The Dogs of Boytown

"That must be her mistress," said Ernest. "I bet she's happy."

The boys were so much interested in all this that they did not realize that the All-Age stake had already been commenced. Two pointers went galloping across the field and the contest was on. From that moment the boys kept their eyes fastened to the successive pairs of racing dogs, trying to appraise their skill and form and to compare them with Romulus. It was a better contest than the Derby, with more birds found, and it was evident that Romulus had opponents worthy of him. One interesting contestant was a beautiful Irish setter, whose red coat glistened like gold in the sunshine. He did well, beating his opponent, but he did not qualify for the finals.

At last Romulus was called, and with him the setter Dolly Grey. She was a mild-looking animal, but once loosed she led Romulus a merry chase. Both dogs were a bit heady at first and did a deal of running without accomplishing anything, but at length Sam, with his patient whistle, got Romulus straightened out and Dolly Grey also settled down to business. She found the first birds, but after that Romulus beat her to two coveys in rapid succession, and Romulus, to the great joy of his master and Jack, was declared the winner.

"Didn't he do splendidly?" said Mrs. Hartshorn as Sam came up with the panting dog.

"Waal," said Sam, "he might have done worse and he might have done better. He wa'n't up to his top form, but it was his first trial. I expect he'll do better in the finals. It was lucky he wa'n't paired with one of the best dogs, or he might have been out of it now. As it is he's got a chance, and I think it's a pretty good one. I heard one of the judges say some nice things about him."

"Do you think they'll get to the finals this afternoon?" asked Mr. Hartshorn.

"I don't think so," said Sam, "but I've got to stick around. They may want to see Romulus work again."

They did try him out once more toward the end of the day, and this time Sam seemed to be better pleased. Romulus won his heat handily against a bigger dog. Meanwhile, however, everyone was commenting on the superb work of a pointer with a chocolate brown head and markings named Don Quixