eyes betrayed his 
 unreliable character, and he was outrageously 
 lazy. If the fire in the drawing-room burned 
 low, and there was no footman about to put fresh 
 coals on, Simpldns would let it burn to ashes. 
 His greatest accomplishment, and one that he 
 really enjoyed, was serving a mediocre bottle of 
 wine, with such an air, and in such a way, as to 
 give it a flavor of the finest vintage. 
 
 One morning a cold kept me indoors. My 
 own room was without sun, and the drawing- 
 room was empty, so I sat in an easy chair by the 
 fire, reading a book. It was a cold, bright day — ■ 
 the fire burned quickly, the shovel had been for- 
 gotten, and to lift the heavy, old-fashioned, brass 
 scuttle was impossible. 
 
 Mr, Janeway had gone for a ride. Max, on 
 
112 DOG STARS 
 
 account of my indisposition, had regretfully de- 
 clined to accompany him. 
 
 It was the hour for English servants to par- 
 take of that meal called "a second breakfast," 
 which keeps them from starvation until half past 
 one o'clock, when they have dinner. 
 
 The fire burned low. Gray ashes filled the 
 hearth. I rang the bell. Max got up and barked 
 loudly. It was the only sound that broke the 
 silence. I rang again. He barked again. 
 
 At last Simpkins appeared, reproachfully wip- 
 ing the froth of morning beer from his thick lips. 
 
 "Did you ring, mxmi?" he said softly. 
 
 "Yes," I said. "I've been ringing for quite 
 twenty minutes. The fire is almost out. You 
 will have to bring kindling wood or else it will 
 never burn." 
 
 This meant for Simpkins a trip on his gouty 
 feet to the basement and back again. 
 
 He pondered the situation, and retired from 
 the room, closing the door behind him with be- 
 coming quietude. Max and I gazed at the dying 
 fire and waited. 
 
 He returned in a very few minutes and, in- 
 stead of kindling wood, he carried in his shaky 
 hands, a large cut glass decanter filled with fine 
 sweet olive oil. Advancing slowly he fixed me 
 
MAX COMFORTS THE SICK 113 
 
 with an eye of intelligence which said: "You 
 already suspect me, so I have not much to lose in 
 your estimation and j^ou won't betray me. Your 
 motives may not be high, but indifference pre- 
 vents your making mischief, so here goes a cruse 
 of oil." And with that he boldly poured the 
 rich, golden fluid on the fading coals. 
 
 They blazed up bravely, making rose and opal 
 tinted flames. 
 
 Max barked almost fiercely to see such wicked 
 waste. Simpkins then lifted the generous brass 
 scuttle, reinforced the fire, and silently retired. 
 
 Max, muttering, accompanied him to the door, 
 where Simpkins paused to turn and give a last 
 intelligent, comprehensive glance toward me. 
 
 "I am not mistaken," the tail of his ej^e said. 
 And I answered silently: "No, I am not your 
 mistress nor an informer." And Max gave one 
 short final bark of protest, then forgivingly licked 
 his hand. 
 
 When Mr. Janeway came back from his ride 
 —it was then lightly snowing and he had en- 
 countered a biting wind on the downs — there was 
 a splendid fire, and, as he held out his chiUed 
 hands toward the glowing coals, he said: "Now, 
 this is what I cafl comfortable; it's a regular 
 Simpkins blaze. He never lets the fire go down," 
 
114 DOG STARS 
 
 I felt like a conspirator. Max gave a protest- 
 ing whine, and my voice sounded flat when I 
 said: "Simpkins seems to be an institution." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Janeway, "Simpkins is the 
 hotel — a most trustworthy person. He under- 
 stands the gentry and county people. He never 
 makes a mistake. If a bounder came to the hotel, 
 even if his appearance deceived the clerk, Simp- 
 kins would know at a glance, and the rooms 
 would all be occupied. Of course his ideas are on 
 the scale of a gentleman. He is not a penurious 
 servant. He might, for instance, be more eco- 
 nomical with oil." 
 
 Max barked loudly, and became greatly ex- 
 cited. 
 
 "Be quiet, old fellow," said Mr. Janeway, 
 smiling, "what do you know of salad oil?" Max 
 beamed with intelligence, and licked my hand, 
 saying quite plainly: "We know all about 
 Simpkins and salad oil, but it is not for us to 
 tell." 
 
 "There is no Frenchman," said Mr. Janeway, 
 "who makes a better salad dressing than Simp- 
 kins. All my people, even those with high-priced 
 men cooks, acknowledge that he makes incom- 
 parable salads. I wouldn't hurt his feelings for 
 the world, but just in pleasantry I said to him 
 
MAX COMFORTS THE SICK 115 
 
 yesterday: 'Do you, by any chance, bathe yourself 
 in olive oil, Simpkins?' And he was terribly up- 
 set. He almost wept, and I had to explain it was 
 only a joke, and that I knew he was a good chap 
 and thoroughly trustworthy." 
 
 Max almost smiled, walked across the fur rug, 
 sat down in front of Mr. Janeway, looked up in 
 his face protectingly, raised his paw and gently 
 placed it on his friend's knee. 
 
 "You," he said with his luminous eyes, "are 
 the good chap — the good, trusting, simple chap." 
 
 Mr. Janeway laid his hand over Max's soft 
 paw, and thoughtfully regarded his speaking 
 eyes. 
 
 "He understands everything, Mrs. T. P., this 
 wonderful fellow. He is pitying me. You, who 
 translate his thoughts, tell me why?" 
 
 "He is sorry that he couldn't go riding on the 
 downs to-day, and is apologizing," I said men- 
 daciously, and, fleeing from the temptation of 
 frankness, I got up, called Max, and started to 
 leave the room. 
 
 "I've got a new cask of oil on the way from 
 Italy. A former client living there sends it to 
 me," said Mr. Janeway. "Don't you want a 
 couple of dozen when Simpkins bottles it?" 
 
 "Indeed I do," I said. "Thank you, very 
 
116 DOG STARS 
 
 much. I've never tasted fresher, better oil any- 
 where," and, with a somewhat uneasy conscience. 
 Max and I went upstairs. 
 
 Colds are only temporary things in "Doctor 
 Brighton." Very soon mine was cured, and Max 
 and I began our long afternoon walks together 
 over the downs toward Rottingdean. 
 
 Sometimes we made a detour, turned off the 
 main road, and followed the path to Ovingdean, 
 a tiny village, so sweet, so sleepy, and well pro- 
 tected of a windy day in its little green hollow. 
 
 Max loved the cozy farmhouse, where we had 
 tea in the low-ceilinged, clean kitchen. He sat 
 on a tidy rug made of rags in front of a blazing 
 fire, between two big, dozing cats, who did not 
 exist for him. He scorned even to look at cats. 
 And, understanding his attitude of aloofness, 
 they were not disturbed by his presence. 
 
 While the rosy handmaiden laid the cloth, 
 sliced thin bread and butter, placed the marma- 
 lade on the table, and made the tea, Max, cheer- 
 fully alert, got up and followed her about the 
 room; and, when I seated myself, stood by the 
 table expectant, but never greedy, not even when 
 he dribbled at the sight of fresh country cheese. 
 It was nature's manifestation, wliich he would 
 have prevented if he could. 
 
MAX COMFORTS THE SICK 117 
 
 When we resumed our walk, and got to the 
 top of the hills, where we could see the beautiful 
 old windmill which Burne- Jones gave the little 
 hamlet of Rottingdean, Max always left me to 
 get a view of it, for there was never a greater 
 lover of beauty; sometimes he would stand with 
 his luminous eyes fixed on a beautiful sunset, as 
 if he was looking far, far bej'^ond the blaze of 
 color, then turn to me with a noble bark of appre- 
 ciation. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 MAX DISCOVERS A ROMANCE 
 
 One morning, as I left my room and came 
 down the stairs, on the second landing Max left 
 me, and entered a suite of rooms. I waited. 
 Presently he came out, but went back again, and 
 two or three times repeated his little journej^ so 
 finally I followed him, walked down the hall, 
 found the door open, and Mr. Janeway and the 
 maid servants busily engaged in giving the draw- 
 ing-room a most festive appearance. 
 
 The windows were hung with new lace cur- 
 tains. There were fresh flowers in all the vases. 
 The writing-table, which once belonged to a 
 Duchess, had actually been brought from the 
 large drawing-room, and was furnished in fine 
 mauve paper and envelopes, a silver inkstand and 
 a bouquet of violets. 
 
 "Dear me," I said, "are you preparing for 
 royalty, Mr. Janeway?" 
 
 "No," he said, "the rooms are for a honey- 
 moon couple. The bride is an old friend of the 
 
 118 
 
A ROMANCE 119 
 
 hotel. She spent eleven winters with us, and 
 her marriage is very unexpected and romantic." 
 
 "That's why I begged you to come," barked 
 Max. "I knew something unusual was attached 
 to all these flowery decorations." 
 
 "And the bride and bridegroom arrive to- 
 day?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes; the rtiairiage ceremony," said Mr. Jane- 
 way, "is now being performed in St. George's 
 Church, Hanover Square, and, after the recep- 
 tion at Buckingham Palace Hotel, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Dandridge take the one-fifty-five train for Brigh- 
 ton. When she first came here Mrs. Dandridge 
 was companion to a rich widow lady of decidedly 
 trying habits and disposition: but Miss Browne 
 had the patience of an angel. Men servants and 
 maid servants and ladies' maids came and went, 
 but she, although sorely tried, remained at her 
 post, and, when her employer finally died, she 
 left a brief will leaving her faithful companion 
 her sole heir. 
 
 "After her employer's death, in spite of her 
 good fortune. Miss Browne went all to pieces. 
 The old lady had allowed the trained nurse to 
 do nothing for her. It was always day and night 
 — 'I want Connie. Tell Connie to come to me!' 
 So, when Miss Browne went to her sister's house 
 
120 DOG STARS 
 
 in London, ill from nervous prostration, for 
 weeks she was confined to her room, and never 
 asked a question about her large inheritance. A 
 great weakness and indifference had for a time 
 destroyed her interest in life. 
 
 "Mr. Dandridge, about fifteen years younger 
 than Miss Browne, fell in love with her in this 
 very room, when he came here for the winter 
 with his mother. He was only twenty-one then, 
 and she treated him like what he was — a boy — 
 and wouldn't hear of marrying him. But he did 
 what he said he would, and what nobody ex- 
 pected: he kept faithful. And every year he 
 spent Christmas and Easter in Brighton, and 
 came every day to see Miss Browne. 
 
 "She was a pretty little woman, with a white 
 skin, heavy red hair, and she never looked or 
 seemed her age. Her sister, a Mrs. Edmund 
 Harding, always spent the holidays here, too. 
 She was a widow of small means, a very good- 
 looking, agreeable lady, and I made special terms 
 for her, on account of Miss Browne, who was 
 devoted to her sister. She paid for the schooling 
 of her eldest nephew, and gave the young lady 
 of seventeen her dress allowance. 
 
 "Mrs. Harding had three children, and I fancy 
 Miss Browne's lady did a great deal for all the 
 
A ROMANCE 121 
 
 family. As the years went by their Aunt Con- 
 nie might have married Mr, Dandridge, for he 
 was getting older, too, but she didn't, thinking 
 she owed a duty to her sister," 
 
 Max's eyes, very bright, were fixed on Mr. 
 Janeway's face, and I am convinced he under- 
 stood all that was said. Giving a quick, pianissi- 
 mo bark, he said: "Go on, go on; we are both 
 waiting to hear the end." 
 
 "Mrs, Harding nursed Miss Browne faithfully 
 while she was so ill, and insisted on doing every- 
 thing for her," said Mr, Janeway, "without the 
 assistance of a nurse, and there were several doc- 
 tors, strangers to her, who came repeatedly and 
 tired her with insistent questions, 
 
 "Her nerves mended slowly, but she did grad- 
 ually improve, and one day, when her sister had 
 gone to do some shopping, she got out of her 
 bed, slipped on a dressing-gown, and went down 
 stairs. The drawing-room was warm and pleas- 
 ant. She sat by the fire until she was rested, got 
 up feeling better, and went to her sister's writing- 
 table, intending to write Mr, Dandridge a note, 
 saying that at last she was well enough to see 
 him, 
 
 "When she opened the desk, she saw a folded 
 paper with her own name upon it, and, without 
 
122 DOG STARS 
 
 any great surprise or interest, she unfolded it 
 and read an order for her incarceration in a pri- 
 vate mad-house. The paper was sworn to, and 
 certified by the strange doctors who had talked 
 with her, and as a dangerous lunatic she was to 
 be removed from her sister's care that afternoon. 
 
 "The shock made her sick and faint, but the 
 instinct for self-preservation steadied her to rally 
 all her forces. The most hideous of life's realities 
 faced her — treachery and imprisonment for life. 
 The awful proof was grasped in her trembling 
 hand. She felt too weak to go upstairs ; she was 
 afraid to ring the bell and ask the assistance of 
 a servant. She hadn't a penny. If God would 
 only give her strength to get out of the house ! 
 
 "She wavered to her feet, got to the hall, 
 slipped on her nephew's overcoat to cover her 
 dressing-gown, pulled a soft felt hat down over 
 her face, and, as the front door closed, heavenly 
 assistance came around the corner in a slowly 
 moving cab. She motioned to the cabman, got in, 
 and told him to drive to No. 10 The Temple, Mr. 
 Dandridge's chambers. When she got there, 
 with the certificate of her madness still clenched 
 in her hand, and was shown in his private room, 
 at last she gave way, and lapsed into alarming 
 unconsciousness. When she opened her eyes. 
 
A ROMANCE 123 
 
 Mr. Dandridge had read the paper, and said: 
 'Don't say one word. I understand everything. 
 There's a carriage at the door. I'm taking you 
 to my mother at Wimbledon.' " 
 
 Max frisked delightedly about the room. 
 "And lived happy every after," he joyously 
 barked. 
 
 "Be quiet, laddie," said Mr. Janeway. "This 
 story's nearly finished. Then you can take your 
 Missy for a walk. Many doctors say Wimble- 
 don is as health-giving as Brighton. Of course 
 that's pure nonsense, but Miss Browne got well 
 there, and became engaged to be married there, 
 and is going there to live at the end of her honey- 
 moon, which she is spending in Vernon Hall." 
 
 "I do so love those rare stories of real life 
 that finish as they should. She is going to be 
 happy, isn't she, Mr. Janeway, in spite of the 
 difference between the ages of her husband and 
 herself?" I said. 
 
 "In his case it is quite all right," said Mr. Jane- 
 way. "Mr. Dandridge ain't everybody's taste, 
 but he's a steady, good young man, of fixed hab- 
 its. He has his bath every mornin' at seven- 
 thirty to the tick. He won't read a newspaper, 
 if it's even been unfolded in the office. And if 
 
124 DOG STARS 
 
 he hadn't married Miss Browne he never would 
 have married anybody. She's a twelve years' 
 habit. Even if he wanted to, he can't change ; it 
 ain't in him." 
 
 Max looked at me anxiously. This description 
 of Mr. Dandridge rather dampened our enthusi- 
 asm. 
 
 "But will he make her happy?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Janeway, "he certainly will. 
 She don't see him with my eyes or yours. She's 
 in love with him. She's always been in love with 
 him. And, more than that, she's used to bein' 
 put upon. She won't mind his little set waj^s." 
 
 "Come, Max," I said. "After all it's a joyful 
 world. See how the sun is shining. We'll walk 
 miles to-day," which we did, for, when we re- 
 turned, the Dandridges were just stepping from 
 a smart carriage. Mr. Janeway, Simpldns, and 
 the housekeeper stood on the steps to give them 
 welcome, and Max, barking his melodious loud- 
 est, ran to the bride and pleasantly licked her 
 gray-gloved hand. 
 
 "Do you live here, old fellow?" she said, in a 
 very sweet voice. "If you do, come upstairs with 
 us." And Max leaped up the stairs to display a 
 still warmer welcome when they entered their 
 pretty sitting-room. 
 
A ROMANCE 125 
 
 We were a fortnight in the hotel with the 
 Dandridges. She discovered a certain kind of 
 small, sweet biscuit, beloved of my dear old lad, 
 and every afternoon at four o'clock, he was in- 
 vited to tea with them. Mrs. Dandridge, who still 
 looked rather frail, decided to stay in Brighton 
 until the spring. Mr, Dandridge was to go to 
 London twice a week. They were a very friendly, 
 comfortable bride and groom, often asking Max 
 and I to spend the evening with them, and we 
 drove out to the Dyke together, and Gypsy Lee, 
 in picturesque Romany costume, read our hands, 
 and predicted with far-away eyes and a far-away 
 voice that in two months Mrs. Dandridge would 
 meet her future husband, and in three weeks 
 Max and I would marry Mr. Dandridge. 
 
 The first of December I found a prettily fur- 
 nished small house in Hove, and the lady, who 
 had been obliging and considerate about various 
 small details, after our arrangements were con- 
 cluded, wrote and asked if I would accept as a 
 guest her affectionate and amiable pug. Punch. 
 He was accustomed to the house, and his walks 
 on "the front," liked marrow and marmalade, 
 would give no trouble, loved kind ladies, and 
 would be a companion for Max. 
 
 Knowing how my dear lad always avoided 
 
126 DOG STARS 
 
 dogs, I should certainly have refused my hospi- 
 tality to Punch, but, without waiting for a reply, 
 my landlady had betaken herself to the Conti- 
 nent. 
 
 In the afternoon, when we rang the bell, Annie 
 opened the door. 
 
 "It's a nice little house, mum," she said, "but 
 we've had to send to London for a good many 
 things. The cook had no stock pot nor custard 
 molds." 
 
 "How particular servants are!" I thought. 
 But at any rate the drawing-room looked charm- 
 ing, with a bright fire, an open piano, chrysan- 
 themums of a rich hue on a lacquer stand, easy 
 chairs drawn to a table piled with books, and 
 Punch luxuriously sitting in a hole which he 
 had made for himself in my landlady's best yel- 
 low-satin sofa cushion. 
 
 > "Get down, sor," said Annie. Punch, with 
 scorn on his wrinkled brow, sat as fixed as the 
 pyramid. 
 
 "It's the third time I've tried to make him get 
 off that sofa cushion," said Annie. "I never saw 
 such an obstinate little beast." 
 
 "Well," I said, "don't forget it's his house, and 
 his sofa cushion. We are only temporary lodg- 
 ers, after all." 
 
A ROMANCE 127 
 
 But, when I sat down in an easy chair, Punch 
 at once left his bed of down, trotted across the 
 hearth rug, jumped on my lap, and took immedi- 
 ate and complete possession of me. It was as if 
 we had known each other in the palaeozoic age. 
 Or perhaps he was an instinctive judge of char- 
 acter, and knew that I could be managed by a 
 firm will. And that small pug possessed a firm 
 and continuous will. It was never intermittent, 
 so he got all that he wanted. 
 
 Max loathed him on sight, and considered him 
 innately common. Punch had, indeed, every 
 quality that was most antagonistic to the noble 
 nature of my self -controlled gentleman: 
 
 A greedy appetite ; the brazen cheek of a com- 
 mercial traveler; no realization of any class dis- 
 tinctions, and a desire for comfort, even at the 
 loss of his self-respect. 
 
 On the King's Road, if I sat on an iron bench 
 to rest, Punch, looking about, selected for his 
 seat the silken lap of a lady in a bath chair, sof- 
 tened by a splendid fur rug. And rebuffs made 
 no impression upon him. 
 
 Occasionally a lonely invalid was pleased to 
 make his acquaintance, but more often than not 
 a startled voice called out: "Here, chairman, 
 take this dog away!" 
 
128 DOG STARS 
 
 The brusque manners of Punch were a con- 
 tinuous source of mortification to Max, who 
 gradually grew to lag so far behind that he was 
 in no way implicated in any of our ungraceful 
 contretemps. 
 
 Punch was like a cockney tripper in his casual 
 and sudden intimacies and his impudence. He 
 always stopped and spoke saucily to every dog 
 that he met on the street. Large, small, well- 
 bred or mongrel. Punch curled his tail tight, and 
 said: 
 
 "Now, keep your hair on, and don't dare me, 
 whatever you do." 
 
 Big dogs smiled and lumbered on; smaller dogs 
 looked sour, but dogs of his own size frequently 
 engaged him in encounter. 
 
 He had any amount of courage, and fought 
 his best, but, being fat and soft, he generally got 
 the worst of it; and, like some human beings, 
 never profited by experience, and continually 
 plunged into fresh errors. 
 
 A limited number of democratic, annoying 
 strolls by the sea with us were enough for Max. 
 He got up early, went out for his exercise alone, 
 spent the day with the Dandridges and returned 
 home late in the evening. 
 
 "How can you leave your Missy hke this?" I 
 
A ROMANCE 129 
 
 asked him. "You never used to leave her, if 
 you could help it, and now you are never at 
 home." 
 
 Max gave a protesting bark, with his eye 
 fixed steadily on Punch. 
 
 "There," he said, "is the odious reason for my 
 absence. It's your affair, and my grief. I don't 
 complain. He has been impudent and insulting 
 to me scores of times, and I scorn to bite him — 
 but to stay in the same house with him, even for 
 you, never! I would prefer to die." 
 
 And the poor, exclusive lad, with all the tastes 
 and manners of a refined gentleman, grew more 
 and more depressed as the days went by. He 
 tried Christian Science on the situation, saying, 
 when he observed Punch lying in the very middle 
 of the hearth rug: "There is no such thing as 
 material matter." But "silent treatment" so in- 
 furiated Punch that always when he experienced 
 it, he nipped Max on the ear as an indefensible 
 argument against Science. 
 
 And the last thing at night and the first thing 
 in the morning the fat warrior was with me, never 
 giving my old lad and his Missy a chance to see 
 each other alone. 
 
 There never was a dog with less delicacy of 
 feeling or tact than Punch. No matter how 
 
130 DOG STARS 
 
 tragic my nights were from insomnia, he came to 
 my room — I slept with my door open, as, when 
 I had tried it shut, he scratched persistently and 
 maddeningly until I got out of bed and opened 
 it — jumped on my pillow, placed his cold, wet 
 nose against mine, and waited for me to open my 
 eyes. I could pretend to be asleep for ten min- 
 utes, and he would not budge, nor would his nose. 
 There he stood, breathing heavily, and saying 
 quite plainly: "If this make-believe amuses you, 
 I'm game to play it as long as you like." 
 
 Whether he had any depth of feeling, I don't 
 know, but he was very human and affectionate, 
 and he loved companionship. 
 
 I used to explain to Max that he was a silly ' 
 little dog, and that my duty required me to look 
 after him, but I fear our happy and close rela- 
 tions would have been sadly strained only for 
 Punch's foolish daring, and terrible punishment. 
 Having perfect faith in his own judgment — 
 which was of the worst — he always acted upon 
 it. When he started to do a thing, neither calls, 
 nor threats, nor the wave of a dog whip deterred 
 him. His small, round, wrinkled head contained 
 the obstinacy of a strong young donkey. 
 
 One day, when we started for a walk, I no- 
 ticed that his mood was very belligerent, and re- 
 
A ROMANCE 131 
 
 peatedly warned him. Several large dogs looked 
 serious at his insulting remarks, and, when he 
 nipped at their huge jowls, growled, but passed 
 on. 
 
 "Do you see that?" he would say to me, his tail 
 curled on his fat back like a neat sausage. 
 "Fools ! They don't dare to bite me. It wouldn't 
 be playing the game. I'm little, they're big — I 
 shall take advantage of the situation." 
 
 "You had better look out," I said to him. 
 "You'll meet your Waterloo." And he did. 
 
 At that very minute, a large, red-eyed, ill- 
 favored, slouching crusty brown dog passed 
 along. Punch made an exceedingly insulting re- 
 mark to him. The dog rumbled like thunder. 
 Punch ran around to the rear and nipped his 
 drooping, mangy tail. Then the mongrel turned, 
 with a roar like a lion, seized poor Punch by the 
 back of his thick neck, and shook him like a leaf. 
 I screamed and brought my whip down on him 
 with all my might. He dropped Punch with a 
 howl, and ran away, leaving the surprised war- 
 rior, as I thought, dead, for he lay perfectly still, 
 bleeding at my feet. 
 
 "Punch!" I cried. "Little Punch! Oh, poor 
 little Punch!" The sausage tail quivered. 
 
 "He isn't dead," a gentleman who was passing 
 
132 DOG STARS 
 
 said, "but he's pretty badly hurt, madam." And 
 hfting him up, he put him in my arms, and I got 
 in a cab and told the cabman to drive to the best 
 veterinary surgeon in Brighton, and if he drove 
 quickly I would give him double fare. 
 
 There was an ugly, jagged wound, which was 
 bleeding, in the little dog's neck, and two deep, 
 purple-red holes near the spinal cord, where the 
 cowardly assassin's eye teeth — for he was three 
 times the size of Punch — had penetrated almost 
 deeply enough for his final undoing, when, like 
 Mercutio, he could have said: "No, 'tis not so 
 deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but 
 'tis enough, 'twiU serve." 
 
 The veterinary surgeon was luckily in his hos- 
 pital, and made instant preparation to dress the 
 wound. 
 
 "Can you save him?" I asked tearfully. 
 
 "Yes," said Doctor Dobson, "if the other dog's 
 mouth was clean. The little chap's in a pretty 
 bad way, and he's rather fat and gouty. His 
 family are always fond of the pleasures of the 
 table, but if he escapes blood poisoning he'll be 
 all right." 
 
 "Will he be in the hospital long?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes," said the doctor. "You wouldn't diet 
 him, and his blood must be kept cool." 
 
A ROMANCE 133 
 
 Poor Punch lifted very heavy eyes to me. 
 When I left him he looked as if he had received 
 an unforgetable lesson. 
 
 Max was on the steps to joyously greet me, 
 whether he had seen the accident, or knew by in- 
 tuition that Punch was not with me, I don't 
 know, but cheerful and confident he never left me 
 the next day, and our happy, close companion- 
 ship was at once resumed. 
 
 I met the Dandridges on the street, and they 
 said: "What has become of Max? He never 
 comes to see us any more." And I told them 
 Punch had nearly met his death, was in hospital, 
 and that Max had resumed his home life. Poor 
 Punch! There was fever in his wound, and it 
 healed too slowly for him to return to his home 
 before we went back to London. As we were 
 on the way to the station I told the driver to stop 
 by Doctor Dobson's. I wanted to say good-by 
 to Punch. 
 
 One of the men brought him to the carriage, 
 and I shall never forget the look of horror on 
 Max's face, when he caught sight of the now 
 quite shapely warrior, whimpering with joy and 
 struggling to get to me. Evidently he was under 
 the impression that his enemy would accompany 
 us to London, and he did something that oc- 
 
134 DOG STARS 
 
 curred only once afterward in the whole of his 
 self-controlled life. He threw back his noble 
 head, and howled and howled, a heart-broken 
 protest against the adoption of Punch. 
 
 "Don't, Max," I said. "Don't give way like 
 this. I've only come to say good-by to little 
 Punchy." 
 
 The man laughed. "He don't love the little 
 chap, do he, mum?" 
 
 "No," I said, "he feels very strongly about 
 Punch." 
 
 Max, in anguish, had ceased to howl, but was 
 still whimpering and showing flashes of his teeth. 
 
 The man, looking at my dear lad, said: "He 
 looks like a Christian, that dog. He's worth a 
 dozen of the little 'un." 
 
 "Take him," I said, holding out Punch. "His 
 mistress will be pleased. You have given him 
 quite a slim figure." 
 
 "Yes'm," the man said. "He's bucked up since 
 he ain't been overfed. He goes home to-morrow. 
 Thank you, mum," and Punch was carried strug- 
 gling and angrily snuffling away. 
 
 Max whimpered at intervals all the way to the 
 station. The shock of seeing Punch again, and 
 the possibility of a life spent with him had been 
 exceedingly bitter. 
 
A ROMANCE 135 
 
 I never saw Punch again. His mistress moved 
 to the Midlands, but she wrote me that he became 
 more careful, after his last battle, and he lived 
 to a very great age. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 MR. LABOUCHERE TELLS MAX A DOG STORY 
 
 Max spent a very happy spring. We had 
 moved to Chelsea, and he made many friends 
 in the neighborhood. All the cabmen at the cab- 
 stand had a word for him, and hopefully he fre- 
 quently got in a waiting vehicle and sat there, 
 until the laughing cabby drove him up and down 
 the Embankment. The millonan always gave 
 him a saucer of milk in the morning, and at last 
 he found a companion in one of his own race, a 
 very intelligent Cocker spaniel, who lived around 
 the corner and belonged to sweet little Mrs. Ar- 
 thur Warren, a true dog lover and a long-time 
 friend of Max's. The two dogs were congenial 
 in their tastes, and held an important opinion in 
 common, that one dog in a family was enough. 
 
 Abbie had been given a fine hobble-de-hoy of 
 a St. Bernard, all good-nature and gentleness 
 and flopping paws, and affection and trustful- 
 ness. He alternately licked Rip, and rolled him 
 over in boyish delight, trying his best to give him 
 
 136 
 
A DOG STORY 137 
 
 a taste for play, but Rip remained adamant, and 
 was full of dark plots to get rid of the St. Ber- 
 nard. He and Max were in the habit of crossing 
 Albert Bridge, and taking long constitutionals 
 in Battersea Park. The St. Bernard was always 
 excluded from these agreeable strolls. One day 
 Abbie said to him: "Take your big brother with 
 you. Rip. He'll be so pleased if you let him go 
 along." She didn't see the malicious joy in Rip's 
 deceitful eye. His opportunity had come at last. 
 He pretended to be tremendously pleased, and 
 the two dogs went barking down the stairs, and 
 late that evening Rip came home, footsore, 
 weary and alone. 
 
 When Abbie said reproachfully, "What have 
 you done with your big brother, you bad, bad 
 dog?" he crept under the sofa, and, filled with 
 guilt, hid himself. 
 
 The next morning a young farmer brought 
 back the St. Bernard. He lived about five miles 
 from London, and said he had seen the afternoon 
 before two dogs enter his yard, and the spaniel 
 seemed to be trying to interest the St. Bernard 
 in chickens. 
 
 When he succeeded, the moment the big dog's 
 attention was engaged the spaniel suddenly 
 
138 DOG STARS 
 
 dashed out of the yard and disappeared hke light- 
 ning down the road. 
 
 "Evidently," said the man, "the little dog was 
 trying to lose the big one." 
 
 Rip was so terribly depressed at the return of 
 his large brother that his naturally sweet temper 
 changed and grew morbid; his fine appetite 
 failed, and Abbie, reluctantly yielding to his 
 morbid jealousy, found another home for the St. 
 Bernard. 
 
 When Rip was again monarch of all he sur- 
 veyed he mended rapidly, and was once more a 
 happy dog, with solid proof of being first in the 
 affections of his mistress. 
 
 My dear old lad had great respect for Rip's 
 stable qualities. He considered him a thinking 
 dog, not like Punch, whose lack of judgment 
 brought him such a disaster. I used often to 
 see his black, plump, sleek friend in the garden, 
 waiting for Max to accompany him on a leisurely 
 walk down the Embankment. 
 
 One lovely morning in June I was walking 
 through Grosvenor Square, when I observed an 
 equipage waiting on some great lady the like of 
 which is only to be seen in London. The large 
 satin-smooth horses, jet black, were perfectly 
 matched ; the silver-plated harness glittered mag- 
 
A DOG STORY 139 
 
 nificently; the long, melon-shaped barouche was 
 lined in wine-colored satin; the coachman and 
 footman, both big, fine-looking men, wore pow- 
 dered hair, claret-colored broadcloth liveries, 
 richly adorned with silver buttons, and high hats 
 with silver bands and cockades. Conscious of 
 their importance, they looked neither to the right 
 nor to the left, but with proud eyes gazing into 
 space remained immovable. Such magnificence 
 could only be the product of an old picturesque 
 and self-respecting aristocracy, possibly the car- 
 riage of royalty. Suddenly I missed Max. He 
 seemed to have disappeared as if by magic, for 
 he was not on either side of the street, and yet 
 it had been only a moment since he was trotting 
 by my side. I turned back, and, as I passed the 
 carriage, looked up, and there he was, smiling 
 and at ease, sitting in the back of the wine-col- 
 ored barouche on the tufted satin seat. 
 
 "Max," I called, "get down at once and come 
 along." 
 
 Those massive, self-important lackeys never 
 winked an eyelash. They must have seen him 
 get in the carriage, and certainly they saw him 
 get out, but they made no sign. 
 
 And I am confident that, if a kangaroo had 
 taken a flying leap into that opulent richness he 
 
140 DOG STARS 
 
 would have been treated with the same silent 
 crushing pomposity. Max was thoroughly Eng- 
 lish ; an aristocrat in his tastes, he loved pomp and 
 splendor, and he enjoyed even a few moments in 
 the gorgeous perfection of that princely equi- 
 page. Indeed he loved everything beautiful, and 
 exquisite, and undoubtedly appreciated beauti- 
 fully dressed people. 
 
 Pearl Craigie — much beloved, much lamented, 
 "John Oliver Hobbes" — came one afternoon to 
 see me. Wearing a white crepe de chine, em- 
 broidered in silver fleur-de-lis, a silver girdle en- 
 circling her waist, and her black hat wreathed in 
 roses, she looked the embodiment of youth, good 
 looks and charming prosperity. 
 
 Max was tempted to a demonstration of affec- 
 tion by such loveliness. He got nearer and 
 nearer to her diaphanous whiteness. 
 
 "Go away. Max," I said. "Pearl, don't let 
 him touch you." But he and Pearl were good 
 friends. With her white-gloved hand she en- 
 couragingly patted his head, and confidingly he 
 laid it on her knee, making with his nose a wet 
 mark on the delicate fabric of her dress. How 
 distressed I was ! But Pearl behaved as if silver 
 fleur-de-lis, like berries, grew on bushes, and were 
 to be had for the gathering. "Don't scold him," 
 
A DOG STORY 141 
 
 she said. "His admiration has carried him a ht- 
 tle far, but the mark is sure to dry out," and 
 luckily it did, for the next time we met she as- 
 sured me that no permanent damage had been 
 done. 
 
 A friend sent me an old tortoise who lived 
 IP the garden, and at first Max was very curious 
 about him. He spent patient hours with his 
 head drooped over the tortoise, waiting for him 
 to move. Then slowly and softly he stepped af- 
 ter the gentle reptile, as he crawled across the 
 garden, and again settled himself for observation. 
 
 After a year or two of companionship Max 
 grew to have a positive affection for the tortoise, 
 and, when the cold weather came, he would hft 
 him, very, very gently in his mouth, bring him 
 in the kitchen and deposit him in a safe dark 
 corner. 
 
 One spring morning a foolish, curious, stray 
 mongrel, with an investigating turn of mind, 
 came into the garden, saw the tortoise and 
 cracked him open. Max turned on him savagely, 
 and there was a terrific fight, and, although 
 dreadfully frightened, I ran out with a dog whip. 
 But Max's ire, slow to rise, was not easily ap- 
 peased. He gave the other dog a thorough 
 thrashing, and, limping and bleeding, and howl- 
 
142 DOG STARS 
 
 ing with pain, he soon ran away. We buried the 
 tortoise under a laburnum tree, and I promised 
 Max another, but never got it after all. 
 
 To cheer him up the afternoon of the death 
 of his friend I let him accompany me to a musical 
 party given by Mrs. Jopling Rowe at her studio 
 in Kensington. He knew that when music was 
 being performed he was to be neither seen nor 
 heard, and the moment we entered the room he 
 hid behind an easel, which held a life-sized por- 
 trait of Lady Tree, in the misty rainbow robes of 
 Titania, in "Midsummer Night's Dream," and 
 remained perfectly quiet to the end of the concert. 
 Mrs. Labby and I left together. It was a won- 
 derful June day. She dismissed her carriage, and 
 we walked toward the Embankment, Max fol- 
 lowing sedately behind, and evidently he listened 
 and understood the conversation, for reason, not 
 instinct, must have guided his movements after- 
 ward. 
 
 "What are you doing to-night?" Mrs. Labou- 
 chere said. "Are you alone?" 
 
 "Yes, I am; T. P. is dining in the House," I 
 said. 
 
 "Then," said Mrs. Labouchere, "you must dine 
 with us. You needn't wear evening dress. There 
 will only be Labby and me." 
 
A DOG STORY 143 
 
 "I will come," I said, "with pleasure, but you 
 must stop at my house first, an appointment to 
 see a new cook will detain me just a few mo- 
 ments." 
 
 When we left Grosvenor Road for Queen 
 Anne's Gate, Max, who had disappeared when 
 we were not observing him, had not returned. 
 
 "Aren't you anxious about Max?" Mrs. Labby 
 asked. 
 
 "No," I said, "he probably wanted to take a 
 longer walk. He is so wise and knowing. He is 
 sure to come back all right." He had been to 
 Queen Anne's Gate only once before. I did not 
 take him with me on my almost daily visits there, 
 as Mrs. Labby's toy dog, a little morsel, of an in- 
 ordinately jealous disposition, barked in an ear- 
 splitting falsetto, and was miserable, if he saw 
 another dog. 
 
 When the butler opened the door to us he said 
 to Mrs. Labouchere: 
 
 "A collie has been here twice, madam, scratch- 
 ing at the door. I turned him away a moment 
 before you rang." 
 
 And just then Max appeared, trotting down 
 the street. 
 
 "Here he is again," said the butler. And Max 
 
144 DOG STARS 
 
 bounded lightly up the steps, smiling and self- 
 possessed. 
 
 "Why, Max," I said, "how did you find your 
 way here?" 
 
 He licked my hand, and said: "You see, if I 
 had gone to Grosvenor Road, there wouldn't have 
 been a chance of my coming to Queen Anne's 
 Gate, but, finding me on the doorstep, you can't 
 very well send me home. I heard what you said 
 to Mrs. Labby about dining with her. That's 
 why I side-tracked, and got here before you." 
 So Mrs. Labouchere's tan Pomeranian, Fritz, 
 giving breathless barks of protesting rage, was 
 sent upstairs to spend the evening with her maid, 
 and Max laid down before the library fire. 
 
 After dinner Mr. Labouchere, who was the 
 most consistently cheerful and equable person I 
 ever knew, said to me: "You seem rather de- 
 pressed to-night." 
 
 "Yes," I said, "I am." Max got up and laid 
 his paw on my knee. "And it is for you to chase 
 dull care away. Tell me an amusing story that 
 will make me laugh." 
 
 "Very well," said Mr. Labouchere, "I'll tell 
 you and Max a dog story." Max pricked up his 
 ears, prepared to listen. 
 
 "When I was in Rome, in 18 — , an attache 
 
A DOG STORY 145 
 
 of the English Legation, I formed a romantic 
 
 and close friendship with the Marquesa di X , 
 
 a pretty and intellectual widow. She was by way 
 of having a salon, and she lived in a large, roomy 
 villa, with a garden in front and a flagged path 
 which led to the street. 
 
 "One of her Thursdays an unusually large 
 assemblage of people had bade the Marquesa 
 good-night, but I remained behind to point out, 
 that inadvertently she had shown a too flattering 
 amount of attention to a good-looking, long- 
 haired Scandinavian violinist. Her views and 
 mine were diametrically opposed, about the fid- 
 dler. I launched forth with great eloquence to 
 prove my case until the lateness of the hour sur- 
 prised us both, and it was half past two o'clock 
 when I left the house. 
 
 "The moon was shining brightly; the tall cy- 
 press trees cast long shadows across the path; 
 there were clumps of shrubbery in the little gar- 
 den, and I could not have gone many steps from 
 the front door when an immense bulldog emerged 
 from beneath a flowering althea, called halt! 
 
 "And I halted. 
 
 "He seemed to have the friendliest feehngs 
 toward me, so long as I stood stock still. But he 
 resented any movement, no matter how slight. 
 
146 DOG STARS 
 
 It took me at least half an hour to furtively ex- 
 tract my pocket handkerchief. I did it as nearly 
 like a sleight-of-hand man as possible, but, when 
 I blew my nose, he threatened to tear me to 
 pieces. 
 
 "I never understood, until those inteiminable, 
 motionless hours, what bulldog tenacity meant. 
 I tried cajolements, arguments, threats and 
 curses. He remained muttering adamant. 
 
 "Finally I spoke to him in my most dulcet 
 Italian : 
 
 " 'Tu sei buono eh ... . molto buono .... 
 buonissimo eh?' 
 
 "But he was a true Briton, and threatened to 
 slay me on the spot if he heard another word 
 of that detestable foreign tongue. Wearily I 
 changed from one foot to the other, but he soon 
 stopped that, and obedient to his orders I stood 
 on both feet quite immovable until five o'clock 
 in the morning. 
 
 "When the milkman, butcher, and baker boys 
 saw a gentleman standing in full evening dress, 
 his opera hat under his arm — the bulldog liked 
 me bareheaded — in the middle of the Marquesa's 
 garden, they were transfixed Avith curiosity and 
 astonishment. Apparently there was no reason 
 
A DOG STORY 147 
 
 for this attitude, as the bulldog had retreated and 
 sat concealed under a luxurious oleander. 
 
 "I hoped they might think a sculptor from 
 the inside of the house was studying my pose, 
 but, warily turning my head, in spite of threaten- 
 ing rumbles from the shrubbery, I saw that the 
 shutters were all closed. The house was wrapped 
 in slumber. 
 
 "The situation was becoming desperate. It is 
 the duty of every English gentleman to die in 
 defense of the honor of his lady love. I decided 
 to die. Knights bedecked with broidered sleeves 
 of ladies fair had fought to the death in jousts 
 and tourneys, but not one of them, that I coidd 
 remember, had been chewed to bits by a bulldog. 
 
 "I looked my horrible fate bravely in the face 
 : — he showed every tooth in his villainous head — 
 nevertheless I cautiously turned. So did he, and, 
 with a horrible growl, sat himself conveniently 
 near for my next move. 
 
 "As romantic novelists say when the supreme 
 crisis comes, I must have prayed. Anyhow, I 
 shut my eyes, swung out my arms, and made a 
 flying leap for the steps. One of my legs seemed 
 weighted with a ton of pig-iron. It was the 
 bulldog clinging to my trousers. Presently there 
 was an agreeable rip, a feeling of lightness, and 
 
148 DOG STARS 
 
 the gentleman, with his mouth full of black 
 broadcloth, waited beside me. He chewed 
 slowly, as if hunting for shreds of my flesh. I 
 rang the bell with persistence and desperation. 
 The Marchesa prided herself on being a cosmo- 
 politan. Her staff of servants included a digni- 
 fied, haughty, conventional, English butler. 
 When he answered the door, looking quite im- 
 maculate, he was apparently not more surprised 
 to see me at five o'clock in the morning, than if 
 it had been five o'clock in the afternoon. I took 
 his cue, and said quite naturally: 
 
 " 'Is the Marquesa di X at home?' 
 
 " 'She is, sir,' he answered, 'but she's in bed, 
 sir.' 
 
 " 'Indeed,' I said, 'I'm surprised at that. 
 When she gets up give her my card and say I 
 called.' Taking a card from my pocket, I held 
 it toward him, and, with the superb composure 
 of a self-respecting lackey, he received it on his 
 tray, and waited for me to go. 
 
 "Succulent chewing and snorts from the bull- 
 dog had somewhat interrupted our polite con- 
 versation. As I turned, a wet black ball fell on 
 the marble steps. There was a rimible like a 
 summer storm, and wide red jaws confronted 
 me. Once more I stood still. Then I said in a 
 
A DOG STORY 149 
 
 slightly emotional voice : 'You had better tie up 
 this most excellent watchdog. I am not the least 
 afraid of him — not the least. But somebody else 
 might come along who would be, so I'll just wait 
 and see you do it.' 
 
 " 'Don't you bother, sir,' said the butler. 'He 
 likes a bit of fun, but he's as 'armless as a lamb. 
 I'll tie him up after you've gone.' 
 
 " 'Oh,' I said airity, 'it's no trouble for me to 
 wait. I am only taking a morning stroU, and 
 have plenty of time.' 
 
 " 'Very well, sir,' said the butler, and for a mo- 
 ment there was a wicked gleam of intelligence in 
 the eye of that self-contained menial. 'He's my 
 dog, sir, and wouldn't hurt a hinfant, but I'll 
 tie him up, sir, just to please you.' And, taking 
 the lamb by the collar, he led him away, and I 
 went home and wrote to my tailor for two stout 
 pairs of broadcloth trousers. The Marquesa had 
 a sense of humor, so I did not trust her with my 
 adventure, but I did advise her to dismiss the 
 bulldog and his keeper." 
 
 Max waved his silky tail, and curled his lips 
 with enjoyment. 
 
 "And what," I said, "became of the Mar- 
 quesa .' 
 
 "I can tell you," said Mrs. Labby. "I once 
 
150 DOG STARS 
 
 saw her on the lake of Como. She was so old 
 she could scarcely walk. She wore a red wig 
 to match her flaming, withered cheeks, and a dia- 
 mond necklace in the daytime." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Labouchere, "it has been a 
 good many years since the episode of the bull- 
 dog." 
 
 "I should think so, indeed," said Mrs. Labby. 
 "She didn't know you." 
 
 "Tant mieux," said Mr. Labouchere laughing. 
 "I would have aroused sad memories; but believe 
 me the Marquesa was once a beauty and a wit." 
 
 "I don't believe a word of it, do you, Max?" 
 asked Mrs. Labouchere. Max barked pleas- 
 antly. 
 
 "Max is a diplomat," said Mr. Labouchere. 
 "Listen to his nonconmiittal bark. He isn't going 
 to take sides in family dissensions." 
 
 "The bulldog and the Marquesa have made 
 me feel much more cheerful. It's a lovely story, 
 and now we must have a cab and be get- 
 ting home," I said. 
 
 The moment my dear lad heard the butler 
 whistle for a cab he went downstairs and waited 
 at the door. How polite he always was, never 
 asking to go a moment sooner than suited my con- 
 venience. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 MAX SELECTS A HAT AND FINDS A RING 
 
 Shopping bores most men, and it would have 
 bored my gentleman Max but for his keen de- 
 sire to be with me under any and all circum- 
 stances. One morning I told him that we would 
 both need patience, as I wanted a particular hat, 
 for a particular occasion, and he joyously started 
 off with me in the direction of Regent and Ox- 
 ford Streets. We went in and out of a number 
 of shops, but the hat of my dreams was not to 
 be found. Finally we arrived at Madame 
 Jeanne's, who was in those days the largest milli- 
 ner in London. 
 
 The tall, young ladies, in black satin gowns, 
 somewhat intimidating, and distinctly patroniz- 
 ing, made me almost shy, knowing how modest 
 the price of my hat must be. The tallest of 
 them, with a very superior dignity, conducted me 
 to one of the large gilt mirrors, and, in a well- 
 modulated voice, called a less important young 
 person to bring an assortment of hats. 
 
 151 
 
152 . DOG STARS 
 
 Max, meantime, was taking a general look 
 around the shop, stopping before one hat stand, 
 then moving on to another. He particularly 
 liked a black hat, with a well-defined outline, 
 graced with two softly curling ostrich feathers. 
 
 "I want you," I said, "to bring me the hat that 
 Max is looking at." The girl, who was very 
 pretty, at once became interested. She patted 
 her curly locks, and said: "I don't see the gen- 
 tleman, madam." 
 
 "It's my collie dog, and he is a gentleman, with 
 quite a taste for hats," I said. "Don't you see 
 him looking at that black one over there?" The 
 girl smiled, swayed over to the pretty hat, bal- 
 anced it on her hand, and, when she adjusted it 
 on my head at a most propitious angle, I recog- 
 nized the hat of my dreams. The price was far 
 beyond my purse, although it was only three 
 guineas, but two guineas was considered quite 
 enough money then to spend upon a hat. 
 
 I put it aside regretfully, and Max wistfully 
 followed the young woman, when she tilted it 
 back on the stand. 
 
 "The shape of my own hat, which is quite new," 
 I said, "is not unbecoming. Have you anything 
 like it in black?" 
 
 The young woman smiled a superior smile. 
 
MAX SELECTS A HAT 153 
 
 "No, madam," she said crushingly. "We 
 couldn't sell such a hat to our lidies. Gray is 
 not worn at all, and it is very unsmart, and quite 
 a last year's shaipe." She was a cockney. Max 
 barked. He liked my hat. We had bought it 
 together in Buckingham Palace Road, and it 
 looked very nice with my gray suit. 
 
 I tried on hat after hat, until they were piled 
 up on the shelf before the looking-glass into a 
 perfect mountain of straw, feathers and ribbons. 
 To make room for more, a stalwart young 
 woman, still below the one in importance who 
 waited upon me, gathered them all together and 
 swept them away. Being engaged with a violet 
 straw confection, which seemed to have possibili- 
 ties, I did not notice that the young woman had 
 embraced my hat with the rest, but Max did. He 
 followed her anxiously and sat down near the 
 window, where my hat, among the others, was 
 put on show. I heard Madame Jeanne say: 
 "There is your mistress over there, old fellow." 
 But Max did not stir. Presently a lady came 
 in, who said: "I want something rather smart, 
 but quite simple, for the morning. I have only 
 a moment to spare. Please hurry. There is a 
 small, dark hat in the window that might do. 
 Let me see it please." 
 
154 DOG STARS 
 
 I heard Max bark, but I did not turn to look, 
 as the temptress waiting upon me had fetched 
 the black feathered hat again, and placed it on 
 my head at a still more becoming angle. 
 
 "It isn't dear," she was saying. "These feath- 
 ers will last you several years. The straw is fine, 
 and we can press it into a new shaipe next season. 
 I don't want to press you, madam, but" — ad- 
 miringly — "it's your hat." 
 
 "Well," I said faint-heartedly, "I can't decide 
 to-day. I will come again." 
 
 The young woman's flattering hopefulness was 
 at once succeeded by silent gloom. Max had 
 barked a good deal, and gone with a lady to her 
 carriage. He came back in a very excited con- 
 dition, with eyes bright and anxious. 
 
 "What's the matter?" I said. "Don't be silly. 
 Max. Please get me my hat," to the girl. Max 
 looked at me reproachfully, and said: "Wait 
 and you'll see. I know what I know." 
 
 There was a great search for my hat. But it 
 was nowhere to be found. The shop by this time 
 had a good many customers. I waited and 
 waited, and still no hat. 
 
 "I certainly wore a hat," I said to the pretty 
 cockney. "Don't you remember you said the 
 shape was very unsmart?" 
 
MAX SELECTS A HAT 155 
 
 The young woman called her assistant. There 
 was much talking and questioning in the back of 
 the shop. Then Madame Jeanne advanced, look- 
 ing rather worried, but wreathed in good, ever- 
 lasting shop smiles. 
 
 "An unbelievable thing has happened, ma- 
 dame. A young assistant, who only came to us 
 this morning, has sold your hat. The lady who 
 bought it is unknown to us, and has driven away 
 in her carriage with it. So, vdll you select, in 
 the place of your own, any hat in the shop, and" 
 — the smile really became charming — "and we 
 will add a veil to it." 
 
 And, I am sure, quite sure, that Max tried to 
 wink at me. Of course I selected the hat he 
 liked, and we walked away together, having 
 promised Madame Jeanne not to mention the 
 curious contretemps which had occurred in her 
 shop. Poor woman! She would have trembled 
 if she had known that I was a journalist. Max, 
 of course, she could trust. 
 
 That summer we went again to Germany, and 
 Max and Saint Anthony (of Padua) got a valu- 
 able diamond ring back for me, which had been 
 stolen by a fair-haired, rosy cheeked mddchen of 
 sixteen. We lived in the house of an old Ger- 
 man doctor, who was so fond of birds that the 
 
156 DOG STARS 
 
 windows containing huge cans of seed and water 
 were never closed. And every bird in Germany 
 at some time of the year foraged there for provi- 
 sions. The garden was beautiful, and underneath 
 my window sat an enormous cage containing a 
 very old crow. He was said in his youth to have 
 been a brilliant conversationalist, but a great 
 disappointment — perhaps he had loved a flirta- 
 tious sea-gull — had soured him, and he had not 
 spoken a word in twenty years. 
 
 Max liked him, and respected his force of will. 
 He used to sit near his cage and bark his forte, 
 fortissimo, piano and pianissimo bark. But the 
 crow only looked at him with a cold eye of indif- 
 ference. Once after he had strenuously barked 
 the morning away Jacob opened his beak. I saw 
 his sharp tongue, and waited for him to say, 
 "Shut up!" but, wise and obstinate, with a firm 
 click, he suddenly closed it again, and Max aban- 
 doned all idea of making him speak. 
 
 The end of my cure came. I had only one 
 more bath to take. Max had gone into the forest 
 with the Waldmann. I went to say good-by to 
 Josephine Fiske. She had left her admiral in 
 Japan, and wdth her daughter was spending the 
 summer in Schwalbach. 
 
 "So you are going to-morrow?" she said. "I 
 
MAX SELECTS A HAT 157 
 
 wonder if you will get away without an adven- 
 ture. You haven't had one this summer, and it's 
 about time for the gods to chastise you." 
 
 The next morning a little girl from a dress- 
 maker's brought a bodice to me. Max never 
 spoke when she came in. His active, friendly 
 tail drooped and he looked at her coldly. I re- 
 membered that afterward. He had such beauti- 
 ful manners, always saying good-morning to 
 everybody, that he must have instinctively dis- 
 trusted the apple-cheeked maiden. 
 
 It was a lovely day. I heard Jacob cheerfully 
 hopping about in his cage and leaned out of my 
 window to speak to him. 
 
 "Jacob," I called. "Jacob, guten niorgen. 
 Wie gehts dir Schxscartz, Jacob?" The sky was 
 so blue, and the sunshine so bright that he opened 
 his beak. I leaned farther out, hoping he would 
 break his long silence, but he cocked his ej^e at 
 me, and mischievously snapped his bill together. 
 
 They say a crow is an ominous creature. Cer- 
 tainly the moments I spent with Jacob wrought 
 ill-fortune to me, and to the ruby-lipped mdd- 
 cheiij for my ruby and diamond ring, lying on 
 the table, tempted her, and she slipped it into her 
 pocket. 
 
 Max barked ferociously, and seized the girl 
 
158 DOG STARS 
 
 roughly by her dress. His eyes were blazing, 
 and he quivered with excitement. When I 
 turned my head, she was pale and trembling, and 
 I could not imagine what had happened. 
 
 "Max, Max, let go. What do you mean, sir?" 
 
 "He's only in play — don't be frightened," I 
 said to the girl, but he whimpered and whined, 
 and even showed his teeth, trying to tell me what 
 he knew. And, after I paid the bill, he followed 
 her down the stairs protesting to the gate, and 
 when we went down to the bath-house, still un- 
 easy, he rushed up and down the hill a dozen 
 times, barking at me with sympathy, and saying : 
 "If I could only talk words and tell you what 
 I've seen!" 
 
 At half past nine o'clock I returned to the villa 
 and discovered the theft of my ring. It was one 
 of those mysteries worthy of unravelment by a 
 Sherlock Holmes, for the key of my door had 
 been in my pocket when I went to my bath. No 
 one had entered my room since I got up at eight 
 o'clock in the morning except the dressmaker's 
 errand girl, and, as she hadn't been left alone, 
 to suspect her was out of the question. But 
 without doubt I had seen the ring that morning. 
 
 "Oh, Max," I said. "I'm in such trouble. 
 Something so queer and dreadful has happened." 
 
fftliriEHiliLlLj v: 
 
 THE POODLE WAS KEPT IN FOR THE WHCJLE AFTERNOON 
 
MAX SELECTS A HAT 159 
 
 How he tried to make me understand ! Sitting 
 up he placed both paws on my knees and his 
 beautiful brown eyes burned with intelligence, 
 while he turned his noble head from side to side, 
 and, with short, breathless whines, said: "Think, 
 think hard, dear Missy. Why did I bark? Why 
 did I take hold of that girl's dress? Can't you 
 understand?" But I trusted to my human intelli- 
 gence, dropped a few bright tears on his head, 
 told him the ring had belonged to my mother, 
 to lose it would be like losing an old friend, and 
 that I was afraid he couldn't help me. He licked 
 my tears away, and was restless, telling me not 
 to sit still, but to do something. 
 
 The first move was to tell the old German doc- 
 tor of my loss. 
 
 He was wholly unsympathetic and even un- 
 believing. 
 
 "What was your ring worth?" he asked. 
 
 "Sixty or seventy pounds," I said. "It was 
 an oblong ruby, set with old mine diamonds." 
 
 The doctor looked at me incredulously. 
 
 "There never was a ring of that price in the 
 world," he asserted. "Never." 
 
 In his simple hfe he had scarcely left the small 
 German village, and the rings he had seen, of 
 
160 DOG STARS 
 
 topaz and amethyst, could be bought for forty- 
 marks. 
 
 "Oh," I said, "I can prove the value of my 
 ring, by a London jeweller, who once repaired 
 it." 
 
 "Well, if there is a ring of such value," he 
 said disagreeably, "and you had it, then you lost 
 it at the spring. My entourage is beyond suspi- 
 cion. My housekeeper is here since eleven years. 
 My dienstmddchen, seventeen j^ears. Hans is 
 with me twenty. The matter is finished." And 
 he got up to leave me. The hair on Max's back 
 stiffened ; there was a hard glint in his eye. 
 
 He made circles around the old doctor, not 
 liking the tone of that deep German voice to his 
 missy. 
 
 "Come here. Max!" I said. "The matter isn't 
 finished, Doctor Bruck. I intend to get my ring." 
 He made no answer, and went to the kitchen, 
 from whence arose a terrible outcry : 
 
 ''Die Englishe dame. Sie ist unvershdmt 
 gettiss niclit! Es giebt niclit, so eine ring. 
 And in the doctor's house. No, I will never carry 
 her any more hot water. What do these foolish 
 English do with all their hot water, anyhow?" 
 
 Then other voices shrilly drowned the solo. 
 There was a great commotion. The housekeeper 
 
MAX SELECTS A HAT 161 
 
 shrilly screamed, and was evidently on the verge 
 of hysterics. I was looking out of the window. 
 Jacob had opened his bill six times. Was he 
 going to speak at last? And Max, with his tail 
 waving like an angry feather, every muscle in his 
 body taut, and fire in his eyes, darted back and 
 forth from the kitchen to my room, ready for 
 battle. He knew there were enemies, and he was 
 prepared to defend me against an army. 
 
 "Come," I said. "Old lad, we will go to the 
 American consul," who was a German, and 
 proved scarcely more sympathetic than the irate 
 old doctor. 
 
 I learned from him that an old Roman law 
 prevailed in Germany, and a landlord was still 
 responsible for the value of anj^thing taken from 
 the chamber of a guest. In all probability the 
 Reichstag, he said, would repeal the law that 
 winter. My old doctor was not so simple, after 
 aU. 
 
 "You will help me to find my ring, won't 
 you?" I said to the Consul, almost in tears. 
 
 "If you haven't lost it yourself," he said sus- 
 piciously. And it was plain to be seen the mys- 
 terious disappearance of a ring in a locked room 
 seemed to him an absurditjr, and I felt distinctly 
 depressed when Max and I left the consulate. 
 
162 DOG STARS: 
 
 My wise old lad pointedly refused to walk in 
 the Kur Garten, and, with a business-like air, 
 started down the hill to the town, not troubling 
 where I walked. I followed him, and he did 
 look so pleased and superhumanly intelligent 
 when he turned and saw me crossing the shaky 
 little bridge which led to the poorer streets. 
 Presently we met the golden-haired mddchen, 
 who, when she saw us, turned scarlet. Max 
 rushed toward her, barked threateningly, came 
 back to me, passed her, stopped on the porch of 
 her house, where her father was mending a bridle 
 and insisted on going inside. 
 
 I was obliged to persistently call him : "Max, 
 come here ! Come here, I tell you !" What could 
 he want? He was very devoid of curiosity. 
 There was never a delicate-minded gentleman 
 who attended more strictly to his own affairs 
 than he. Usually during his walks, he trotted 
 along without turning to the right or left. He 
 was chary of making acquaintances. He loved 
 cleanliness, and j^et he had gone into a very un- 
 tidy little house, inhabited by strangers — for 
 what reason ? And when he answered to Yoy call, 
 his tail and ears drooped with disappointment, 
 and he wanted to go back again. 
 
 "Oh! dear, old lad, why can't you talk and 
 
MAX SELECTS A HAT 163 
 
 explain things to me?" I asked; but he was too 
 depressed to answer and limply sauntered behind 
 me, saying quite plainly: "Why are you so 
 dense, my Missy? I say all I can to make you 
 understand, but you don't Think." 
 
 On my way to the villa I ran in to see Jose- 
 phine Fiske. 
 
 "What did I tell you?" she said. "Here is 
 j^our adventure." 
 
 "And a very disagreeable and worrying one, 
 too. It is sure to give me no end of trouble," I 
 said, "and to delaj'^ my joining friends at Baden 
 Baden." 
 
 Max and I were a very sober pair when we 
 entered the villa, and I had scarcely taken off my 
 hat before I heard voices in the hall and the 
 dienstmddchen saying : 
 
 "Frau O'Connor's room is upstairs — the first 
 to the right." 
 
 Heavy steps from ponderous feet followed her 
 direction, a loud knock at my door, and, on open- 
 ing it, there stood a monumentally stupid, fat, 
 German policeman. He said: "Der Herr Con- 
 sul has sent me to tell jou and the Herr Doctor 
 that to-morrow morning I come to search the 
 whole house for Frau O'Connor's ring." 
 
 "What!" I said. "The Herr Consul never 
 
164 DOG STARS 
 
 told you to inform the house the day before you 
 made your search." 
 
 "Ja, ja, gewiss, gewiss." 
 
 "Come in," I said. "My dog, by his extraordi- 
 nary conduct, has made me remember that I put 
 my head out of the window for quite five min- 
 utes, talking to Jacob, the morning the dress- 
 maker's girl was here. My back was turned to 
 her. I couldn't see what she was doing. Possi- 
 bly she took the ring." 
 
 He looked at me with the pale-blue, expres- 
 sionless eyes of a dead fish, and was perfectly 
 silent. 
 
 "Didn't you hear what I said?" I asked him. 
 
 "Ja^ ja. GetJciss, gewiss." 
 
 "And this afternoon Max led me straight to 
 the house of the girl's father and mother. 
 Doesn't that look very strange?" 
 
 "Ja, ja. Gewiss, getviss." 
 
 "And I think you might," I said, "see the girl 
 and question her." 
 
 "Ja, ja, gewiss, gewiss." Arid he kunbered 
 downstairs, went into the kitchen and told them 
 the exact hour for the arrival of the search party, 
 and a perfect babel of shrieks and cries arose. 
 
 "Mein Gott in Himmell The house is dis- 
 graced! The poor Herr Doctor! An impudent 
 
 *t 
 
MAX SELECTS A HAT 165 
 
 English woman has called in the Polizei. Mein 
 Gott in Himmel! The Polizei has walked up the 
 steps of the Herr Doctor's house and defiled it, 
 and for what — a glass ring!" And the house- 
 keeper lay down upon the floor, drummed with 
 her heels, and screamed with uncontrolled hys- 
 terics. Max joined in the melee of sounds by 
 wildly barking, until I was perfectly deafened by 
 the noise. And Jacob, after all his years of si- 
 lence, was once again inspired to speech. 
 
 "Ach, Gott in Himmel!" he said, in a voice like 
 a rasping hinge. "Ho ho ha!" The housekeeper 
 shrieked. "Die Polizei in my kitchen ! It is co- 
 lossal!" 
 
 And Jacob, in a deep, rusty voice, repeated: 
 "Colossal, Jacob, colossal. Guten morgen, Ja- 
 cob. Liebst du mich? Ha, ha, ho, ho! Guten 
 morgen, Jacob. Colossal! Ha, Jacob. Liebst — 
 Jacob. Guten morgen. Wie gehts? Jacob, 
 ivie gehts. Gott, Gott, colossal, Jacob. Wie 
 gehts, dir." 
 
 Max lifted up his silky ears; his feathery tail 
 rotated with wild excitement. He listened to that 
 inexpressibly weird voice dominating every other 
 sound. His eyes grew large with intelligence. 
 He knew that Jacob had broken his vow of si- 
 lence, and the moment the door opened he ran 
 
166 DOG STARS 
 
 down the stairs, rushed like a whirlwind to Ja- 
 cob's cage, and barked loud and hearty congratu- 
 lations to the old crow. 
 
 When I rang the bell it was to find that I was 
 boycotted. Not a servant stirred. And it was 
 necessary for us to sup in an hotel. Max was so 
 entranced with Jacob's conversation that he 
 wanted to stay with the insurgents, and I had to 
 say "Cheese" several times before he would leave 
 his friend. 
 
 To get a wink of sleep was impossible. After 
 his many years of silence Jacob naturally pos- 
 sessed a flux of conversation, which, with occa- 
 sional pauses, he let off in the silent watches 
 of the night, and I must say he was a trifle mo- 
 notonous and distinctly egotistical, his remarks 
 being addressed directly to himself. But, speak 
 he did, and with persevering insistence. 
 
 "Jacob, wie gehts? Liebst Jacob? Wie 
 gehts? Bist du gut. Jacob, ja, ja! Schwartz, 
 Jacob. Mein Gott, Jacob, du bist colossal, colas 
 — colos" — a very rusty and long-drawn-out — 
 "sal." 
 
 And Max considered it necessary to punctuate 
 each strident and raucous remark of Jacob's with 
 a loud, encouraging bark. He seemed to think 
 unless the hoarse old crow received applause he 
 
MAX SELECTS A HAT 167 
 
 might again relapse into another twenty years' 
 silence. 
 
 In the feverish hours before the break of dawn 
 I almost wished that I had peacefully let my 
 ring go. / 
 
 A silent, reproachful breakfast was brought up 
 to me. But the coffee was hot. I felt better able 
 after I drank it to bear with Jacob's sprightly 
 morning remarks, and I had just finished my 
 roll when a slow creak from heavy shoes coming 
 up the stairs announced the Polizei. 
 
 I looked to see if his knock had split the door. 
 Max, expecting to encounter an enemy, stood at 
 attention, and all the hair on his silky back bris- 
 tled. 
 
 I explained to him that it was only the majesty 
 of the German law, and begged him to be quiet. 
 When I opened the door the Polizei stretched a 
 large hand above his truncheon, and silently 
 handed me the ring, minus the ruby and one of 
 the diamonds. 
 
 "My ring! My ring!" I said. 
 
 ''Ja, ja; gexiciss, ge-wiss" he said, and, diving 
 into his pocket, he found the ruby, and gave it 
 to me. 
 
 The mddcTien, he said, had been so frightened 
 when she saw him that she confessed everytliing. 
 
168 DOG STARS 
 
 even to prjang the stones from the setting with 
 her scissors. The diamond she had given to her 
 young sweetheart, and he had lost it, but the ruby 
 was safe. He had found it in her httle work- 
 basket. And now he must go and find her, for 
 she had liidden herself in the woods from fear, 
 and there would be a trial. 
 
 I said: "Not a trial. I don't want one." 
 
 "Ja, ja. Gewiss, gewiss" he said, and off he 
 went. 
 
 Max was whining and jumping about. I 
 leaned down and put my arms around his neck. 
 
 "Oh, dear old lad," I said, "I've got my ring. 
 My dear ring! If yon hadn't made me think it 
 would never have been found." 
 
 He licked my face — there were flashes of teeth, 
 and jo5'-ful little gratified }'elps. How Avell he 
 knew and reflected his JNIissy's eveiy mood! 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 MAX IN COURT GIVES TESTIMONY 
 
 In the afternoon the judge sent me an official 
 message, stating that I was in the jurisdiction of 
 the German court, and couldn't leave the country 
 without permission. 
 
 It was several days before the court convened 
 and the Polizei again disgraced the doctor's villa, 
 by coming early in the morning to escort me to 
 the courthouse. 
 
 "I am not dressed," I said, in answer to his 
 bombardment of the door. "You will have to 
 wait." 
 
 "Ja, ja, geticiss, gewiss" he said, sitting down 
 heavily on a chair in the hall. When I had fin- 
 ished my toilet we descended the stairs to- 
 gether. He, respecting the majesty of the Ger- 
 man law, preceded me, and, imposingly, in single 
 file. Max bringing up the rear, we silently walked 
 to the courthouse, and found the court assembled 
 and waiting. 
 
 169 
 
170 DOG STARS 
 
 The judge, a fair-haired, jovial-looking man, 
 bade me a pleasant good morning. 
 
 "Won't it be better for your dog to wait out- 
 side?" 
 
 "No," I said; "certainly not. He's the chief 
 witness, the only person who saw the mddchen 
 take the ring. All the rest is circumstantial evi- 
 dence." 
 
 "Very well," said the judge, "be seated, Frau 
 O'Connor, and place the principal witness beside 
 you." 
 
 "I must," I said, "have an interpreter." 
 
 "Oh, no," said the judge, "I like your Ger- 
 man." He did not go so far as to say it was 
 good. 
 
 "You may like it," I said, "but it is limited to 
 'heisses Wasser' 'ein Bad/ and 'tvie viel/ in the 
 Kur Garten/' 
 
 "You are too modest," said the judge. "I will 
 help you." Then the case was opened. 
 
 The judge commanded the Polizei to "produce 
 the ring." 
 
 The Polizei handed the small box containing it 
 to the bench. 
 
 "The court has taken possession of the jewel 
 until after the thief is tried," said the judge. 
 
 "Don't say thief," I said; "the word is too 
 
MAX GIVES TESTIMONY 171 
 
 strong. The girl is only a child, who didn't 
 know what she was doing." 
 
 "I will amend my language," said the judge, 
 "until after the girl is tried. How old are you, 
 Frau O'Connor?" 
 
 "How old do you think?" 
 
 "Twenty-seven," he answered gallantly. 
 
 "My son is •" I was going to say twenty- 
 four; but, laughing, I said, "put it twenty-seven." 
 
 The clerk carefully wrote: "Frau O'Connor, 
 sieben und zwanzig." 
 
 Then the judge asked my occupation, nation- 
 ality, religion, hopes and plans for the future, 
 and the clerk wrote at length. I also gave a fine 
 description of T. P., aired my views on Home 
 Rule, and then we got on the outskirts of the 
 ring. 
 
 "You say you did not see the girl take it?" 
 
 "No," I said, "but Max did. Speak, Max!" 
 And Max lifted his noble head and gave a fine 
 fortissimo bark. 
 
 The court laughed. 
 
 "Silence in the court," said the judge, "while I 
 question the witness. Did you see the mddchen 
 take the ring from the dressing-table ? Gut Max, 
 sprich!" 
 
 "Bow-wow-wow," said Max. 
 
172 DOG STARS 
 
 "He says he did see her take it," said the 
 judge, laughing with great heartiness. The clerk 
 wrote it down. 
 
 Then the Polizei gave his evidence, and I said 
 to the judge: 
 
 "I don't want the girl punished. She is a 
 child — only sixteen. She mustn't go to prison." 
 
 "Now, you see," said the judge, "you not only 
 speak good German, but you have a good heart. 
 You don't understand the German law, which is 
 both just and merciful, so I will inform you. 
 Unless the first offense is very grave, we do not 
 put the offender in prison. We have a trial, 
 which brings the power and gravity of the law 
 home to the accused. There is a complete history 
 of the case written in a book. He or she is ad- 
 monished, but goes forth a free man or woman. 
 
 "With the second offense, however, he or she 
 serves two sentences, one for the first misde- 
 meanor, the other for the second. Now what do 
 you think of the wisdom of that law?" 
 
 "Admirable," I said. "It would be well for 
 other countries to follow j^our example." 
 
 "And what does Max think about it?" said the 
 judge. "Max shall have the last word." 
 
 "Speak, Max!" I said. "Praise Germany 1" 
 
MAX GIVES TESTIMONY 173 
 
 And Max gave his fullest-throated commenda- 
 tion. 
 
 "Frau O'Connor, 'hittef a last reminder," said 
 the judge, "until the girl is tried the German 
 court must know your whereabouts." 
 
 "I am going," I said, "first to Baden Baden, 
 then to Paris, a week in Boulogne, and finally to 
 London. Is it necessary for me to notify you 
 from all these places?" 
 
 "Bitte, hitte, gnddige frau" said the judge. 
 "Adjourn the court." 
 
 "The court is adjourned," said the clerk. 
 
 "My congratulations, and 'auf wiedersehen' " 
 said the judge. And once more Max and I were 
 free to go where we pleased. 
 
 Dr. Pargenstecher had sent me to Doctor von 
 Hoffman, an eminent oculist in Baden Baden, 
 whose specialty was the treatment of a closed tear 
 duct. 
 
 The afternoon of my arrival, anxious to know 
 his opinion, I went at once to his office. 
 
 "Yes," said Doctor von Hoffman, "there is 
 trouble here that will only yield to an operation ; 
 with the help of cocaine, I cut a little passage 
 from the eye to the nose, keep it open with mas- 
 sage while healing, and in a fortnight your eye 
 
174 DOG STARS 
 
 will be well enough for you to go away. Will 
 you have it done?" 
 
 "Yes," I said, "certainly I wiU." 
 
 Max, who had been lying quietly in a corner 
 of the room, came forward, whimpered, looked 
 at me anxiously, and laid his paw gently in my 
 lap. 
 
 "This gentleman hasn't the same confidence 
 in me that you have," said the doctor, smiling. 
 "Come to-morrow at eleven, and everything will 
 be ready for you." 
 
 "If you don't mind," I said, "I would much 
 prefer the operation now." 
 
 I am sure Max pressed my knee with his paw. 
 
 "Very well," said the doctor, "I'll call my 
 assistant. He has strong hands, and will hold 
 your head while I make the incision. Max must 
 go into the other room." 
 
 "No," I said, "please let him stay. He will 
 be a comfort to me. Go to your corner, old lad. 
 Don't move till Missy calls you." 
 
 Max obediently stepped back into shadow. 
 The cocaine did not go very far, and the knife 
 steadily pursued its way and unnerved me. I felt 
 cold and sick — things were rather blurred, but 
 the fear of Max, if I fainted, attacking the doc- 
 tors, steadied me. 
 
MAX GIVES TESTIMONY 175 
 
 Not liking the look of things he was gasping 
 out little whines and whimpers. The doctor 
 worked with quick dexterity, and the operation 
 was soon over. I called out: "AU right, Max; 
 stay where you are," but he came to the center 
 of the room and waited. The doctor and his 
 assistant bandaged up my eye. I reached for 
 my hat, and Max bounded forward with greet- 
 ings of great joy. He licked my hands, stopping 
 between the quick breaths to give an occasional 
 pianissimo bark, and intelligently kept a safe 
 distance from my face. 
 
 "Never," said the doctor, "have I had better 
 patients. Max did the crying, and you did the 
 sitting still." 
 
 "He would do the suffering for me, too, if he 
 could," I said. 
 
 "I don't doubt it, and I am sure he will make 
 a good nurse," said Doctor von Hoffman. "He 
 seems almost human." 
 
 "His unselfishness and fidelity are more than 
 human," I said. 
 
 Going to the hotel Max kept very close to me, 
 and, when nine o'clock came he unobtrusively 
 stored himself under my bed, although usually 
 he slept on a traveling rug in the corner of the 
 room, but he wanted to be nearer when I was in 
 
176 DOG STARS 
 
 trouble, and after I got in bed his tail tapped 
 out : "I'm here, to take care of you, little Missy." 
 And we both fell asleep. 
 
 Each year Max seemed to grow in intelligence 
 and in power to understand all that happened 
 about him. When Monsieur Wolff, the best be- 
 loved of all his friends, left London for a tour 
 in America, Max went to his lodgings to super- 
 intend his preparations, and looked mournfully 
 at every garment which was folded and packed. 
 
 He knew that a voluminous wardrobe meant 
 a long absence, and, when his friend brought him 
 home, and said good-by to me, he was so de- 
 pressed that he refused to go on the Embank- 
 ment for exercise, and for many days grieved for 
 his absent comrade. 
 
 At one time when Monsieur Wolff was suffer- 
 ing from a severe attack of tonsilitis. Max nursed 
 him a week, coming home for daily visits, and 
 making me comprehend in his beautiful, dumb 
 language that, while it was a sacrifice to leave 
 me, he thought it only right to stay with a sick 
 and lonely man. 
 
 He would rush in my room, frantic with joy, 
 every morning, put his paws in my lap, lick my 
 face and hands, and tell me that Johannes was 
 better, and, after apparently watching the clock 
 
MAX GIVES TESTIMONY 177 
 
 on the mantelpiece, at the end of an hour he was 
 at the door and off down the King's Road to his 
 friend's apartment in Wellington Square; and 
 he looked monstrously pleased and proud when 
 he fetched Monsieur Wolff on his first outing to 
 see me. 
 
 He left the cab and ran in the house with a 
 rush, saying, "He's here and well again. I've 
 done my part in taking care of him. Give him 
 a warm welcome, and don't let him get tired." 
 
 When Monsieur Wolff went home. Max bade 
 him a most affectionate good-by, but did not offer 
 to go back with him, knowing his patient needed 
 him no longer. 
 
 And there was one friend the latter part of 
 his noble life whom he visited every day. She 
 lived in a little nearby street in Chelsea, was 
 very poor, and, like Heine, she had been on her 
 mattress grave for years. Her sweet face was 
 still smooth and lovely; her soft, fine, glossy 
 brown hair was only slightly tinged with gray, 
 and she looked serene and saintly, for she had 
 forgiven everything: an inconstant husband, 
 dishonest trustees, indifferent relations, and the 
 cruel Fate which crippled her. She loved God, 
 believed in His mercy, and spent her time in 
 prayer. She was too unselfish to pray for her- 
 
178 DOG STARS 
 
 self, but she prayed for her friends — how she be- 
 sieged Him to send peace to my troubled soul! 
 She begged bread for the poor, and courage for 
 the downcast, and health for the sick, and hope 
 for the desperate. She said thousands of pas- 
 sionate praj^ers for those who had fallen. In her 
 gentle, forgiving heart, she may have ques- 
 tioned : 
 
 Is it so, O Christ in heaven, that the highest suiFer most? 
 That the strongest wander farthest, and more hopelessly 
 
 are lost? 
 That the mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain. 
 And the anguish of the singer makes the sweetness of the 
 
 strain? 
 
 But she happily held fast to her faith, believ- 
 ing the lost could be found and the erring saved. 
 
 After Max had been with me once or twice 
 to see Mrs. Thomas, he went alone to South Ken- 
 sington every afternoon about three o'clock, and 
 with such regularity that finally the slavey of the 
 little lodging house was on the lookout to open 
 the door for him. 
 
 Many, manj times I found him with my cheer- 
 ful, suffering friend. She used to laugh and say : 
 "I'm sure Max is a good Catholic. He licks my 
 hands so reverently when I am saying my beads." 
 And "beads" was another word added to his vo- 
 cabulary. 
 
MAX GIVES TESTIMONY 179 
 
 "Max, where are my beads?" And my old 
 lad would walk solemnly to Mrs. Thomas's little 
 table, lay his head upon them, and she would 
 laugh gayly, and give him enthusiastic praise and 
 more chocolates than were good for him. 
 
 His visits were a solace to my friend, who was 
 alone during the day: in the evening her niece, 
 who gave lessons in music and languages, re- 
 turned from her classes, and their little evenings, 
 spent in close companionship, were made happy 
 by love and mutual tenderness. 
 
 When Mrs. Thomas's last days approached, 
 as they did with soft and stealthy steps. Max 
 began to make his visits later, and to wait until 
 Madame de Sarda returned to watch by her 
 aunt. The morning she died he left Oakley lodge 
 at six o'clock. The little slavey was washing the 
 steps when he appeared, and he stayed all that 
 long, sad day with Madame de Sarda. His eyes 
 were full of grief when he came home sighing 
 and sorrowing, as my maid said, "like a Chris- 
 tian." 
 
 Life had been a bitter struggle to those two 
 saintly ladies. More than once, when lessons 
 dropped off, a separation seemed imminent. 
 There were convents where Mrs. Thomas would 
 have been received, but Fate spared them the 
 
180 DOG STARS 
 
 anguish of separation, and they were enabled to 
 hold together until the end. 
 
 Mrs. Thomas left a pathetic little will. There 
 were a few things she had treasured and kept 
 through all their years of lean poverty. A pretty 
 brooch and bracelet and her beads of amethyst 
 and gold went to her niece ; one or two good old 
 snuff boxes of enamel to friends. 
 
 Her prayer-book and Bible, to her father con- 
 fessor, the priest who wept tears of real sorrow 
 when he buried her. A few yards of old lace to 
 her bridesmaid, a poor and hard-working spin- 
 ster. A beautiful watch fob to my son, and to me 
 a little silver statue of Saint Anthony of Padua. 
 In thirty years of patient suffering, bravely 
 borne, she must have said a million million pray- 
 ers to this saint who befriends the poor. 
 
 Max was not mentioned in her will, but in an 
 envelope she left a small sum of money to buy 
 him a new collar. It was made up of little pieces 
 of silver, three-penny and six-penny bits, and one 
 or two shillings, which her niece had given her 
 for some trifling necessity, and in self-denying 
 love she had laid it aside as a remembrance for 
 her faithful friend. 
 
 Madame de Sarda was the soul of generosity. 
 She delighted in making the many she loved some 
 
MAX GIVES TESTIMONY 181 
 
 small gift — a pot of primroses, a little calendar, 
 a knitted scarf, a book-mark, or, if her purse 
 was almost empty, a bunch of violets or a rose 
 made manifest her love. 
 
 We vi^ent together to the Army and Navy 
 Stores and bought Max a wine-colored leather 
 collar. I knew from his adventure in the ba- 
 rouche that he liked the color. It was fastened 
 with a silver buckle; his name and address were 
 left to be engraved on the silver plaque, and it 
 was to be worn carefully for social affairs of im- 
 portance. 
 
 The first occasion of his wearing it was Mr. 
 Janeway's wedding. He married a spinster of 
 fair fortune, who belonged to a county family, 
 and he retired from the business of keeping a 
 hotel, and became, I am sure to his supreme satis- 
 faction, a county gentleman himself. 
 
 Max was still beautiful and very healthy. His 
 sight and smell were unimpaired, but he was un- 
 doubtedly a middle-aged gentleman, although he 
 didn't look it. And Toodie, who in the passing 
 years had grown to manhood, and had become 
 an artist, said: 
 
 "I ought to paint Max before he is old." 
 
 For some reason or other my dear old lad 
 didn't at all like sitting for his portrait. 
 
182 DOG STARS 
 
 The various presentments submitted to him of 
 dogs lying down and dogs sitting up, alert or 
 contemplative, bored him. Possibly he consid- 
 ered them poor likenesses. At any rate, "Studio, 
 Max!" and his beautiful ears and tail drooped 
 in hopeless dejection, but always reasonable and 
 obedient, he would meekly follow Toodie, and 
 spend the whole morning in any attitude de- 
 sired. 
 
 One day Toodie said to him: "We will try 
 another pose. Max, look me in the face, and 
 don't turn either to the right or left," and my 
 old lad gazed steadily at the young painter, and 
 sat as patiently as any trained model, until the 
 picture was finished. The expression might have 
 been more gay, but his noble character, his sweet 
 patience, his loyal fidelity, his fine trust and dig- 
 nity, look from the soft brown eyes, and the paint 
 and color are good. It is indeed a fine portrait 
 of my true gentleman Max. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 MAX CONQUERS JEALOUSY 
 
 Nature is meager in her works of perfection, 
 even in the dog species, but Max, except for rare 
 attacks of jealousy, was perfect. 
 
 And his jealousy came from humility, not 
 from pettiness. Like the noble Othello, the kin- 
 dling of a jealous fire, on occasion, scorched his 
 reason, blinded his judgment, and filled him with 
 a desire to kill. 
 
 A friend gave me a beautiful and accomplished 
 bullfinch, the darlingest little bunch of feathers 
 and seductive sweetness that ever drew breath 
 through a bill. His breast was healthily red, and 
 his claws healthily pink, his little black-and- 
 moonlight gray coat shone with glossiness. He 
 was saucy and yet appealing; affectionate, flirta- 
 tious, and he enchantingly sang two songs in low, 
 silver, sweet notes : "Pretty Polly Perkins," and 
 the waltz from "Der Freischiitz." 
 
 Max was in the hall when he arrived, and, in 
 
 183 
 
184 DOG STARS 
 
 a state of the wildest agitation, preceded the 
 cage to my room. 
 
 The bully, a confident Httle songster, accus- 
 tomed, doubtless, to applause, was already tuning 
 his voice, and after he hopped from his little 
 wooden cage to a gay affair of gilt wire with a 
 pagoda top, and was hung in the window, he 
 trilled forth, 
 
 "Pretty, pretty Polly Perkins, 
 
 "How do you do — oo? How do you do— 
 o-o " 
 
 Max lolled out his broad pink tongue, rolled 
 on the floor in anguish, and howled with jealous 
 wrath. Then he did a thing in great violence to 
 both his self-respect and his dignity. 
 
 He sat up on his hind legs underneath the bull- 
 finch's cage and begged. He begged to devour 
 his rival. He yelped with desire and rage. He 
 dribbled and licked his chops. 
 
 The bullfinch gayly whistled his waltz. 
 
 This was too much. Max foamed at the mouth 
 and his loud, spasmodic barks were full of de- 
 stroying vengeance. 
 
 "Why, Max," I said, "you wouldn't murder 
 your poor brer bullfinch, would j^ou?" 
 
 "Yes, I would, I would!" thundered Max. 
 "The miserable interloper. I would swallow him 
 
MAX CONQUERS JEALOUSY 185 
 
 whole. Give him to me, don't you see me drib- 
 bhng for him?" 
 
 And I was fairly deafened with his eager cries, 
 and, quivering with anxiety, again he sat him- 
 self under the cage and implored me by our love 
 of years to hand him that superfluous intruder. 
 
 All the evening he fumed and fretted, even in 
 the dining-room. Choice marrow bones failed 
 to obscure the memory of his rival, and a sudden 
 rush of rage would send him flying upstairs to 
 sit at my door, waiting for the maid to open it, 
 and give him a chance for bird slaughter. 
 
 I had to administer many rebukes. "Max," I 
 said, "you noble Max, to be jealous of a sweet 
 bird. I will never give him to you. Never! Be 
 a man and forget him. He's much smaller than 
 Punch — you never tried to harm him. I am 
 ashamed of you." 
 
 "Shame" was the most dreadful word in his 
 vocabulary. He hung his head, gave a heart- 
 broken cry, crawled under the drawing-room 
 sofa, and hid himself, sighing and moaning all 
 through the evening. 
 
 There was, however, one last hope — T. P. He 
 had dined out, and Max had not been able to 
 tell him his grievance, but early the next morn- 
 ing he scratched at the door of T. P.'s dressing- 
 
186 DOG STARS 
 
 room and by cries, yelps, turnings and waggings, 
 informed him that something untoward and 
 horrible had happened. His clean pink tongue 
 hung from his excited mouth, and he begged the 
 member from Liverpool to get up and follow 
 him. 
 
 And, when he went in the hall, Max was wait- 
 ing before my door and immediately it was 
 opened rushed in, sat up under the cage and 
 begged once more for his enemy to be delivered 
 into his mouth. 
 
 There was no gay little song from the bully 
 when he beheld T. P., for that tiny bunch of 
 feathers was a consistent man-hater, and, when- 
 ever he saw a male creature, his bill opened with 
 a hiss of rage, he stretched his wings to their 
 full capacity, made his tail a war-like fan, and 
 was ready for battle. 
 
 Max had a second scolding from T. P. that 
 sent liim whimpering downstairs to the garden, 
 and there in a tool-house he found the bullfinch's, 
 traveling cage, a slight wooden affair, and he 
 seized it in a perfect frenzy and chewed it into 
 pulp. Then he felt better. But he never was 
 quite reconciled to my sweet singer until the little 
 bully became very ill with congestion of the 
 lungs. When he saw a small heap of weak 
 
MAX CONQUERS JEALOUSY 187 
 
 feathers, sitting on the floor of his cage panting 
 for breath, and my tears dropping between the 
 bars, my dear old lad relented, and was sorry 
 for him, for me, and for his own unreasonable 
 conduct. 
 
 I sent to Leicester Square for a celebrated 
 bird doctor to come and see the bullfinch. He 
 said the only chance to save the little bird was to 
 keep him warm, to feed him entirely with hemp, 
 and to give him a stimulant. So I changed my 
 dress to a flannel gown, cuddled the bully in my 
 neck, fed him from my mouth with hemp seed, 
 and dipped his poor, unwilling little bill in a 
 wineglassful of brandy and water. We sat 
 through many hours of the night by the fire. 
 Max on the hearth-rug getting up now and then 
 to place his paw on my knee, said with his 
 luminous eyes and his tender caress: "I forgive 
 all. I understand all." And the bully got well. 
 
 With more years of wisdom as an elderly gen- 
 tleman Max was all discretion and common sense. 
 He never overate himself; his body remained 
 lean and lithe, like that of a young dog, and when 
 his sight became so unreliable that he made mis- 
 takes in following my omnibus, he went alone 
 for his health's sake on brisk walks down the 
 King's Road or along the Embankment. 
 
188 DOG STARS 
 
 Sometimes from the top of an omnibus I would 
 see him from my seat behind the driver proceed- 
 ing in a rational gait toward Sloane Square, 
 neither turning to the right nor to the left, unless 
 the rainbow gleam from a large diamond in a 
 jeweller's window caught his eye. Then he 
 stopped, thinking of his Missy and her love of 
 precious stones. 
 
 Very often he walked as far as Victoria Street, 
 passed the Army and Na.vy Stores, looked com- 
 miseratingljr at the dogs fastened by straps to 
 the door — they seemed such foolish creatures to 
 him — turned into Carlisle Place, made a call on 
 Cardinal Manning, and came home by way of 
 the Thames. 
 
 In those days pain and weakness prevented my 
 walking. I was often a prisoner in the house for 
 weeks. Max used to beg me to go out with him, 
 and was so disappointed when I said: "No, old 
 lad, not to-day; to-morrow, maybe." And obedi- 
 ently he would start on his lonely walk, coming 
 back cheerful and refreshed. 
 
 One summer in Germany pain was my con- 
 stant, insistent companion. Night and day it 
 never left me, and, though not keen enough to 
 make me cry out in anguish, it strained my nerves 
 until they were taut and stretched to the break- 
 
MAX CONQUERS JEALOUSY 189 
 
 ing point, and my powers of endurance were 
 worn as thin as a web of gossamer. 
 
 "Max," I would say, "oh, Max. I can't bear 
 it. What am I to do?" And he would put both 
 his paws on my knees, lift his noble head, and 
 lick away my tears. He tried to give me com- 
 fort, and to tell me with eyes full of sympathy 
 that better times were coming. 
 
 I heard of a famous specialist in Bonn, and, 
 early one morning. Max and I sailed down the 
 Rhine — what a lovely day it was ! — he sat on deck 
 and saw all the beautiful castles he had visited 
 with Toodie, and I enjoyed sunshine as brilliant 
 as that of my own native land. When the boat 
 landed us in Bonn, we were not twenty minutes 
 with the clever old professor. 
 
 "The English doctors say " 
 
 He smiled and put out a protesting hand. 
 
 "They do not interest me. Frau O'Connor, 
 you will never be better without this operation. 
 Then you will get well. The whole thing can 
 be done in my clinic for eight of your English 
 pounds." 
 
 "The doctors have spoken of it in England. 
 They say the chances of recovery are ten to one 
 against me," I said. "There is already inflam- 
 mation, which if increased " 
 
190 DOG STARS 
 
 "Quite true, there is inflammation, but, with 
 the removal of the cause of the inflammation, you 
 will be safe. I assure you the operation is one 
 I perform certainly twice and sometimes oftener 
 each week. And there is no danger whatever. 
 Now, auf wiedersehen." 
 
 "And your fee?" I asked him. 
 
 "Nothing to-day; when you come that wiU be 
 included in the eight pounds." 
 
 "But I may never come," I said. "I have no 
 courage." 
 
 "Oh, yes, you have," he said, "all the courage 
 in the world, or else I don't know women. One 
 is waiting in the other room. Good-by, good- 
 by." And the generous, kind old man was gone. 
 I grew slowly a little better after that. The 
 pain was bearable in pleasant, sunny Germany, 
 with meals on the balcony, good concerts in the 
 Kur Garten, and Max and a devoted friend to 
 share my worst hours of depression. It was when 
 the dark, somber, lonely days came in London, 
 and I could rarely get out of the house, that the 
 insistent, gnawing pain made me desperate and 
 indifferent to all consequences, even death. 
 
 My friend and physician, Doctor Septimus 
 Sunderland, told me that the great surgeon, 
 
MAX CONQUERS JEALOUSY 191 
 
 Lawson Tait, was in towB. And I went to see 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Tait heard what I had to say ahout the 
 German professor, and said discouragingly : "I 
 don't agree with him at aU. The operation is 
 by no means sure to cure you, and, to be brutally 
 frank, you may die under it." 
 
 "Well," I said, "I shall be frank, too. Having 
 given a good deal of thought to my own case, I 
 am going at once to Bonn for the operation. I 
 believe you to be mistaken in your opinion." 
 
 Mr. Tait looked amused, kind and sympa- 
 thetic : 
 
 "Have you absolutely made up your mind?" 
 he said. 
 
 "Quite," I said. 
 
 "There's the long journey that will cost you 
 something ; the uncertainty of the operation, and 
 Germany can be very cold at this time of the 
 year." 
 
 "I don't mind," I said. "I shall start to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 "I never saw a more obstinate woman," said 
 Mr. Tait. "Suppose, however, we strike a com- 
 promise? You go home and write me a note, 
 taking all the responsibility of the operation on 
 your own shoulders, and I will perform it — for 
 
192 DOG STARS 
 
 love. I don't believe it's going to cure you, but 
 I'm dashed if I can't do it as well or better than 
 any of those German duffers." 
 
 "And," I said, "I can die in my own home." 
 
 "Damme if you will," said Mr. Tait. "You've 
 got pluck and tenacity enough to get well, no 
 matter what happens." 
 
 "Now," I said, "that we both know where we 
 are, what day, please?" 
 
 "The day after to-morrow," said Mr. Tait, 
 "at eight o'clock in the morning, and provide a 
 good breakfast at nine-thirty. I'll send in a 
 nurse the night before, and I'll bring Sunderland 
 and the anesthetist with me. Good-by, Max. 
 Take your hard-headed mistress home, and make 
 her behave herself." 
 
 When we got in the cab Max jumped up on 
 the seat, leaned his soft body against mine, turned 
 his head and looked at me with the clear, brown 
 pools of his eyes full of trouble. 
 
 "Don't," I said. "Max, don't look at me like 
 that. I'm going to get well. After all these 
 years of pain, I'm going to get well, and run up 
 and down the Embankment with you. Think of 
 that!" 
 
 He whimpered and wagged, showed flashes of 
 his teeth, and put his paw in my lap, saying: 
 
MAX CONQUERS JEALOUSY 193 
 
 "You may be right, little Missy, but you can't 
 prevent my being anxious." 
 
 My love and understanding for Max were so 
 great that it may have been possible for me to read 
 too much into his noble thoughts, but there are wit- 
 nesses to his extraordinary sagacity at this time, 
 who well remember how faithfully he nursed me. 
 
 Usually he slept in the hall on a woolly mat 
 near the front door. That night he insisted on 
 sleeping under my bed. It was late before I got 
 to sleep. After all there were some things pleas- 
 ant in life, even with a continual background of 
 pain. Was I making a mistake? 
 
 Max had thimiped good-night with his tail, 
 but, feeling my wakefulness, even in the dark, he 
 crawled out once or twice to lick my hands. 
 
 "Max," I said to him, the next morning, "I'm 
 not going to say anything to my family about 
 this little secret of ours. Why should they 
 worry? I'm sure to get well." 
 
 He heavily pounded the floor with his tail. 
 
 "Of course," he said, "you'll get well, and I'll 
 keep your secret." 
 
 "Now go," I said, "and walk on the Embank- 
 ment. See how the sun shines." But, after his 
 airing in the garden, he came back, and did not 
 leave me for a moment during that day. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE END OF A NOBLE LIFE 
 
 Henby James came to see me in the after- 
 noon, and somehow I penetrated through his ex- 
 quisite exterior to his kind and tender heart. 
 We spent a pleasant half hour together, and, as 
 he rose to leave, I was moved to say : 
 
 "Do come and see me soon again. I am to 
 have what the doctors consider a rather serious 
 operation to-morrow. My family know nothing 
 about it. The only people who have been told 
 are you and Max," 
 
 "Dear me," said Mr. James. "Why, this is a 
 very brave little secret." And no one could have 
 been more understanding or sympathetic. He 
 was greatly touched by what he considered my 
 "courage." It is so easj^ to have courage if you 
 are indifferent and expect nothing from fate. Of 
 course, with the advent of the nurse, it was neces- 
 sary for T. P. and Toodie to be informed of the 
 reason of her presence. She was somewhat self- 
 important and meticulous in her preparations. 
 
 194 
 
END OF A NOBLE LIFE 195 
 
 Max found her unsympathetic, and did not 
 leave my side by the fire to greet her; with his 
 head on my knee, he rolled his eyes until the 
 whites were visible, watching her various prepara- 
 tions. 
 
 She unwrapped a package of new caps and 
 aprons, sorted out fresh linen, placing dozens of 
 towels on a chest of drawers, and Max sighed 
 profoundly, changed his position, and offered me 
 his paw. Then she lifted a bag of instruments, 
 asked about a table, and trotted back and forth 
 from her bedroom to mine, until my nerves cried 
 out, and I begged her to close the door and leave 
 us alone. 
 
 In the evening, after dinner, we sat by the 
 fire. T. P., Toodie and Max, all treating me 
 with consideration, and obviously depressed and 
 anxious, but a premonition made me confident 
 of coming health, and I was quite cheerful. 
 
 "Now," said the nurse, after my bath, "Max 
 must go out." And he did, but returned to 
 scratch at the door with persistent paws, giving 
 at intei'vals loud reproachful yelps, until at last 
 she was obliged to let him in. He immediately 
 got under the bed, sighed at his hard-won suc- 
 cess, and tapped out his protecting good-night. 
 
 When the nurse went to her room, leaving her 
 
196 DOG STARS 
 
 door open to see that during the night I was 
 quiet, he crept out stealthily and in the dark laid 
 his cold nose on my hand. "Max," I said, "Max, 
 old lad, go to sleep." But he stood for a long 
 time immovable. 
 
 "I keep vigil with you, little Missy. Sleep and 
 I will sleep," he said. When I awoke quite late 
 the next morning it was a lovely day. The sun 
 shone brilliantly, and we had barely time to get 
 ready for the doctors, who arrived in cheerful 
 mood. The cornucopia of chloroform was hov- 
 ering over my face when my dear old lad, who 
 had been forgotten, gave a sharp yelp, and beat 
 furiously on the floor with his tail. 
 
 "Did you ever see so ridiculous a woman?" 
 said Mr. Tait. "First she orders an operation, 
 then she has a dog in the room, to attack us in 
 the middle of it. Where is that anhnal?" 
 
 "Under the bed," I said, "and quite safe. He 
 was with me in Germany when Doctor von 
 Hoffman provided me with a new tear duct. 
 Don't send him out." 
 
 "I certainly will," said Mr. Tait. "Sunder- 
 land, you know the dog, get hold of his collar 
 and oust him, will you?" 
 
 "Max," I said, "go. Go and take a walk, old 
 chap." 
 
END OF A NOBLE LIFE 197 
 
 But Max, always obedient, refused to stir, so 
 Doctor Sunderland reached under the bed, and 
 led him, panting and protesting, from the room. 
 
 T. P. and Toodie called and cajoled, but, deaf 
 to everything except the sounds in my room, he 
 sat himself down in the hall, his beautiful clear 
 eyes clouded with trouble, and his body pressed 
 close against my door. 
 
 Three-quarters of an hour he remained in the 
 same position, as immovable as a dog in bronze, 
 waiting. When the door was unlocked, he 
 slipped gently in the room, swallowed a cry of 
 pain to see me white and still, and crept under- 
 neath the valance of the bed, and except for food 
 and a hurried rush around the garden, he never 
 left the room day or night until I went for my 
 first drive. 
 
 At the faintest sigh or sound during the night 
 he was standing by me, ears pricked, and faithful 
 eyes full of anxiety. One evening mjr tempera- 
 ture ran up to a hundred and four, my cheeks 
 burnt -with fever, and I felt very restless. The 
 nurse, in a panic, sent for Doctor Sunderland. 
 Max knew in a moment that something was 
 wrong. He crawled out from under the bed, 
 stood rolling his eyes about the room, until the 
 whites were visible; at the sound of cab wheels. 
 
198 DOG STARS 
 
 ran to the window, looked out, and was on the 
 steps to meet Doctor Sunderland, and, with wag- 
 gings and turnings, led him up the stairs, and sat 
 close to him while he held my wrist and asked a 
 number of questions. At last he put an anxious 
 paw on the doctor's knee and whimpered. 
 
 "It's all right, Max," the doctor said. And 
 Max went over and sat looking in the fire, reas- 
 sured but not quite easy enough in his mind to 
 lie quietly under the bed. At eleven o'clock 
 my temperature had dropped two points, and I 
 felt quieter, the doctor went home, and the nurse 
 bathed my hands and face in cool water and got 
 me ready for the night. 
 
 In her chamber a little night light burned, 
 which cast a faint radiance in my room. She soon 
 slept, but dimly I could see another and more 
 faithful nurse, his noble head drooped toward the 
 dying fire, keeping watch with me. 
 
 At dawn I said: "I'm quite cool now, old lad. 
 Get under the bed and we will go to sleep." The 
 next afternoon my temperature was normal, the 
 little flurry of anxiety was over, and I steadily 
 progressed toward recovery. 
 
 As soon as I could walk, Max and I went 
 down to Doctor Brighton and a bath chair. How 
 many weeks, days, hours had I not spent in this 
 
END OF A NOBLE LIFE 199 
 
 peaceful refuge for invalids; gazing out at the 
 sea; sometimes blue, with gently curving, white- 
 crested waves, or gray with a tempestuous surf 
 angrily dashing over the sea wall, and sprinkling 
 my face with drops of brine. 
 
 Max still loved a swim, and the bath chairman 
 used to go down on the beach, and throw a stick 
 far out to sea for him; he watched it hurtle 
 through the air; with a strong, joyous bark, 
 launched himself on the waves, swam out until 
 he found it, and laid it a dripping trophy in 
 my bath chair. 
 
 One wild windy morning a sudden gust of 
 wind blew a man's hat in the sea. Max instantly 
 dashed after it, although he had to swim a long 
 distance, for the light object bobbed out farther 
 and farther on the restless, wind-whipped waves, 
 but eventually he seized and brought it back in 
 triumph to the beach. 
 
 "He's a knowin' one," said the bath chairman, 
 "about the knowin'est one I ever see. Look at 
 'im shake hisself before he comes anigh the 
 chair." And the owner of the hat said: "I'm 
 sorry, old chap, I can't give you a tip. He's a 
 wonderful dog, madam." And Max, wet and 
 clean, rolled out his broad pink tongue, and was 
 very happy. 
 
200 DOG STARS 
 
 With sunshine and brighter spring days, I got 
 better, but, from time to time the wearing pain 
 came back, and my spirits went down to zero. 
 Max felt my depression, and, when we got down 
 on "the front," pretended an unnatural gayety 
 wagging, turning, barking and leaping about like 
 a puppy. He always divined my sad thoughts 
 and tried to divert them. 
 
 One morning we met Sir Henry Thompson, 
 and the distinguished old surgeon said in a very 
 kind, solicitous voice : 
 
 "What is the matter, my dear? You look 
 pale." 
 
 This touch of tenderness made the pent-up 
 nervous tears fall down my cheeks like rain. 
 
 "Oh, Sir Henry," I said, "I've had an opera- 
 tion, and I hoped for so much from it, but the 
 gnawing pain hasn't left me." 
 
 I felt in my muff for a pocket handkerchief, 
 but couldn't find one. And then Max leaped into 
 the bath chair, licked my tears away, and yelped 
 cheerfully. "There, there, little Missy. It is un- 
 like you to give way before folks." And, jump- 
 ing out, he made wild circles around the chair, 
 barking his loudest. I laughed, and Sir Henry, 
 who was a great lover of dogs — what a darling 
 bulldog he once gave Ada Rehan ! — said : 
 
END OF A NOBLE LIFE 201 
 
 "That's better. You have just the right com- 
 panion. He won't talk you to death, yet knows 
 how to cheer you, and he does the best he can for 
 your needs. Take this pocket handkerchief, how- 
 ever. It is drier than his tongue, and tell me 
 what's the matter." When I had finished, he 
 said reassuringly; "Don't worry. Nature, hav- 
 ing formed a habit, cannot at once break it. For 
 years jou have had the habit of pain, but I am 
 sure that it will gradually disappear, and in a 
 few months you will be hopping about like a 
 squirrel. Get out of the bath chair, now, and I 
 will take you and Max to tea at Muttons. It 
 sounds as if the poor dog could have a bone, 
 doesn't it?" 
 
 And, with hope born again in my heart, from 
 that day I got steadily and surprisingly better. 
 After a while there were daj^s and weeks without 
 pain, and finally it went away altogether. And 
 I was free! 
 
 Like playful children, the dear old lad and I 
 walked and ran over the downs; after all the 
 years of forced inertia, life held no joy so great 
 as activity. Max shared my high spirits; years 
 rolled off his back, and he renewed his youth, 
 rolling in the long grass, pawing the air, gam- 
 
202 DOG STARS 
 
 boling in front of me, and giving spasmodic barks 
 of wild delight. 
 
 He ran up and down the steep cliffs at Rot- 
 tingdean, and often dashed in the sea for a sturdy- 
 swim without the incentive of a stick. And for 
 many years after mj^ recovery, even when he be- 
 came a very old dog, he remained surprisingly- 
 young and healthy. With his regular habits and 
 abstemious life, he seemed to have arrested decay. 
 His pride and self-respect prevented his ever 
 being a trouble, when his smell and sight failed, 
 and it was difficult for him to follow me, he 
 walked alone, selecting quiet places like Batter- 
 sea Park, where from ten until twelve he exer- 
 cised along the river. The gardeners all knew 
 him, and often he came home with a flower in 
 his collar. 
 
 In the afternoon he gently ambled up and 
 down the Embankment, generally stopping to 
 have a little conversation with the cabman on 
 the rank. He never passed without a rough, 
 kindly voice calling out : "Max ! I say. Max, old 
 chap." "How goes it, old man?" "When is 
 Ireland going to get Home Rule?" "How's 
 Tay Pay?" 
 
 He returned at five o'clock to Oakley Lodge, 
 ■with his silky hair freshened by the air, cheer- 
 
END OF A NOBLE LIFE 203 
 
 fully ready for tea, and visitors. His beloved 
 friend, Monsieur Wolff, when he came in said 
 with that something in his warm voice which so 
 thrilled and moved my dear old lad: 
 
 "Max, show your teeth. Smile at me! Smile 
 at me!" And Max, with pleased waggings and 
 turnings, would curl back his black mobile lips, 
 and show every tooth in his head. 
 
 We never failed to laugh at that wonderful, 
 smile of his, so complete and whole-hearted. It 
 was an individual attention which he reserved 
 for Monsieur Wolff, who always rewarded him 
 with a loud burst of fulsome praise, and, as per- 
 fect as he was. Max had a little vanity. 
 
 He was nearing fifteen when one morning 
 he omitted his walk and he seemed iU. 
 His dear face was sunken and suffering, 
 and I sent at once for Doctor Sewell, who 
 said he had symptoms of gastritis, prescribed 
 a diet of milk and warm bandages of flan- 
 nel around his body. Max dozed all the 
 morning away, but in the afternoon, when 
 the sun came out, he wanted to see the river, and 
 became restless. I asked Lizzie to call a cab. 
 His ears pricked up at that pleasant word. 
 There was nothing which gave him greater hap- 
 piness than riding in a cab. He got downstairs 
 
204 DOG STARS 
 
 fairly well, but, instead of jumping in and tak- 
 ing his seat, as usual, it was rather a feeble 
 scramble. I wrapped an old overcoat of Too- 
 die's around him — he liked the warmth — and we 
 drove for two hours, through the green and flow- 
 ers of Batter sea Park, and up and down the 
 Embankment. He looked with satisfaction at 
 the scenes he loved so well, but every little while 
 I felt a rigor in his body, and he leaned very 
 close to me. How stricken my heart was ! 
 
 "Max," I said, "I couldn't leave you. Don't, 
 old lad, leave me." And his faithful adoring eyes 
 said: "I will stay if I can." 
 
 The next day he was worse. Dr. Sewell said 
 it was old age, but I wouldn't abandon hope, and 
 fought on for him to the very end of his life. 
 Thoughtful and wise, he helped me all that he 
 could: patiently lapping warm cream or milk, 
 rolling over on his side, and licking my hands 
 when I put on the warm bandages, and without 
 being forced taking his medicine. The servants 
 helped me, and he was well nursed. But he 
 grew weaker every day, and his dear, brave face 
 looked pinched and drawn. 
 
 Monsieur Wolff was away. When he returned 
 and heard that my dear old lad was ill, he came 
 at nine o'clock in the morning to see him. Max 
 
END OF A NOBLE LIFE 205 
 
 was lying by the fire, covered with a blanket, his 
 head on a little pillow; he raised it at the sound 
 of the loved voice, and, lifting his trembling lip, 
 smiled once very feebly, as Monsieur Wolff 
 stooped over him. Oh, how I cried! 
 
 That afternoon I was in the drawing-room. 
 The weather was warm and sunny and the 
 front door stood open. Max, with his bandages 
 wrapped about his thin body, slipped out, and 
 got as far as the Embankment, when one of his 
 friends, a fat, red-faced, big-hearted cabman, 
 picked him up in his arms, wrapped a rough 
 great-coat about him, put him on the seat of his 
 cab, and brought him home. 
 
 "He wasn't equal to a walk, mum, so I give 
 him a ride. He's a wise one. Take my word 
 for it. But the old chap don't know how sick he 
 is. Thank you, mum." 
 
 Max slept that night, and quite quietly all 
 the next morning, his breathing growing lighter 
 and quieter until it gently ceased. 
 
 I was in another room when they told me my 
 faithful friend and closest companion for so many 
 years had gone. They said he looked sweet and 
 peaceful, with the furrows of pain in his noble 
 face smoothed away, but I could not bear to 
 look upon those loving, honest eyes, closed in 
 
206 DOG STARS 
 
 death, and from a distance I saw them carry him 
 to the garden, and I called out and asked if they 
 had put on his wine-colored collar, and said: 
 
 "Turn his face toward my window, and make 
 his grave where the morning sun will shine on 
 it." And then a rush of tears hid the burying 
 from my sight. 
 
 I intended to put a little stone at the head of 
 his resting-place in Chelsea, with, "To the mem- 
 ory of Max, beautiful, good, and gifted," carved 
 upon it; but I never did, and it is just as well 
 now that Oakley Lodge is in other hands than 
 mine. But his epitaph is written in my heart, 
 for I, who love all dogs, know there never was, 
 nor could be, one like him, so faithful, so sensible, 
 so sweetly reasonable, so understanding, so wise 
 and so loving. 
 
 It is said the dead are permitted to revisit 
 the places which in life held their hearts the 
 closest. If this be true, after I am gone I shall 
 sometimes come back and stand in my bedroom 
 window, and look toward the pleasant garden: 
 and from a grassy mound under the whispering 
 trees a shadowy old collie will arise and turn his 
 noble head toward the house. And, when he sees 
 my gentle shade, his beautiful eyes will fill with 
 remembrance and with love. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A GAY DOG ARRIVES 
 
 I HAD a serious illness not long after the death 
 of Max, and was in bed for quite a month before 
 it was possible to get away and recuperate at 
 Heme Bay. 
 
 I longed for the sea, but not Brighton — it 
 would remind me too much of my dear old lad. 
 
 One afternoon Senor Corea sent his house- 
 keeper to me with a present, a fox terrier puppy. 
 What a comical, irresistible creature he was: 
 well marked, a round, black spot near his tail, a 
 little black saddle on his fat, white back, two 
 spots on his head, brown tufts above his mis- 
 chievous, dancing, brown eyes, and, though un- 
 usually large for his age, he had still to fill out 
 deep and loose baby wrinkles. 
 
 "If he ever grows up to them," I said, with my 
 finger buried in a fold in his lip, "he will be a 
 mastiff." 
 
 "The senor didn't have his tail cut," the house- 
 207 
 
208 DOG STARS 
 
 keeper said. "It ought to be done. A fox terrier 
 looks so much smarter with a cropped tail." 
 
 The puppy blinked anxiously. "Not an inch 
 of his caudal appendage shall be removed," I 
 said. "I feel this fellow is going to be smart 
 enough to justify an original appearance." The 
 housekeeper looked pleased, and said: 
 
 "jSTow, I know, madame, that he is in kind 
 hands, and I needn't be anxious. I liked him the 
 best of the litter and wanted to keep him, he's so 
 saucy and independent, but the senor told me to 
 bring this particular puppy to you. He has only 
 just left his mother, and is still a baby. He 
 won't have to sleep by himself until he is a little 
 older, will he?" 
 
 "At present," I said, "he will sleep on the foot 
 of my bed, and as there is every prospect of my 
 being in it for some weeks, he is not likely to 
 be left alone. So your mind can rest at ease 
 about him." 
 
 The woman's eyes were full of tears when she 
 kissed his soft wrinkled head. "You will find 
 him a perfect dear, madame," and he was then, 
 and always. 
 
 When T. P. came in I was dozing, but the 
 puppy wide awake, his ej'-es turned roguishly to 
 show the clear blue-whites, was industriously 
 
 / ' 
 
A GAY DOG ARRIVES 209 
 
 chewing a corner of the pillow-case. He stopped 
 when he saw a man, cast a mischievous glance at 
 T. P., who said: 
 
 "Hello! Where did you come from?" Frol- 
 icked in a circle around the bed, stopped at T. 
 P.'s hands, and industriously licked every inch 
 of them. 
 
 "He's an engaging fellow," said T. P. "What 
 are you going to call him?" 
 
 The parlor maid came in at that moment with 
 my supper. She had large, comfortable-looking 
 ears. The puppy leaped to refresh himself with 
 one of the downy pink lobes. The English, as a 
 race, love animals; the girl laughed good-na- 
 turedly, and held the puppy affectionately in 
 her arms, saying: "Listen to him suck. He 
 cert'nly is got coaxing ways." 
 
 "You have named him, Lizzie," I said; "take 
 Coaxey to the kitchen, give him a saucer of milk, 
 and a little run in the garden." Not more than 
 ten minutes had passed when I heard him flop- 
 ping and whimpering up the stairs ; then he pat- 
 tered down the hall, and made no mistake in 
 finding my room. 
 
 T. P. lifted him to the bed; he greeted me with 
 ecstatic snuffles, gave me a milky lick, cuddled 
 down in the hollow of my arm and went to sleep. 
 
210 DOG STARS 
 
 Agnes, my good little housemaid, was constituted 
 his nurse and trainer. She gave him unusually 
 frequent baths on account of his close proximity 
 to me. The Spaniards have a proverb : "What 
 you take in with the cradle you carry to the 
 grave," and Coaxey loved water to the end of 
 his life. 
 
 Agnes also taught him habits of cleanliness to 
 which he responded with wonderful quickness. 
 In three weeks he was a perfectly trained little 
 dog, except for his chewing propensities. Like 
 all puppies he loved slippers, and I must say he 
 cut his teeth somewhat expensively, for anything 
 and everything upon which indiscriminately he 
 could fasten his sharp little teeth gave him lively 
 
 joy. 
 
 I dared not leave a hat on a chair — ^he would 
 chew it to bits and finish with the veil. There 
 was something evanescent and elusive about net 
 or lace that particularly attracted him. Being 
 absent-minded, I often led him into temptation, 
 leaving things within his reach and coming sud- 
 denly in a room would find him sheltered be- 
 hind an innocent-guilty expression, looking at 
 me with one telltale blob of wet chenille hanging 
 from a corner of his mouth. He did not reahze 
 
A GAY DOG ARRIVES 211 
 
 that he furnished strong circumstantial evidence 
 of the destruction of a pretty veil. 
 
 When I could travel we went to a little white 
 house by the sea, and he was the most cheerful 
 companion imaginable ; indeed, he was the gayest 
 dog I ever knew, filled with a lively curiosity, 
 there was nothing which did not interest him. 
 
 He loved all dogs, and should have been a poli- 
 tician for, regardless of size, race, age or disposi- 
 tion, he stopped, beaming with cordiality, and, 
 figuratively speaking, slapped every dog he met 
 on the back, introducing himself with a breezj^ 
 smile, and a: "Hi, old fellow, the top of the 
 mornin' to you. Glad to make your acquain- 
 tance. Let's take a stroll." 
 
 And, even more than dogs, he loved boys and 
 horses, barking vociferously when he met either 
 the one or the other, and rushing forward to 
 introduce himself, he was always warmly re- 
 ceived. There was a small boy at Heme Bay, 
 who rode a shaggy pony, and Coaxey, to his un- 
 bounded joy, was encouraged to follow him 
 every morning; and the little lad came one day 
 and asked if the fox terrier might go to tea in 
 his garden. He, with his brother and two other 
 little chaps from India, were spending the vaca- 
 tion at school. What a satisfying fiU Coaxey had 
 
212 DOG STARS 
 
 of boys that day, running, racing, catching balls, 
 leaping with his long legs in the air like a frog, 
 jumping over sticks, and, with his quick intelli- 
 gence, after one or two attempts, even through 
 a hoop. What a gallant and tireless playfellow 
 he was! 
 
 "May he come again?" the four boys, flushed 
 and happy, asked, when I went to fetch him 
 home. 
 
 "Yes," I said, "but you must return his call 
 first. He is awfully particular about etiquette, 
 and he wants to recognize your hospitality by 
 giving you a high tea of cold salmon, hot rolls 
 American fashion, macaroons and cake, if you 
 will honor him by accepting his invitation." 
 
 The youngest boy managed to say shyly: 
 "When may we come?" 
 
 Knowing full well the impatience of both big 
 and little boys, I said : 
 
 "The day after to-morrow, and I would say 
 to-morrow only I am not certain about getting 
 the salmon in time." 
 
 The next day Coaxey's invitations were issued 
 on cards pictured with a fox terrier, and he said : 
 
 "Don't forget my tea party. Come early. 
 
 "Coaxey O'Connor." 
 
 Promptly at three o'clock his guests arrived. 
 
A GAY DOG ARRIVES 213 
 
 They were a little silent and shy at first, until 
 we led them through the garden to the stable 
 to see a very old pony, who, hke Punch, I had 
 "unbeknownst" taken with the house. Coaxey 
 in his investigations about the place had discov- 
 ered him, and kept going back and forth to the 
 stable, begging everybody to go with him and 
 see what he had found. 
 
 The party was a success, and Coaxey accompa- 
 nied his guests to their gate and was very late 
 getting home, having met a fascinating puppy 
 of about his own age on the way, he stopped for 
 a tumble and game. 
 
 Mademoiselle Earthier, a charming French 
 friend, visiting me, and a stern disciplinarian, had 
 met and called him several times, but he paid no 
 attention to her, and when he came in she sat him 
 up in a corner with his back turned to the room 
 as a punishment. 
 
 He already spoke French, and, at "Fait le 
 beau" sat up and begged. While, "couche toi" 
 sent him at once to his basket. 
 
 Not all his wrinkles had filled out, but he was 
 growing a very big terrier, with a dash of grey- 
 hound somewhere among his ancestors. His 
 mother and father were small dogs, but he had 
 reverted to his racing progenitor, and a bunch of 
 
214 DOG STARS 
 
 greyhounds held in leash filled him with wild 
 emulation and uncontrollable excitement. And 
 he could run with the best. His long body was 
 slender and graceful, and his broad chest and 
 slim legs when he grew to manhood were filled 
 with splendid muscles like thin steel, which en- 
 abled him to endure limitless exercise. And 
 there never was a better sportsman, always ready 
 to fight and stalk his prey. 
 
 We lived near the river and occasionally a 
 venturesome water rat made his way into the 
 garden, and Coaxey was scarcely more than a 
 puppy when he caught the first marauder. The 
 servants in the kitchen tried to take it away from 
 him, but he bore it in triumph to the drawing- 
 room, and laid it down before the fire on a Per- 
 sian rug. How Monsieur Wolff applauded him. 
 
 "Good dog. A rat! Bravo! A rat! You 
 must go wid me to Scotland for a Stak." 
 
 And, ever after that, "Find a rat, Coaxey," 
 sent him to the garden, snuffing and breathing 
 fierce, belligerent breaths while watching and 
 waiting patient hours for his enemy. 
 
 He was not a noble or a contemplative charac- 
 ter like Max. He never stopped to think seri- 
 ously, being too full of the joy of life for that. 
 He was impulsive, wildly affectionate, occasion- 
 
A GAY DOG ARRIVES 215 
 
 ally very naughty, but he never bore malice, and, 
 though he was so full of high spirits and mischief 
 that he often got himself and me in trouble, I 
 always forgave him. 
 
 When the sun shone, and there was a keen 
 nip in the air, his young blood turned to quick- 
 silver, and his reckless impetuosity incited him to 
 wild deeds of daring. 
 
 The moment the front door opened and we 
 started on our walks, he rushed madly into the 
 street, his eyes a httle narrowed, with wicked 
 wrinkles at the corners — he generally had an ad- 
 venture when the wrinkles appeared — ^liis mouth 
 wide open in a broad smile which showed his pink 
 tongue and strong white teeth ; his heart beating 
 quickly with wild excitement he was filled with a 
 mad desire to make every creature he met leap 
 into the air. 
 
 I am sure it was only a brisk spirit of mischief, 
 but the consequences were a number of times 
 costly. In vain I called, "Coaxey, come here, 
 Coaxey," and flourished a dog whip. On he 
 rushed like a hurricane, his legs scarcely visible 
 so quick was their action, his muscular body 
 seemingly a missile launched into space, and, as 
 he passed an innocent stranger, a lightning turn 
 of the head, a surprised jump, a rip or a tear, 
 
216 DOG STARS 
 
 sometimes a good round oath, and I had to pay 
 for coat or trousers. 
 
 Coaxey, knowing quite well what he had done, 
 grinned with delight, laughed in his tail — it al- 
 ways visibly shook — sped out of sight, becoming 
 quickly invisible, and left me to pour oil on his 
 very troubled waters. i 
 
 True dog lovers understood him, and laughed ; 
 holding up a damaged coat-tail a good-natured 
 man would say: "It's only high spirits, madam. 
 I forgive him, but you had better correct your 
 dog. He'll get you into serious trouble one 
 day." 
 
 I whipped him, not very hard; corporal pun- 
 ishment is against my principles ; but it only hurt 
 me and made no impression upon Coaxey. He 
 forgave and forgot; but he did not forget other 
 things. He never got lost, even in a strange 
 village, when he loitered for a game with an- 
 other dog, or remained in unknown woods for 
 hours, to blow belligerent breaths down mysteri- 
 ous holes; he always found his way back. 
 
 One spring my nerves were playing me all 
 sorts of tricks, and for some weeks we lived at 
 a quiet hotel in beautiful Malvern, and, except 
 for the young woman at the desk, I spoke to no 
 one but Coaxey; he had my undivided attention 
 
A GAY DOG ARRIVES 217 
 
 and loved it. The first day that we walked up 
 the hills, quite three miles from the hotel, Coaxey 
 discovered, beneath an old tree, a hole filled 
 with exciting possibilities, for, as we passed there 
 was a quick scuttling in it. With one bound my 
 sportsman thrust head and paws after the rustle, 
 and there he remained until the lamps were 
 lighted. 
 
 His excitement was so great he never even 
 heard me when I called, and I was dressing for 
 dinner before he scratched at my door, and came 
 in with a little mound of country earth on the 
 top of his healthy, black, wet nose, saucy, bright- 
 eyed, alert and hopeful of better success another 
 time. 
 
 I reproached him for leaving me, and told him 
 in a strange place he might have got lost, but 
 we both knew that it was only a conventional ad- 
 monition; with his quick intelligence he could 
 find his way anywhere, and he looked at me, his 
 eyes beaming with mischief, and, rolling over on 
 his back, he kicked his long legs in the air and 
 laughed. 
 
 He was, no matter what the punishment, un- 
 repentant of his misdemeanors, and, whether his 
 conscience was very small, or his self-confidence 
 
218 DOG STARS 
 
 very large, it was impossible to say, but I am sure 
 that he was never sorry for anything. 
 
 His motto was: "The past cannot be undone; 
 let us look gayly to the future." 
 
 After Malvern we went back to Brighton, 
 where I had furnished a little house, intending 
 to spend my winters there, and a friend came 
 one afternoon to see me, and brought her dachs- 
 hund, a darling dog, who, when tea was served, 
 sat up and begged for bread, butter and cake. 
 After much praise and applause he was induced 
 to shut his eyes, lean his sleek tan head against 
 his mistress' knee and say his prayers. At the 
 word "Amen" he looked up and swallowed his 
 reward, a tea cake covered with pink icing. 
 Monsieur Wolff had just arrived from London. 
 There were several ladies about the tea table, 
 and we laughed at the pious Dax, stroked and 
 petted him, and he was in the limelight, the cen- 
 ter of the stage, absorbing all the attention, when 
 poor, forgotten Coaxey was suddenly filled with 
 burning jealousy. Pushing his way through the 
 little circle, he was guilty of a terrible breach of 
 inhospitality, and in the very middle of Fritz's 
 encore, and a second set of beautiful prayers, he 
 darted forward, bit his visitor on the neck, and 
 
A GAY DOG ARRIVES 219 
 
 from that moment he disliked the entire race of 
 these inoffensive German dogs. 
 
 I was deeply mortified and apologized for my 
 poor, ill-behaved Coaxey. The wound, luckily, 
 was very slight, just enough to stop any more 
 showing off; and the lady forgave him, patted 
 his head, and told him it was his house, and that 
 he couldn't help being jealous of such an accom- 
 plished gentleman as her Fritz, but Coaxey didn't 
 want forgiveness. The iron had entered his soul ; 
 his eyes were narrowed all that afternoon, and 
 the wrinkles around them were very deep. 
 "Don't," I said to Monsieur Wolff. "Take him 
 out to walk. He will do something desperate 
 and expensive." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 COAXEY SAYS HIS PRAYERS AND DANCES HIGHLAND 
 FLING 
 
 The next day was Sunday. I had breakfast 
 in my room, and a little later I heard a very 
 angry voice in the hall. 
 
 "Your wretched dog has torn my cloak! He 
 ought to be killed, and I was on my way to 
 church. Tell your mistress that I want to see 
 her at once! At once! Do you hear?" 
 
 I went downstairs to find a terribly irate dame, 
 with a small piece of loose fringe dangling from 
 her silk mantle. 
 
 "Do," I said, "let me have the cloak. A 
 French maid will mend it so you won't be able to 
 find the tear." 
 
 At first she wouldn't hear to any sewing on 
 a Sunday, but, after a while I induced her to 
 take it off, and sent it upstairs to a recent im- 
 portation from France. And didn't I work hard 
 to be entertaining for that quarter of an hour? 
 I explained to the lady that Coaxey had been 
 
 220 
 
COAXEY 221 
 
 much upset the day before, but she fixed me with 
 a stern eye and said: 
 
 "You can't tell me that this is the first time 
 that dog ever tore anything. I never saw a more 
 knowing, or a more wicked eye. He has made 
 me late for church, and he has made me angry, 
 and I think the dog ought to be destroyed." 
 
 "I am so sorry," I said. "You see, he's a 
 puppy. He will behave himself when he grows 
 older." 
 
 The maid brought the mantle with the fringe 
 perfectly repaired, and I placed it tenderly on 
 the lady's shoulders, told her what a charming 
 garment it was, and escorted her to the door. 
 Coaxey was nowhere to be seen, and she departed 
 peacefully. 
 
 Monsieur Johannes Wolff and Coaxey were 
 mysteriously closeted the whole afternoon ; at tea 
 time they made their reappearance, Monsieur 
 Wolff looking as if he had just played Grieg's 
 beautiful "Concerto" to the deafening applause 
 of an appreciative audience; and Coaxey full of 
 triumphant, suppressed excitement. 
 
 "Beg, Coaxey!" said Monsieur Wolff, holding 
 up a morsel of bread and butter. Instantly 
 Coaxey lifted himself into a sitting position and 
 
222 DOG STARS 
 
 barked. "Good dog, good dog, Wunderbar. 
 W under schdn!" said M. WolflP. 
 
 "But he can already beg in French," I 
 said. 
 
 "Wait, wait," said M. WolfF, "until I get 
 cake. Now! Prayers, Coaxey!" 
 
 Coaxey knelt and tucked his head between 
 Monsieur Wolff's knees. 
 
 "Pious, pious, shut your eyes." My comedian 
 closed his eyes, and Monsieur Wolff chanted: 
 "O Lort, gif me no breat, but plenty of meat and 
 bones ant cake. Ahmen!" Up came Coaxey 's 
 head. "Goot dog. Colossal! Colossal!" said 
 Monsieur Wolff. 
 
 Down went Coaxey's head again. 
 
 "Look at him," said Monsieur Wolff, filled 
 with delight. "He gives an encore widout to 
 ask." And the scene was reenacted with, as his 
 reward, a piece of fruit cake. 
 
 This was the beginning of his education. He 
 learned to die for the King. To dance to the 
 music of a Highland fling, to walk on his hind 
 legs, to act as house postman, carrying letters 
 and newspapers to the different rooms. "Take 
 this to your Missy, Coaxey," would send him 
 flying upstairs with a package in his mouth, and 
 an important scratch at my door. He would 
 
COAXEY 223 
 
 bring my slippers, carry even a walking stick, 
 held between his teeth, and he invented and 
 played quite a good game of ball. After chew- 
 ing his beloved ball a few moments he would 
 drop it gently before his nose, give it a little push 
 which sent it to the person sitting opposite him, 
 and his friend was expected to send it back until 
 it gently settled before his expectant nose. 
 
 He was untiring at this game, although it did 
 not give the same wild thrills that finding stones 
 thrown to the incoming waves and rescued with 
 a mouthful of salt water gave him. If I refused 
 to walk on the beach and throw stones, he would 
 accost any stranger, a boy preferably, pick up a 
 stone with his teeth, deposit it in the boy's hand, 
 look imploringly at him, and run to the water's 
 edge, barking his gay heart out with joyous an- 
 ticipation. He could swim like a fish, and 
 splashed in the water several times a day when- 
 ever we were near a river or the sea. He was ac- 
 tive and strong and vividly healthy, his tongue 
 as pink as a rose leaf, and his breatli as fresh as 
 heather, although in his puppyhood he had two 
 or three serious illnesses, which he never forgot. 
 First he suffered from a severe attack of mange, 
 caught from a forbidden playfellow, a demo- 
 cratic black dog of an engaging disposition, the 
 
224 DOG STARS 
 
 property of a cobbler who lived in a little back 
 street near us. 
 
 Like many healthy people, Coaxey seemed to 
 have small powers of resistance, and became so 
 ill that a celebrated veterinary surgeon pro- 
 nounced his condition hopeless, and advised as- 
 phjrxiation. He was undoubtedly in a bad way, 
 but I looked in his alert eyes, brimful of confi- 
 dence and courage, and they seemed to be say- 
 ing: "Never say die." And I bundled him up in 
 an old flannel dressing-gown, bade Agnes call a 
 cab, and carried him off to the College of Veter- 
 inary Surgeons in Camden Town. 
 
 What a wonderful place it is, with large rooms 
 of an even temperature, where horses or other 
 animals, who are ill with pneumonia or conges- 
 tion of the lungs, have a chance for life, good sur- 
 geons, good nurses, fresh medicines, and at the 
 head of the hospital Doctor McQueen, a most 
 able, kind, and understanding friend to those who 
 are sick and dumb. With my eyes full of tears, 
 I said, after unwrapping Coaxey's covering: 
 
 "Can you cure him?" 
 
 "Of course I can," said Doctor McQueen, 
 looking him over. "He's a big, strong fellow, 
 and only needs proper treatment. The chief dif- 
 
COAXEY 225 
 
 ficulty is that you ought to leave him here, and 
 you are not a member." 
 
 "That," I said, "is no hindrance, I can become 
 a member." And I did, paying a few pounds, 
 which were never better expended, for Coaxey 
 came home sound and whole, with a beautiful 
 skin and smooth, silky hair. 
 
 Unfortunately, the following week, before 
 fully recovering his strength, he ran after T. P.'s 
 bicycle for a whole afternoon, came home in great 
 spirits, panting and wildly happy, but streaming 
 with perspiration. The day was miserably damp 
 and cold, and that night his nose fairly burnt my 
 hand. He drank a gallon of water. The next 
 day he developed pneimionia, lay limp and still in 
 his basket, and this time his pathetic eyes seemed 
 to reveal a mortal sickness. 
 
 I wrapped him in a blanket, and again carried 
 him to the veterinary college in Camden Town. 
 
 "Back again!" said Doctor McQueen. 
 "What's the matter this time? Dear, dear," he 
 said, taking his temperature, "you have brought 
 me a very sick doggie." 
 
 A nurse was called, and Coaxey was in hos- 
 pital for another month. At the end of that time, 
 fat and saucy, he came back in perfect condition, 
 and it must have been quite four years before it 
 
226 DOG STARS 
 
 was necessary, for some trivial illness, to take 
 him again to Camden Town. 
 
 In the meantime I am confident he had learned 
 to read; for, when we drew up before the door, 
 he looked up, saw in large letters: "The Royal 
 College of Veterinary Surgeons," and lightly 
 he leaped from that cab and blithely he ran back, 
 five miles to Chelsea, and was on the doorstep 
 long before the fat jog-trot of an old cab horse 
 brought me home. I had forgotten to tell him 
 that he was not to be left in Camden Town, only 
 examined and given a prescription by his friend, 
 Dr. McQueen; otherwise I am sure he would 
 have been pleased to go in and see the doctor. 
 But three weeks of inactivity in the hospital was 
 not to be borne, consequently he set his judg- 
 ment in defiance of mine, and he was neither 
 sorry nor apologetic when we met, and, to my 
 surprise, the long hard run had a most beneficial 
 effect, for the next daj^ he was practically well. 
 
 Another incident that added evidence of liis 
 being able to read was a visit which he made with 
 me to Doctor SeweU's, the veterinary surgeon 
 living in South Kensington. I wanted to see 
 him in reference to my dear and beautiful little 
 dog, a Yorkshire terrier, James Foster, a former 
 patient of his, who had been cruelly stolen from 
 
COAXEY 227 
 
 me. Coaxey had never been to Mr. Sewell's in 
 his hfe, but the moment he looked up, and read, 
 "Veterinary Surgeon," he never wasted a mo- 
 ment in exercising the fleetness of his long legs 
 in the direction of Oakley Lodge. I think the 
 last years of his life he became a Christian Scien- 
 tist, for he refused to take any medicine at all, 
 arguing that water, exercise and silent treatment 
 were all he needed. 
 
 In his puppyhood, when ill with distemper. 
 Bee Clark had sat with her gentle hand in his 
 basket for a whole day, and he never forgot it. 
 If two or three years elapsed without her return- 
 ing to England he was wild with joy at their 
 meeting, and he seemed even to know when she 
 was coming, going back and forth anxiously to 
 the front door, and looking down the street with 
 bright, knowing eyes until she appeared, when he 
 hurled himself with joyous cries upon her. He 
 strutted with pride when she sent him a brave, 
 scarlet leather collar, studded with brass nails, 
 from Paris. And one severe winter pretty Ro- 
 sita, another of his dear friends, brought him 
 from the famous dog-shop on the Rue St. Hon- 
 ore a tan coat, the misfit of a greyhound. 
 
 There was a little pocket on his broad breast, 
 and from it peeped a brilliant handkerchief. It 
 
228 DOG STARS 
 
 was not like Desdemona's, embroidered in straw- 
 berries, nevertheless it proved a fatal possession, 
 and in its defense he was severely bitten by a 
 cur twice his own size; and, though he fought 
 with courage, he could not help being over- 
 whelmed by superior force. 
 
 Ordinarily he was much too manly a dog to 
 wear a coat, but, when a searching wind came up 
 out of the sea, and we were going to walk over 
 the downs to Rottingdean, to protect him from 
 the biting cold I insisted on his wearing his great 
 coat. 
 
 On this fatal day we met a plebeian, envious, 
 local dog. He rolled his tongue out in a most 
 mischievous grin when he saw Coaxey's coat, not 
 being accustomed to the clothes of a gentleman, 
 and never having heard of Paris, he ran by his 
 side and dribbled on it with diabolical malice. 
 He was a large, awkward, nondescript mongrel, 
 but in spite of his hazy ancestry I did not suspect 
 him of being despicable enough to attack a dog 
 so much smaller than himself; and, indeed, he 
 cunningly saved his self-respect, such as it was, 
 by provoking Coaxey to strike the first blow, 
 and then, turning savagely, did his best to slaugh- 
 ter him. 
 
 Coaxey, always out for popularity, was ami- 
 
mtinmrn 
 
 COAXKT HAD GROWN AFFECTIONATE AND APPEALING 
 IN- HIS OLD AGE 
 
COAXEY 229 
 
 able under the visible contempt for his coat, but 
 when the black dog lifted a heavy, muddy paw 
 and laid it crushingly on the spotted pocket 
 handkerchief Coaxey bit him on the jaw. 
 
 There was an instant engagement. Coaxey 
 stood to his guns, yelping and snapping, but the 
 plebeian got hold of his neck and tried to wring 
 it. I screamed and belabored him with my stick, 
 and he finally let go. Coaxey was bleeding but 
 game. He seized the mongrel, tearing his ear, 
 and, holding on with bulldog tenacity, was 
 whirled in the air by the black dog's swift rota- 
 tions. The ear gave way, and Coaxey was hurled 
 to the ground, with the mongrel leaping to him 
 and savagely ripping his tan coat to ribbons. 
 
 I thanked Heaven that it was not my saucy 
 comedian's skin, and beat the dog furiously 
 about the head with my stick. For a moment he 
 seemed about to turn on me, but, growling and 
 red-eyed, thought better of it, and ran slowly 
 down the hill. What a bad neck and fever his 
 none-too-clean teeth gave poor Coaxey! It re- 
 quired much care and poulticing to get him well, 
 and he would never look again at a coat, though 
 Rosita, a beautiful little needle-woman, bought 
 a yard of tan broadcloth and accurately copied 
 the debased and ruined garment. Much more 
 
230 DOG STARS 
 
 intelligent than many human beings my gay dog 
 profited by experience and, after his encounter 
 with the black cur, he was quite wary of mak- 
 ing acquaintances, especially with larger dogs, 
 and he became extremely sly and cautious of 
 attack. 
 
 One glorious morning of brilliant sunshine, 
 blue sky, and swiftly-sailing silver clouds, 
 Coaxey and I walked on the lawns at Hove. 
 Just in front of us a sporting man and his sport- 
 ing dog stepped forward with crisp, firm steps. 
 They had neither of them ever heard that 
 
 God's in His heaven. 
 All's right with the world. 
 
 Nevertheless they felt and acted it. Coaxey 
 cocked one eye, looked at them, and laughed. 
 They were an amusing couple. 
 
 Everything about the man was round: A 
 round, bullet-head, with a round face and round 
 features, a round body, wearing a very short, 
 round coat; chubby, round hands, wearing bril- 
 liant round rings, and thick round feet in well- 
 polished round boots. His dog was a white bull 
 terrier. His shining coat was exquisitely clean 
 and well brushed; he had a pink, coral-colored 
 muzzle, a broad forehead between his bold black 
 
COAXEY 231 
 
 eyes; a finely developed, muscvilar body, on 
 stockily built legs, and a proud tail that stood 
 out like a curved whip. He only looked once 
 obliquely and contemptuously at Coaxey. A 
 graceful fox terrier, with a lithe, slender body 
 and a wide-open, friendly mouth, was beneath 
 notice — too silly to play with and too soft for a 
 fight. Just a creature to be cut and ignored. 
 
 Coaxey's eyes narrowed. The wrinkles ap- 
 peared, his smile lessened, he laughed in his tail. 
 I saw it shake, and he began making circles 
 around the man and the dog. 
 
 "Coaxey," I called, "come here, sir! Do you 
 want to be killed by that bull terrier?" 
 
 He paid no heed to me, drawing the circles 
 smaller. 
 
 I spoke to him sharply: "Come with me, sir! 
 Do you hear?" And, leaving the lawns, I 
 walked on the Esplanade by the sea, looking 
 back carelessly at the stolid couple. Coaxey fol- 
 lowed me; so did the man and the dog. There 
 was the tail of a storm from the night before, the 
 shining, white-capped waves were still riotous 
 and ambitious of climbing over the sea wall. 
 Little red-sailed fishing boats were putting out 
 to catch sole and mackerel. A freshly painted, 
 
232 DOG STARS 
 
 busy steamer, laden with passengers, plowed her 
 way toward Worthing. 
 
 It was a pleasant scene. The dog and the 
 man stopped to contemplate it. He pushed his 
 jaunty, derby hat back from his round fore- 
 head, and, with his round hands clasping the iron 
 railing, looked toward the clear horizon. The 
 bull terrier, close to his master, stood in profile, 
 his muscular tail erect and defiant. 
 
 The wrinkles deepened about Coaxey's eyes. 
 He made curved and swift half -circles about the 
 man and dog, who both ignored him, neither of 
 them looking toward him or seeming aware of 
 his presence. 
 
 In vain I called: "Coaxey, what do you mean, 
 sir? Come here." The half -circles grew smaller. 
 "Come here, Coaxey. I'll whip you if I catch 
 you." 
 
 The bull terrier quivered. He was taking no- 
 tice and getting annoyed. His proud tail be- 
 came more rigid, but he pretended to give his 
 undivided attention to the sea. The moment had 
 not yet come to demolish Coaxey. A sudden, 
 brilliant, strategic curve, and my lively tactician 
 seized in the exact middle that patronizing, 
 haughty tail, and with his strong teeth gave it 
 a hurting cr-runch. The white terrier made a 
 
COAXEY 233 
 
 mighty leap, turned in the air hke a corkscrew, 
 fell on his feet, then spun about like a top, his 
 nose gathering little flecks of blood as he followed 
 his tail in dizzy rounds, trying to find out what 
 had happened to it. And, after Coaxey's wind- 
 ward attack on the dog, he seized a mouthful of 
 the man's round form, and pressed it in a firm 
 pinch, as he disappeared in a gait that would 
 have put a greyhound to shame. 
 
 Never did I see a plump man move with such 
 agility. And never did I hear, even in my native 
 state of Texas, such forcible, picturesque, perti- 
 nent oaths. With his hand on his hip they rolled 
 forth, including not only Coaxey, but the world 
 at large in damnation. There was one advantage 
 in the outburst: it relieved his feelings to such 
 an extent that he did not ask for my address. 
 
 "I am very, very sorry," I ventured to say. 
 "My dog is a puppy, and was only playing. His 
 teeth, I am sure, haven't gone through your trou- 
 sers." 
 
 The man's eyes blazed with rage. 
 
 "A puppy!" he said. "Don't talk d d 
 
 nonsense, madam. He's bit my dog's tail to the 
 bone! Them ain't puppy teeth. And, if my 
 trousers are thick, it ain't your fault nor his." 
 
 He was quite right there. "Well," I said. 
 
234 DOG STARS 
 
 "I'm truly and exceedingly sorry. That's all I 
 can say." 
 
 "You might add that you wisht he was a pup- 
 py," said the man, "an' let it go at that. You 
 an' your puppy, indeed!" 
 
 And, leaving the last word to him, I quickly 
 departed and walked in Coaxey's direction. 
 About a mile from the scene of disaster, I found 
 him wildly barking, wet with brine, and busy 
 with a boy whom he had inveigled to throw stones 
 for him. 
 
 "You naughty dog," I called. "You bad dog! 
 You almost got us both in trouble. Aren't you 
 ashamed of yourself?" 
 
 Coaxey looked at me, j oyous, panting, his pink 
 tongue stiffened, every tooth visible, a laugh in 
 his tail, manly, saucy and impertinent. 
 
 "Now, don't be putting on airs with me," he 
 seemed to say. "You know you enjoy a joke 
 more than most. Think how you will entertain 
 your friends telling them about this prank of 
 mine and how I punished vain pride." 
 
 The next time Coaxey seized a pair of trou- 
 sers they were old, and yielded obligingly to the 
 strain. The man who wore them was a red- 
 faced workman, with a fine sense of his own 
 rights. He invaded my drawing-room, and in- 
 
COAXEY 235 
 
 formed me that either he would have the law on 
 me or I should pay him two pounds. 
 
 I paid him the two pounds without a word. 
 
 Coaxey, after this, seemed to realize the enor- 
 mity of his conduct, and did not have another 
 outbreak for quite a year. 
 
 When Christmas came my dear friends, the 
 Clarks, were spending the ^vinter in Brighton, 
 and pretty Caroline, for the festal season, made 
 him the dress of a Gordon Highlander: a correct 
 Scotch kilt, a black velvet jacket, with silver 
 buttons, a plaid held by a thistle, a small Scotch 
 cap, tilted on his left ear, and red knitted stock- 
 ings. 
 
 After dinner Monsieur Wolff appeared, lead- 
 ing him by the right paw, tongue hanging out, 
 eyes brilliant with excitement, and eager for his 
 performance. "Steady, Coaxey, steady." And, 
 placing him in the center of the room, his friend 
 played, with true Scotch fire, a Highland fling, 
 and Coaxey did justice to the music. The plaits 
 of his kilts opened with his rapid whirls. He 
 jumped and turned, his cap fell over one eye. 
 Monsieur Wolff played faster and faster. 
 Coaxey revolved until he became a ring of color, 
 then wavered, but, before he fell. Monsieur 
 Wolff jumped from the piano, seized his paw, 
 
236 DOG STARS 
 
 and they were both bowing to thunderous ap- 
 plause and gay laughter. 
 
 Ah, me ! I have Coaxey 's little Highland dress 
 still. Sometimes I lift it from a cedar chest 
 and look at it through a mist of tears, for it 
 brings not only a memory of my gay comedian, 
 but of happier years that can never come again. 
 
 After Coaxey 's triimiph as a dancer, Bee and 
 I thought he should receive a more complete and 
 higher education. There was an old man on the 
 Brighton pier with a troop of performing dogs, 
 who received at his house a few promising pupils, 
 and he agreed to take Coaxey and give him a fin- 
 ishing course. 
 
 The quarter's tuition included quite a number 
 of accomplishments. He was, among other 
 things, to learn the schottische, to smoke a pipe, 
 to march on his hind legs carrying a toy gun, and 
 to dance in the ballet with the professionals. The 
 Tweeny was to take him to school at nine 
 o'clock in the morning and call for him at twelve 
 o'clock at noon. He went away gayly, but he 
 returned wounded, mortified and unhappy, for 
 a poodle in the graduating class, who had never 
 prayed to be delivered from envy, jealousy or 
 malice, at Coaxey's first graceful step in the 
 
COAXEY 237 
 
 schottische rushed forward and bit him on the 
 shoulder. 
 
 There was a great uproar among the pupils. 
 A ballet skirt was torn, two pipes were broken, 
 a rubber ball disappeared, and the poodle was 
 kept in for the whole afternoon. Coaxey's shoul- 
 der was lame, a swelling the size of an egg had 
 to be looked to, and his usual, bright expression 
 was worried and somber. 
 
 I said to Bee: "Even to smoke, which would 
 make him a still more congenial companion to 
 his friend. Monsieur Wolff, I can't have his 
 proud spirit broken. He hasn't smiled since that 
 day in school." So the Tweeny carried a note 
 to Professor Jackson, telling him that, with 
 Coaxey's exceedingly sensitive temperament, it 
 would be impossible for him to attend school until 
 he had recovered from his unfortunate experi- 
 ence, and regrettably for the moment his educa- 
 tion was in abeyance. 
 
 The old professor replied in a letter which was 
 soothing to both Coaxey and myself. It was 
 written on mauve paper, with an interesting red 
 crest, and he said he was exceedingly sorry to hear 
 of my decision about so talented a pupil; that 
 Coaxey might be a genius from the way he had 
 attacked the schottische. The poodle had gradu- 
 
238 DOG STARS 
 
 ated and gone home, and all the other pupils 
 were well disposed and kind. He had never had 
 such an accident in the school before, and he 
 hoped I would reconsider my decision. But 
 Coaxey's shoulder was still swollen, the Tweeny's 
 mother died, and we left Brighton, so he never 
 went back for his finishing course, but with- 
 out it he was a wonderfully accomplished dog. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 COAXEY AS A SPORTSMAN 
 
 CoAXEY was far too much of a man to content 
 himself with parlor tricks only. His keenest in- 
 terest in life was sport. No toreador, darting a 
 sword-thrust in the vulnerable spot of the bull's 
 neck, could strike with greater precision than 
 Coaxey, when he picked up a cat by the neck, 
 gave it one shake and dropped it, dead. 
 
 I don't know cats intimately enough to love 
 them; my superficial acquaintance has only re- 
 sulted in a tepid liking; but I always did my 
 best to save them from murder and sudden death. 
 
 One morning a beautiful, long-haired Persian 
 pet, with a red collar, came in the garden. I 
 happened to be looking out of the window. He 
 was met by Coaxey — a pounce, a shake, and all 
 was over. 
 
 The catastrophe was too quick to beg for 
 mercy. I ran downstairs, called the Tweeny to 
 Hurry and dig a grave. Now that the dread deed 
 was done it was my duty to protect Coaxey, evi- 
 
 239 
 
240 DOG STARS 
 
 dently the Persian had been loved and might be 
 embarrassingly mourned. So, from the moment 
 the cat entered the yard until the interment, the 
 time could not have been more than eight min- 
 utes — probably the quickest death and funeral 
 in the world. 
 
 "Bad, bad dog," I said. "You are a murderer. 
 You can never wipe out the damned stain. I 
 must get my dog whip, and make you remember 
 this episode." 
 
 Coaxey gave me a brief glance of malicious 
 triumph, and was off for the day, making his 
 return so late in the evening that he knew my 
 joy at seeing him again would be greater than 
 my wrath. 
 
 Cats were not his only game. He was a versa- 
 tile hunter of many creatures, and, if the worst 
 came to the worst, and there was nothing else to 
 be found, he sat apparently dozing in the midst 
 of a bunch of noisy, quarrelsome sparrows, and, 
 without warning, suddenly darted forward, scat- 
 tering them with wild angry cries. And once 
 or twice he came in the house holding a baby 
 bird carefully in his mouth; but I told him to 
 catch unsuspecting fledglings was the action of 
 a coward, and he abandoned birds as forbidden 
 fruit. 
 
COAXEY AS A SPORTSMAN 241 
 
 One summer, instead of the sea, I rented a lit- 
 tle house in Bushy. There was a good garden, 
 several fine old trees with holes at the roots, and 
 Coaxey spent long, sunny afternoons with his 
 nose down an aperture, scenting his prey. He 
 had grown wiser, no longer breathed loud, bellig- 
 erent breaths, but exercised self-control, although 
 it made him shiver. He kept perfectly still, and 
 his finesse was eventually rewarded by a fat 
 weasel. 
 
 One evening at dinner I put my foot on a 
 round footstool, the texture seemed queer and 
 rough, and I did not remember having seen it, 
 but in a furnished house some things escape no- 
 tice. 
 
 Several times I had to say: "Coaxey, don't 
 be so silly. Take your nose off my footstool, stop 
 snorting on it, and on the buckles of my slip- 
 pers." 
 
 The dinner was very gay. Frederic Norton, 
 in iridescent mood, scintillated rainbow stories, 
 and there is no better story-teller in the world 
 than he, nor one who has a gi-eater power of 
 placing a picture in definite color and outline 
 before you. 
 
 We laughed through fish, roast, salad, dessert, 
 and, still laughing, we got up from the table. 
 
242 DOG STARS 
 
 Coaxey, usually so fond of good company, re- 
 mained mysteriously hidden, and continued to 
 blow long breaths on the footstool. 
 
 "Coaxey, you are a fool," I said. He put his 
 head out from under the table-cloth, his distended 
 eyes were like two burning stars, his dry tongue 
 hung out, he was panting quickly, and there 
 were flecks of blood and foam about his mouth. 
 
 "Coaxey," I said. "Come out from under the 
 table. What's the matter with you, sir?" 
 
 His eyes were red with excitement, the wrin- 
 kles terribly deep at the corners, and he blinked 
 strangely. The weather was very hot. 
 
 "He's going mad, or perhaps he is already 
 mad," I said. "He has blood on his jaws. I 
 wonder if he's bitten anybody. Agnes, go at 
 once for the veterinary surgeon, and no one must 
 touch him until we know what's the matter." 
 
 Coaxey gave me a peculiar look. 
 
 "This is too much," he seemed to say. "A vet. ! 
 Just wait a minute and see what I've got." And, 
 diving under the table, he brought forth my foot- 
 stool. It was a monster hedgehog. He had 
 brought it from the woods, and, although his poor 
 tongue and mouth were lacerated and bleeding 
 from the spines, he felt and was a proud and 
 mighty huntsman. 
 
COAXEY AS A SPORTSMAN 243 
 
 The hedgehog, not mortally wounded, was put 
 out in the garden ; from there he must have made 
 his way to the woods again, for the next morning 
 he was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 It was not long after this triumph that Coaxey 
 learned to fish. Pearl Craigie had asked me for 
 a visit to Ventnor, adding a thoughtful postscript 
 "to be sure and bring Coaxey." She knew him, 
 liked his liveliness and his diverting tricks. When 
 we arrived a pleasant party was assembled at 
 Steephill Castle: Mr. and Mrs. Richards, the 
 host and hostess; Mrs. Cummings, Mr. Richards' 
 amiable sister, Mrs. Craigie, and her young son, 
 George Street, and the Reverend Monsignor 
 Brown, an extremely manly, agreeable prelate. 
 
 Coaxey, a divining judge of character, at first 
 sight appreciated and appropriated him, and, 
 wherever Father Brown went, he followed closely 
 at his heels; on their long walks together they 
 always passed by the beautiful terrace at the 
 back of the house; in the center of it a fountain 
 rose high and splashed back in a moss-grown 
 basin ; two fish, an old carp and a copper-colored 
 gold fish, swam about, and Father Brown would 
 say to Coaxey, who stopped to enviously regard 
 them: 
 
 "Catch 'em, Coaxey. Catch 'em, boy. I dare 
 
244 DOG STARS 
 
 you to catch 'em." No one had ever dared 
 Coaxey. Then and there he resolved to become 
 an angler. 
 
 "Don't encourage him to go fishing," I said. 
 "He admires you so much, Father Brown, that 
 he will do anything you tell him." 
 
 Father Brown laughed incredulously. 
 
 "Believe me, dear madam," he said, "if Coaxey 
 catches either one of those fish my respect for 
 him will be vastly increased." 
 
 Coaxey cocked his head to one side, and his 
 eyes brightened. 
 
 "Take care," I said. "He's listening. He is 
 capable of the most reckless deeds to please you. 
 If he does catch those fish, it will be entirely 
 your fault." 
 
 "Catch 'em, boy," said Father Brown. "Catch 
 'em." 
 
 Coaxey stood at the edge of the basin, esti- 
 mating time between himself and a disappearing 
 tail. 
 
 "You are going," I said, "to get him into 
 trouble." 
 
 "If I do," said Father Brown, "it won't be 
 because he goes a-fishing. Come, Coaxey, we'll 
 have a swim." And joyously my comedian ran 
 down to the beach and waited for his friend. He 
 
COAXEY AS A SPORTSMAN 245 
 
 was more experienced in bathing and bathers 
 then when, as a puppy, he saw T. P. dive off 
 the Brighton pier, threw himself with a wild cry 
 into the water, and, to save his master from 
 drowning, climbed with sharp energetic claws 
 on T. P.'s back. 
 
 In the Isle of Wight the smi often shines, but 
 rainy daj^s must intervene, and one morning 
 there was a steady downpour, and alternately 
 the rain and the fountain splashed a sort of Hia- 
 watha's song. The long French windows were 
 opened on the Terrace, and presently Coaxey 
 came in dripping, with the old carp in his mouth, 
 and much the same expression that Napoleon 
 must have worn when the crown of an emperor 
 was placed upon his august head. 
 
 My plucky sportsman laid the fish at my feet, 
 and looked around for Father Brown, his acces- 
 sory to the deed. 
 
 "Coaxey," I said, "oh, Coaxey I The poor fish. 
 Have you killed him? What a pity! He's like 
 the carp ^^ith a ring in his nose at Versailles, that 
 Ferson and Marie Antoinette put in the fountain 
 together." 
 
 The Ventnor carp was still breathing. I ran 
 through the rain and threw him in the basin. Then 
 I forcibly explained meum and tuum to Coaxey. 
 
246 DOG STARS 
 
 It made no impression upon him. The burning 
 fire of conquest had entered his blood. He only 
 wanted his prey. When Father Brown came in 
 the room he greeted him with suppressed excite- 
 ment, and tried to tell him of his coup de grace. 
 
 Father Brown patted his head, and said: 
 "What's up, old boy, been fishing?" 
 
 "That's exactly what he has been doing," I 
 said. "Without line or rod he caught the carp, 
 brought him in the drawing-room to lay at your 
 feet, and, as you were not here, he laid him at 
 mine." 
 
 "Good fisherman," said Father Brown, laugh- 
 ing. "What is one carp less in the world?" 
 
 "What, indeed," said the angler, with a loud 
 bark, "or one gold fish, either, for the matter of 
 that?" 
 
 "Plucky boy! plucky boy!" said Father 
 Brown, and when the rain ceased and we looked 
 in the fountain the ancient and honorable carp 
 floated peacefully upside down, all his fishy trou- 
 bles at an end. 
 
 Coaxey was told that he was a bad dog, a very 
 bad dog, and, if he so much as dipped his nose 
 in the fountain he would be flayed alive; but 
 excitement made him deaf, and that night in his 
 dreams he snuffled water, and snapped his jaws 
 
COAXEY AS A SPORTSMAN 247 
 
 together catching fish. When the housemaid 
 brought my tea he was already restless and beg- 
 ging to get downstairs. 
 
 "Don't," I said to her, "let him out of your 
 sight a moment. He'll be in the fountain if you 
 do." 
 
 Not heeding my warning, she opened the front 
 door. In a flash he sped around to the back of 
 the house, and when next I saw him he carried 
 the gold fish in Iiis mouth. Not so badly hurt as 
 the carp, it lived four days in a bowl of water, 
 but I felt that Coaxey would never again be a 
 welcome visitor to Steephill Castle, although his 
 hosts, like true gentlefolk, made light of the loss 
 of their fishes. 
 
 And ever afterward my manly comedian — 
 wasn't Joseph Jefferson a great fisherman? — 
 had a new and keen joy in life. Even the scent 
 of a fish-stall filled him with delight, and when 
 we stayed on the Norfolk Broads he spent all his 
 days on the banks of the river fishing. It was 
 more difficult and better sport than the fountain, 
 although he was veiy moderately successful. His 
 catches were small, but it was not so much the 
 fish he wanted as to exercise the true sportsman's 
 quickness and skill. 
 
 My household had been increased by the gift 
 
248 DOG STARS 
 
 of a beautiful, gentle little dog, a Yorkshire ter- 
 rier, James T>. Phelan; and shortened for every 
 day use to Mr. Phelan. He was a tiny creature, 
 with long, gray, silky hair, touched with russet, 
 a gray veil over his soft eyes, and a black button 
 of a nose. He was so tender, appealing and af- 
 fectionate, that Coaxey never had a pang of 
 jealousy, even when Mr. Phelan, a worthy rep- 
 resentative of his aristocratic family, the Grind- 
 ley Wonders, first arrived from Scotland. 
 
 Mr. Phelan loved everything in the world, 
 even cats. This taste was hard for Coaxey to 
 understand and to forgive. When he came in 
 one day and found Mr. Phelan asleep in his 
 basket with a kitten he wanted to slay them both, 
 but Mr. Phelan's attitude to Coaxey was so flat- 
 tering — like that of a little boy and a big boy — 
 subservient and admiring, that Coaxey first pat- 
 ronized, then loved him. And, while we were sail- 
 ing on the Norfolk Broads, my little terrier, a 
 town-bred dog, saw for the first time a family 
 of ducks. They greatly interested him, and he 
 dived off the boat and swam toward them. There 
 was a strong wind blowing; all our sails were set, 
 and we were scudding along in the opposite direc- 
 tion. Mr. Phelan was very small, easily exhaus- 
 ted and a feeble swimmer. 
 
COAXEY AS A SPORTSMAN 249 
 
 "Go!" I said. "Go and fetch Mr. Phelan, 
 Coaxey." 
 
 Instantly he dived off the boat, which, low and 
 broad, was not high above the water, swam to Mr. 
 Phelan, seized him by the scruff of the neck, and 
 towed him back to the boat. And it was for Mr. 
 Phelan that he performed the most xinselfish act 
 of his life. 
 
 The little dog was suffering from a severe ill- 
 ness. The veterinary had called in the evening 
 and said: "I doubt if he lasts through the night. 
 Ring me up in the morning and tell me if it is 
 useless my coming again." 
 
 The next day Phelan was scarcely conscious, 
 but still breathing. I had him on my lap in his 
 little basket when Coaxey came in the room, 
 healthy and debonair, chewing his sacred ball. 
 It was an object that no one in the world was 
 allowed to touch — unless a game was going on — 
 except myself. 
 
 "Coaxey," I said, "oh, Coaxey, I'm so un- 
 happy. I'm afraid your poor brer Phelan is 
 going to die." And, lifting the basket, I placed 
 it on the floor. Very quietly Coaxey walked 
 over, stood beside it, looked a long time at Phe- 
 lan, and then, with a self-sacrificing sigh, depos- 
 ited the ball just in front of his poor little hot 
 
250 DOG STARS 
 
 nose, and looked at me with speaking eyes, say- 
 ing: "I've given him my rubber ball. It's all 
 I have, and the nicest thing on earth. If it 
 doesn't make him well nothing will." 
 
 And, with another deep sigh of renunciation, 
 he turned his back to the basket — lest he might, 
 like an Indian-giver, be tempted to take back his 
 gift — and sat down mournfully, gazing into the 
 fire. 
 
 Little Phelan didn't notice the ball, although 
 he got better from that day, so I put it on the 
 mantelpiece. Coaxey's eyes filled with joy, and 
 after a while he stood up on his hind legs, got it 
 for himself, and went to the kitchen, hoping for, 
 and I daresay finding, a young man to play ball 
 with him. 
 
 Very often he lost his ball, leaving it in the 
 garden, or, if we were in the country, he dropped 
 it on a hill or in a meadow. 
 
 "Mind you, Coaxey," I would say, "you have 
 got to find that ball. If you don't you won't 
 get another. I can't afford two shillings a week 
 on balls. You might just as well play golf." 
 
 And, indeed, if for some weeks he was ball- 
 less, in lieu of better things he would appropriate 
 a golf ball, although it was hard to chew, and not 
 at all good for his digestion. 
 
COAXEY AS A SPORTSMAN 251 
 
 I have known him, after a ball had been lost 
 in the grass for two or three weeks, to search 
 his memory, suddenly recollect the precise loca- 
 tion, and, without turning to the right or to 
 the left, go directly to the spot, find it, bring it 
 back and then what hearty praise was his. 
 
 As the years went on Coaxej^'s wild outbursts 
 of boyish animal spirits, when only a leap and a 
 nip at a stolid passerby relieved his jubilant ex- 
 citement, grew less frequent; but yet, if the day 
 was splendid, with clear, frosty sunshine, the 
 temptation unusual and appealing to his sense of 
 humor, he succumbed. 
 
 One Sunday morning we were taking a walk 
 in the vicinity of a little church, and met a good- 
 natured-looking young man, and his sweetheart. 
 She had bleached hair, brilliant cheeks, wore new 
 shoes, evidently, from her gait, too small for her, 
 and on her tightly gloved forefinger dangled a 
 bead bag. 
 
 The combination was too much for Coaxey. 
 His gay tongue rolled out, and his teeth were 
 visible, his eyes narrowed, the wrinkles came, and 
 he began making his fatal circles. 
 
 In vain I called : "Coaxej^, you bad dog, come 
 here!" He laughed and paid no attention. 
 Presently the circle narrowed to reaching dis- 
 
252 DOG STARS 
 
 tance, when he leaped up in the air, seized the 
 bead bag in his teeth, shook it, and dropped it 
 to the ground. Out rolled powder, rouge, red 
 lip salve, a small bottle of perfume and a pocket 
 handkerchief. 
 
 Coaxey, stretching his fleet legs, immediately 
 vanished from the scene of disaster, and it was 
 well that he did, for never have I seen such vio- 
 lent, spiteful rage. Assisted by the young man, 
 I meekly picked up the various articles and re- 
 stored the bag to the irate young woman. She 
 snatched it from my hand, and told me I was 
 "no lady" to keep such a wicked dog. 
 
 "My dear Gladys," the young man said, "the 
 lady tried to prevent it. She kept calling her 
 dog." The young woman turned violently on 
 him. 
 
 "Don't be stupid," she said viciously. "Why 
 didn't you run after the wretched beast and kill 
 him?" 
 
 "If the bag is damaged," I said, "I will will- 
 ingly pay for it. I can't tell you how sorry I 
 am." 
 
 "The bag is all right, madam," said the young 
 man quickly. And he lifted his hat, gently en- 
 gaged the young woman's elbow, and piloted her 
 suffering feet down the street and around the 
 
COAXEY AS A SPORTSMAN 253 
 
 corner. But, of one thing I am sure, Coaxey 
 opened the eyes of that unsuspecting lover to 
 the true character of his fiancee, and prohably 
 prevented a hfe's unhappiness. 
 
 It was hours before he got home, bringing 
 a rush of fresh air with him. He was in the 
 gayest spirits, his nice country tongue lolhng out, 
 and the wicked, humorous wrinkles still visible 
 about his shining eyes. 
 
 After such a lark he could not settle down at 
 once to the humdrum of ordinary existence, and, 
 seeing he was on the lookout for fresh adventure, 
 I tried to confine our walks to the Embankment, 
 where there were comparatively few people. 
 
 One day there were some errands to do in 
 Sloane Street. I told him he couldn't go. 
 
 "I haven't forgotten," I said, "the way you 
 behaved about that bead bag. I won't let you 
 walk with me to-day." Looking grieved and dis- 
 appointed, with drooping ears and tail, he disap- 
 peared. At the top of Sloane Street I met him, 
 tongue out, tail curled, uplifted ears, and a gen- 
 eral air of cheerful bravado. When he spoke to 
 me I must have smiled, for he gayly followed me, 
 and waited three-quarters of an hour before Har- 
 vey and Nicholls. I was selecting chintz cur- 
 
254 DOG STARS 
 
 tains, and it was difficult to choose among the 
 many lovely designs. 
 
 We were some time in a bookshop, bought 
 buttons at Catt's, and finally started home. All 
 went well until we reached Sloane Square. There 
 we met a man of exceedingly comic appearance, 
 wearing eye-glasses, and a heavy drooping mus- 
 tache, a high silk hat, jauntily on one side of his 
 head, and gloves of bright lemon-yellow; his 
 frock coat was unusually long, and a large purple 
 orchid stood well away from his button-hole. 
 
 Coaxey's eyes narrowed, and the wrinkles ap- 
 peared. I admonished him, but he made no 
 warning circles; employing new tactics, he gave 
 a lightning run, tearing off, swift in his course, as 
 the winner of the Derby. His flight was only 
 interrupted by one mighty leap in the air, when 
 he seized the man's orchid in his gleaming teeth, 
 and bore it away to Chelsea. 
 
 With the impact of his muscular body, the 
 hat gave a further lurch, and the eye-glasses fell 
 from his eyes. 
 
 "Thank Heaven," I said to myself, "they are 
 on a chain." The man stamped his foot with 
 rage, and looked around for Coaxey's owner. I 
 loitered some distance away, stood before a shop 
 window, opened my parasol, and sauntered up 
 
COAXEY AS A SPORTSMAN 255 
 
 the street. There is danger in mental telepathy 
 — it "telepaths" at most inconvenient moments. 
 My mind would dwell upon flowers, especially 
 orchids. As I passed him, fired with suspicion 
 he accosted me in a voice trembling with passion, 
 and said: 
 
 "Did you see a dog, madam?" 
 
 "I have seen," I said, "quite twenty dogs this 
 morning: Dachshunds, St. Bernards, Skipper- 
 kees, collies, bulldogs, Skye terriers, Pomera- 
 nians. I don't know whether you've noticed just 
 now how popular toy Pomeranians are. Their 
 lovely brown color tones in with the fashionable 
 fur of the season." 
 
 "This dog," he said, "was no toy, but a long- 
 legged, wicked-hearted fox terrier. I observe 
 that you have not mentioned fox terriers in that 
 comprehensive dog list of yours. Did you by 
 any chance " I interrupted him quickly. 
 
 "Neither did I mention Russian greyhounds 
 or spotted coach dogs. They are getting rare, 
 by the way, or King Charles spaniels or poodles. 
 This is my omnibus. Good-morning." 
 
 And, as I put my foot on the step, the man 
 said: "Neither did you mention orchids." Nor 
 had I the slightest wish to do so. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 COAXEY^S VICTORIOUS BATTLE AND THE LONELY 
 END OF A JOYOUS LIFE 
 
 Foe quite two years after the flower episode 
 Coaxey was removed from temptation by fortu- 
 nate environment. We went to live outside of 
 Brighton in the country. The house faced the 
 downs and the sea, while the garden looked over 
 the golf course, which gave him opportunities of 
 participating in the popular game. And, if he 
 lost his sacred rubber ball, he replaced it by a 
 nice new golf ball. 
 
 The butcher, baker and grocer's boys often in- 
 vited him to go their rounds, and he had a pleas- 
 ant circle of acquaintances, from Kemptown to 
 Rottingdean, who kept him supplied with bones. 
 
 And there was plenty of energetic work to be 
 done, requiring vigorous, healthy exercise. He 
 found whole families of field mice, grandfathers 
 and grandmothers, fathers and mothers, and pink 
 baby quintettes, quartettes and triplets, to be 
 exterminated. For that he had to dig long nar- 
 
 256 
 
COAXEY'S BATTLE 257 
 
 row trenches with swift, furiously working paws, 
 and directed the excavations by a. nose thrust well 
 under the earth. 
 
 Sometimes the divining nose discovered a mis- 
 take, and a secondary trench would start from 
 the right or left of the main one, and eventually 
 he would unearth the family doomed to destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 His friend. Max Beerbohm, called him the en- 
 gineer. His trenches were neatly made, and ran 
 long distances over the downs. 
 
 They were happy, healthy days for Coaxey, 
 notwithstanding a blood feud with Bobs, who 
 lived next door, a stocky, surly, quarrelsome 
 fox terrier, with no intermittence of will. He 
 hated Coaxey without an interlude from the be- 
 ginning to the end of their acquaintance, and 
 the fact of his mistress and myself being neigh- 
 borly neighbors and friends, made no appeal to 
 him, and never altered the vendetta between him- 
 self and his foe. 
 
 When spring came and the sun sparkled on 
 the sea, and the flowers blossomed, and the straw- 
 berries ripened, and nature smiled her sweetest, 
 Coaxey, in harmony with the season, made ami- 
 able overtures to his enemy. But his friendliness 
 was instantly repudiated with guttural, warlike 
 
258 DOG STARS 
 
 warnings from Bobs, who stalked into the house, 
 and mentally slammed the door in Coaxey's face. 
 
 Notwithstanding his hatred of Coaxey, Bobs 
 greatly admired, and desired to emulate him. 
 He stood afar off, watching my gay comedian 
 dig for field mice, scorning to come too near, 
 he fancied that, after finding them, Coaxey 
 ate them up. That is where he made his almost 
 fatal mistake, for, with a heavy paw, Coaxey pat- 
 ted them into obhvion, and decently buried them 
 again. 
 
 Bobs, in jealous envy, dug a few rough, un- 
 workmanlike trenches, ate up one or two fami- 
 lies of field mice, and was sick unto death. 
 
 After that he gave up digging, and the waters 
 of bitterness rolled over his envious soul, as he 
 sat on the porch ennuied from inaction, and suf- 
 fering from an acrid digestion, it was almost 
 more than he could bear to look out of the tail of 
 a sly eye and see his loathed foe, in jocund mood, 
 pawing workmanlike ditches, and, on the finding 
 of a particularly plethoric mouse, announcing 
 the event by loud, victorious barks. 
 
 One morning Bobs' gentle lady put his bas- 
 ket on the steps in the sun. He curled himself 
 up for a short nap, but, after surveying the en- 
 chanting day and landscape, she extended an in- 
 
COAXEY'S BATTLE 259 
 
 vitation to him for a walk, and off he scampered 
 after her, passed Coaxey with a "dash it! don't 
 you dare speak to me, Coaxey O'Connor, or 
 whatever your name may be," and disappeared 
 with his missy toward Ovingdean. 
 
 Coaxey was in a humorous mood that morning. 
 He looked at the basket 'wdth its comfortable lit- 
 tle fur rug, and gave a sardonic grin. It was 
 Bobs' castle, when a few treasured bones reposed 
 under the rug, even his missy was not allowed 
 to touch it. 
 
 Coaxey made a short tour with the baker's 
 boy to Kemptow*!, and an hour later came gayly 
 up the hill, mouth open in a wide smile, eyes nar- 
 rowed, wrinkles showing, and his long tail curled 
 with debonair sauciness. He stood for a few 
 seconds looking at Bobs' basket, leaped over the 
 low wall, and boldly seated himself in the middle 
 of it. His ears pricked, his broad, muscular 
 chest thrown out, his head impudently cocked on 
 one side, waiting. 
 
 From a long distance Bobs caught sight of his 
 arch-enemy seated on his hearthstone. The aw- 
 ful sight rooted him to earth. 
 
 He stood stock still, unable to move, thinking 
 he must be the victim of a cruel nightmare, an 
 impossible hallucination. But Coaxey let loose 
 
260 DOG STARS 
 
 the dogs of war, and called him to a sense of 
 reality by unearthing a few choice bones and 
 tossing them out of the basket. Then, like a 
 monarch taking possession of a throne, he boldly 
 reseated himself, contemplated the landscape, 
 and incidentally Bobs. 
 
 With a composite sound of bark, howl and 
 a cry of wounded rage, Bobs dashed to the fray. 
 Coaxey braced the muscles of his chest to a taut 
 firmness, and said, like Macbeth: "Before my 
 body, I throw my warlike shield, and damned be 
 he that first cries, hold, enough!" 
 
 Bobs, with a warlike whoop, hurled himself 
 against the shield, and a fair fight and no quarter 
 began. 
 
 Coaxey, having deliberately declared war, 
 dealt his blows with fine precision. Bobs, with 
 greater passion, but less science, fought for home 
 and country. 
 
 It was a fine set-to. They were well matched 
 combatants, and gave bite for bite, scratch for 
 scratch and snarl for snarl ; and either might have 
 been conquerors or conquered, when Coaxey 's 
 strategical tactics enabled him to deliver a master 
 stroke, chain victory to his car, and leave the field 
 with flying colors. 
 
 At the psychological moment, when Bobs 
 
COAXEY'S BATTLE 261 
 
 seemed to be prendre le mors auoc dents, literally 
 burying his teeth in Coaxey's neck, Coaxey ran 
 his head between Bobs' front legs, and bit him 
 under the belt. The place was fat and very ten- 
 der. Bobs stepped back, faint with pain. 
 Coaxey leaped into the precious basket, bracing 
 himself for his Armageddon, but Bobs, overcome 
 with choking rage, fell in a sort of convulsion; 
 and Coaxey, stepping over his prostrate body, 
 ran home. 
 
 Bobs was completely disabled, and it was 
 weeks before Coaxey was himself again. A large 
 lump appeared on his neck which required poul- 
 tices and called for the lancet, but, in a momen- 
 tary fracas, Bobs inserted an eye tooth in the 
 exact spot, to Coaxey's instant relief. 
 
 That spring they were both suitors for the 
 same lady's favor, and there were several fights, 
 not severe, as her only attraction to Bobs was to 
 cross swords with a hated rival. 
 
 The lady in question was an elderly, peaceful, 
 plebeian, obese, woolly, blear-eyed, indifferent 
 dog. She had grown old gracefully, and had 
 done with admirers. Her chief desires were to 
 lie in the sun and scratch herself; but to poor 
 Coaxey, blind with love, she seemed a beautiful, 
 desirable, seductive, young goddess of a dog. 
 
262 DOG STARS 
 
 In the first days of his infatuation he was con- 
 fent to sit at her feet and spend hours gazing at 
 her. Later the days were not long enough. He 
 got up at five o'clock in the morning, when the 
 dew was on the blossom and everybody was in 
 bed, to fly to her side. 
 
 T. P., disturbed by his barking, had to get out 
 of bed and unlock the front door to let him out, 
 and was so unsympathetic and threatening that 
 Coaxey, like other true, large-hearted lovers I 
 have known, even in the human race, not only 
 adopted her but her entire family, and from that 
 day returned no more to his home. 
 
 Like many another loved one among relations- 
 at-law, in spite of his devotion to the lady, her 
 family were prejudiced against him; and the 
 woolly dog's missy wrote me a polite letter to 
 say she found him a nuisance, and was obliged to 
 keep her old dog, who scorned him, shut up, and 
 that he had been to church with her and barked 
 in the middle of Mass, and would I please send 
 for him at once. 
 
 I did, and forwarded him to Oakley Lodge 
 and Rose for reformation. He came to his senses 
 under her strong, guiding hand, and returned to 
 Brighton a changed dog. Cupid no longer 
 blinded his vision. The scales had fallen from 
 
COAXEY'S BATTLE 263 
 
 his eyes. The first time he met his ancient love 
 on the downs he cut her, nor was this his only 
 revenge. There must have been a moment — for 
 later, two queer httle mongrel puppies were 
 born. And she died. 
 
 We had gone back from Brighton to our house 
 in London in February, which, with lightening 
 skies, early snowdrops, and impulsive crocus, is 
 usually a month of hope, but that year the long 
 gray days were as damp and chill as November. 
 Everybody had succumbed to lethargic depres- 
 sion — even Coaxey dozed by the fire — when one 
 morning a brilliant sun, jubilant, purposeful and 
 promising springlike warmth, made the sad 
 world cheerful and Coaxey went mad from joy. 
 
 When we started for a walk Kensington way 
 he darted as an arrow shot from a bow, and, 
 meeting a small boy, in sheer ecstasy of spirits 
 seized and whizzed him about in a lively circle. 
 The little fellow, timid, nervous, and, unliappily 
 for me, lightly clad, yelled with fright, and just 
 at this most awkward moment a policeman hove 
 in sight. 
 
 One of life's ironies is the inevitable absence 
 of policemen when really needed and the incon- 
 venient proximity when not wanted. 
 
 The stalwart guardian of the law was tall, 
 
264 DOG STARS 
 
 pink, fiery and energetic. "Here, you little 
 chap," he said, "what's the trouble?" 
 
 "The lady's dog bit me," said the boy. 
 
 "Oh, no, he hasn't," I said cheerfully. "He's a 
 light-hearted puppy, and wants the boy to play 
 with him. You bad dog, to be so rough." 
 
 The wrinkles deepened about Coaxey's eyes. 
 He laughed. The policeman took a good long 
 look at him. "That dog," he said, "must have 
 been three years old when he was born if he's any 
 puppy now, an' it's asy enough to see how deep 
 his play wint into the child. We'll go to the 
 chemist's across the way an' luk." 
 
 My heart sank. The boy wore no coat and 
 his trousers were thin. I hesitated. 
 
 "What is your name, miss?" said the pohce- 
 man. 
 
 "Mrs. T. P. O'Connor," I said. His face 
 never lightened, and I had hoped so much from 
 his nationality. 
 
 "Aren't 5^ou an Irishman?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes," he said sourly, "a Protestant, from Ul- 
 ster." Then I knew that all was lost. 
 
 The little boy's mother believed in the entire 
 oxygenation of the body; his coarse serge trous- 
 ers were very loosely woven, and he wore nothing 
 underneath. Coaxey's glad spring teeth had not 
 
COAXEY'S BATTLE 265 
 
 broken the skin, but there were red marks, which 
 he wanted to lick and make well. 
 
 "He's bin bit, right enough," said the Ulster- 
 man. 
 
 "How can you say such a thing?" I said indig- 
 nantly. "The skin is scarcely red. My puppy 
 only gave him a wee pinch." 
 
 "Did you ever hear, ma'am, that you can't 
 teach an old dog new tricks ? This old puppy of 
 yours can't be broke of these old tricks of his, 
 but he can be made to pay for 'em. What's your 
 address, ma'am?" 
 
 And he viciously wrote down "Oakley Lodge, 
 Upper Cheyne Row, Chelsea," refused to allow 
 me to give the boy any gum drops, and led him 
 away with as much sympathy as if Coaxey had 
 bitten him to the bone. 
 
 A calm succeeded the storm. Not a word did 
 I hear for the next three weeks, and I said to 
 T. P.: "That boy's people must be rather de- 
 cent; if I knew where they lived I'd send them 
 five shillings, for undoubtedly Coaxey did tear 
 the child's trousers. Perhaps I misjudged that 
 Ulsterman. Maybe he didn't betray me, after 
 all." 
 
 Fate laughed. And the very next day an offi- 
 cial-looking document arrived — a long, tough. 
 
266 DOG STARS 
 
 blue envelope, from a solicitor's office, demanding 
 as compensation for that superficial pinch five 
 golden guineas. They were to cover "nervous 
 shock, resulting from the bite of a full-grown 
 dog" — ^there I detected the red hand of Ulster — 
 the attendance of a doctor for two weeks, the so- 
 licitor's expenses, and a new suit of clothes for 
 the boy. 
 
 "Coaxey has been blackmailed," I said to T. 
 P. "I shall communicate immediately with Scot- 
 land Yard. It's their business to protect him 
 from blackmailers." 
 
 "And get yourself into more trouble?" said 
 T. P. "Do, I beg of you, pay the infernal five 
 pounds. Very likely Coaxey did bite the boy." 
 
 "Bite the boy!" I said. "Haven't I told you 
 that he only gave him a wee pinch, and here you 
 array yourself on the side of Coaxey 's enemies." 
 But T. P., though witty, like so many of his 
 countrymen, lacks humor; he wrote out a 
 cheque, accompanied with a polite note to the 
 solicitor, and the incident was closed before I 
 could appeal to Scotland Yard. 
 
 Why is it that Fate loves and works so disas- 
 trously through the nimaber three? Possibly be- 
 cause it is allied to the unpopular and calamitous 
 number thirteen. 
 
COAXEY'S BATTLE 267 
 
 If you break one precious object, you break 
 three. If you lose one treasured pocket hand- 
 kerchief, you lose three. If you have one um- 
 brella purloined, two others, no matter how care- 
 fully guarded, mysteriously disappear. 
 
 At one time I was fortunate enough to own a 
 faithful umbrella and, except a dog, it is the only 
 faithful thing I ever did own, but under the 
 ribs of that umbrella beat a loyal heart, and for 
 years it followed me, refused to get lost, and, 
 what was quite as remarkable as its devotion, was 
 its beautiful and expensive appearance. The 
 frame of honest English workmanship, combin- 
 ing delicacy and strength, was covered in a rich 
 silk of sea blue. The severely plain silver gilt 
 handle supported a translucent amber knob of 
 tortoise shell, and yet, in spite of envious, would- 
 be possessors, that exquisite umbrella clung to me 
 with steadfast persistence, and eventually be- 
 came a pleasant link between Scotland Yard and 
 Chelsea. Whenever it was missed I went to the 
 Lost Property Office, and asked if it was there, 
 and, dear tiling, it always was ; until, going to the 
 theater, I lost a black lace scarf, followed it with 
 a fur boa, and then my wise umbrella, much 
 against its will, was forced to complete the un- 
 
268 DOG STARS 
 
 lucky three, and I never saw its magnificence 
 again. 
 
 Coaxey, being a part of the great scheme of 
 things, had to complete his fatal three. He chose 
 an elderly lady, and, seizing a mouthful of her 
 thick, tweed skirt, whirled her suddenly around 
 in the hesitation waltz — the hesitation being en- 
 tirely on her part — leaving her dizzy and furious, 
 while, as usual, he sped away and left me to bear 
 the burden of his sins, 
 
 "I shall send you in a bill for my skirt," she 
 said. "He's torn it all to pieces." But I directed 
 her vision to a damp spot, which was the only 
 damage, praised her judgment in selecting cloth, 
 and said: "Do allow me to send you a pot of 
 flowers, in memory of my puppy's liveliness. 
 There is a flower-shop just here." And together 
 we stepped in, selected a dwarf rose, the flower 
 girl wrote down her address, and we parted most 
 courteously. 
 
 That was his number two; the completion of 
 his three was a much more complex affair. We 
 were walking down Sloane Street, when we saw 
 a messenger boy of an agreeable plumpness and 
 jauntiness, stepping saucily in front of us. The 
 combination was too great a temptation for 
 Coaxey's powers of resistance, and, without any 
 
COAXEY'S BATTLE 269 
 
 warning circles or sound of disapproval he leaped 
 up and pinched him. 
 
 The boy's air of sauciness dropped like a man- 
 tle. He rubbed the spot, and lifted up his voice 
 in a most unmanly wail : 
 
 "I never even seen him, an' he bit me." 
 
 Of course he hadn't seen him. Coaxey never 
 intended that he should. Having forgotten my 
 purse, I had no balm to offer, and the lamenta- 
 tions became an angry howl. Then from the 
 earth apparently rose up one of London's unem- 
 ployed, dirty, ragged, vicious and interfering. 
 He was free with his comments. 
 
 "Yus," he said, "jus, the rich lets their dogs 
 bite the pore. What does they care, after makin' 
 theirselves rich off 'n the sweatings of us workin' 
 men." It had been many a long year since he 
 had done any work. "An' what has this fine hdy 
 give you for the bite?" 
 
 "Nothin," said the boy, "not— a— bob." 
 
 "Oh, that's like 'em," said the tramp. "You 
 don't 'appen to 'ave a soup ticket 'andy, 'ave you, 
 mum? 
 
 "I have no money with me at all. Otherwise 
 I should have given the boy something," I said. 
 
 "That's a likely story, that is," said the tramp. 
 "I knowed you wuz one er them soup kitchen 
 
270 DOG STARS 
 
 lidies the minnit I seen yer — one er them what 
 refers the starvin' to a committee. Oh, I knows 
 'em, I does. Don't cry, boy; I only wisht I could 
 see a p'leeceman, that's all." 
 
 And, if possessing Aladdin's magic lamp he 
 had rubbed himself a policeman, one could not 
 have appeared with greater promptitude. 
 
 When the injured lad caught sight of a tall 
 form, broad shoulders, and comfortable brass 
 buttons — the London policeman, a manly, sensi- 
 ble fellow, is really a harbinger of help — the boy's 
 quieter snuffles, calling for sympathy, increased 
 to a mighty howl. 
 
 "Here, w'at's aU this? Wat's all this?" the 
 officer asked. The unemployed rushed into the 
 breach. "It's wot it always is, the rich ag'in the 
 pore, that's wot it is. Somebody callin' 'erself 
 a lidy, letten of 'er dog bite a piece out uv a 'ard- 
 workin' lad, an' not a fardin' be'ind it." 
 
 "That's enough from you," said the police- 
 man. "Hold your gab." 
 
 The tramp murmured in a low tone: "An* we 
 ain't even listened to when we gives hevidence, 
 the pore ain't." 
 
 The policeman had taken out his notebook, and 
 was searching for his nib of a pencil. It gave 
 me time for reflection. The memory of the Ul- 
 
COAXEY'S BATTLE 271 
 
 sterman became acute, and instantaneously con- 
 verted me to "pragmatism" — a doctrine, accord- 
 ing to the dictionary, "that estimates any asser- 
 tion solely by its practical bearing upon human 
 interests." Having unearthed his pencU, the po- 
 liceman said: 
 
 "What is your name?" 
 
 Clearly it was not in my human interest to re- 
 main Mrs. T. P. O'Connor. I bit my cue, and, 
 without a second's hesitation, pragmatically be- 
 came Mrs. J. Cholmondely Taylor. The officer 
 wrote it down, and spelled Cholmondely, "Chvmi- 
 ley." I corrected him sweetly. The unbeliev- 
 ing unemployed scraped his feet with impatience 
 and groaned. The boy had ceased howling and 
 confined himself to a continuous dreary snuffle. 
 
 "What is your address?" said the policeman. 
 
 "Fifty-five Cadogan Gardens," I said again, 
 biting my cue, and "treating facts of history in 
 reference to their practical lessons." Certainly 
 the role of pragmatist fitted me admirably. I 
 had always instinctively kno^vn that, if dire ne- 
 cessity arose, I might be mendacious, but I had 
 never dreamed of such readiness and resource ! 
 
 The policeman and the few people assembled 
 beheved in and respected Mrs. J. Cholmondely 
 Taylor, of 55 Cadogan Gardens. Not so the 
 
272 DOG STARS 
 
 tramp. He instinctively repudiated her and con- 
 stituted himself a detective to dog her steps and 
 discover her real identity. The accident had 
 happened near the house of a doctor whom I 
 knew, and who had occasionally attended me. I 
 asked the policeman and the boy to accompany 
 me there. The tramp came too. 
 
 A neat parlor maid answered the hell. Luck- 
 ily for me the doctor's wife, a meticulous house- 
 keeper, often changed her servants. This one 
 had never seen me before. 
 
 "Is Doctor NichoUs or Mrs. NichoUs at 
 home?" I asked. 
 
 "No, madam; they are both out." 
 
 "I am Mrs. J. Choknondely Taylor, a patient 
 of the doctor's, and have left my purse at home. 
 Get me half a crown, please." I spoke with such 
 quick authority that the girl disappeared, and 
 promptly returned with the money. I thanked 
 her and gave it to the boy. 
 
 "Now, officer," I said cheerfully, "will you 
 take the lad to Doctor Nicholls' Dispensary, No. 
 18 Buckingham Palace Road? The boy's trou- 
 sers are not torn; he hasn't been bitten, only 
 pinched by a playful puppy." The policeman, 
 being an Englishman, said nothing. "But I 
 want you to give him into the hands of my own 
 
COAXEY'S BATTLE 273 
 
 doctor. Say Mrs. J. Cholmondely Taylor sent 
 you. I have been for years past a patient of 
 his, and he will make a thorough examination." 
 
 The boy, a half crown in his pocket, had com- 
 pletely recovered his cheerfulness, and he and the 
 policeman walked off in the direction of the dis- 
 pensary. 
 
 I started with Coaxey toward Chelsea, fol- 
 lowed by the tramp. When we got as far as 
 Sloane Square, we turned into Peter Jones's, one 
 of those, on occasion, havens of refuge with two 
 entrances. A polite floorman demanded in a se- 
 ductive voice: "Your pleasure, madam." It 
 was not ribbon or laces — only to get through the 
 shop as quickly as possible, and slip out of the 
 back entrance to safety. 
 
 As we scampered up the narrow back street 
 on a corner of the King's Road we saw a slowly 
 turning figure, trying to command all points of 
 the compass at the same moment. It was the 
 unemployed, and we just escaped his revolving 
 eye. It gave me a delicious moment to elude this 
 wary atom of wickedness, for, had he not been 
 outwitting credulous humanity for years, while 
 Mrs. J. Cholmondely Tajdor was the merest tyro 
 at his game? The half crown was returned to 
 the parlor maid by Rose's sister from the coun- 
 
274 DOG STARS 
 
 try, and as neither the boy nor the policeman re- 
 ported to Doctor NichoUs, the incident ended 
 without further developments. 
 
 The doctor, a little later, rather pointedly told 
 me about a dog and a half crown, and added that 
 he had never heard of Mrs. J. Chohnondely 
 Taylor. 
 
 "Not the Cholmondely Taylors of Shropshire? 
 That argues yourself unknown," I said. Then 
 T. P. remarked that he had never heard me men- 
 tion the family, and began taking such a lively 
 interest in them I thought it safer to change the 
 subject. 
 
 This escapade apparently awakened Coaxey's 
 conscience. Perhaps he deprecated pragmatism; 
 at any rate, ever after his offenses were minor 
 ones. Although he remained a gay dog, full of 
 the joy of life, until sorrows crowded fast upon 
 me. My griefs were his, and his brave, loyal 
 heart became as heavy as it had once been hght. 
 
 My beloved home in Chelsea, where he had 
 spent his puppyhood and his engaging hobble- 
 de-hoyhood, was unexpectedly sold. He and I 
 were together for a time afterward, but, with his 
 keen instinct, he felt his missy's loneliness and 
 sadness, and knew that a separation was near. 
 
 He often wanted to say his prayers, and I 
 
COAXEY'S BATTLE 275 
 
 woxild tell him not to ask for bones or cake, but 
 to beg for a miracle to bring us back our lost 
 happiness. 
 
 It never came, and I began to wander on the 
 face of the earth, trying to escape from memory 
 — the Lord of Hell — and Coaxey went to a friend 
 in the country, who, loving and understanding 
 dogs, offered him hospitality and promised my 
 dear comedian the two things he had so desired 
 in his ebullient youth — boys and horses. His 
 host was the father of two little lads, and there 
 was a stable of fine horses. One spirited young 
 mare encouraged him to exercise, and he became 
 quite lithe and fleet of foot again, but not daring 
 or full of jokes like the old debonair Coaxey. 
 
 He was staid, and his eyes, never drawn into 
 mischievous slits with wrinkles at the corners, 
 were wide, bright and filled with steadfast grief. 
 I think Max, who was so wise and courageous 
 and finely enduring, could have borne sorrow 
 better than this bright spirit. He wanted so 
 much to be happy and gay, and he wanted his 
 missy to be happy and gay with him. They had 
 spent too many years together to be separated 
 in the end. At first his friends tried to cheer 
 him with, "Where's Missy?" and "Go find Mis- 
 sy!" but he who knew so well that she was thou- 
 
276 DOG STARS 
 
 sands of miles away, made no effort to find her. 
 His eyes would fill with tears, and he would slip 
 from the house and hide himself in the stable 
 all the rest of the day. 
 
 A great friendship existed between the httle 
 mare, Sheila, and Coaxey, and he liked to follow 
 the boys on their ponies. He was cheerful. Rose 
 wrote me, in spite of the abiding grief in his eyes, 
 and he still dearly loved a game of ball. I kept 
 him supplied in balls, paid his license, and never 
 gave him legally to his adopted family — that 
 would have been too keen a pain. 
 
 It was always: "Of course when I have a 
 home Coaxey will come back to me." He was 
 extraordinarily healthy, and lived to be sixteen. 
 I was in South Carolina when he died. The 
 news reached me through my dear confidante, 
 secretary, housekeeper and friend, Rose. She 
 wrote: "Coaxey had been gradually failing 
 through the winter, nodding much of his time 
 away by the fire, and disinclined for exercise and 
 food until finally he drank only a little milk. 
 
 "One evening, after a long sleep interrupted 
 by dreams, he feebly raised his head, as though 
 listening, and his dull eyes grew bright when he 
 looked toward the door, waiting to see it open. 
 
 "Your name had not been mentioned to him 
 
COAXEY'S BATTLE 277 
 
 in months, but I said involuntarily: 'Old man, 
 I wish Missy was here!' 
 
 "He gave a long sigh, fell over on his side, 
 and, when I put my hand on his heart, it had 
 ceased to beat. 
 
 "Not only his adopted family, but all the 
 neighbors loved him. He had grown affectionate 
 and appealing in his old age, and was quite dif- 
 ferent from the wild, reckless Coaxey of his 
 youth. I have kept the red collar for you that 
 Miss Bee brought him from Paris. He always 
 wore it on Sundays, and he was buried on that 
 day. Don't grieve too much, dear madam, 
 though there never was a fox terrier like him. 
 "Your faithful 
 
 "Rose." 
 
 It was not necessary to deceive myself any 
 longer with "When I have a home again, and 
 Coaxey comes back to me." He would never 
 come back, and the home was a receding vision. 
 
 Luckily Bee was with me, she a true lover of 
 dogs, and a life-long friend of Coaxey 's, would 
 understand my grief and my tears, and, sure of 
 sympathy, I read her the letter. 
 
 When I finished there was silence. Bee was 
 remembering the time of his puppyhood, when. 
 
278 DOG STARS 
 
 ill with distemper, she sat all day with her kind 
 hand in his basket. 
 
 "Wasn't he proud," I said, "when you brought 
 him the latest Paris fashion in collars? In exu- 
 berant joy he nipped two people that day." 
 
 Bee smiled. "Coaxey had a unique person- 
 ality," she said. "He was a most original char- 
 acter, and will live in the memory of his friends." 
 
 And in the unforgetting heart of his poor, sad, 
 lonely Missy. Oh, Bee! what dog was ever so 
 gay and daring and fearless, so breezy and 
 happy, so impudent and coaxing, so full of di- 
 verting humor, and quips and quirks, as my 
 saucy comedian, Coaxey O'Connor? 
 
 THE END 
 
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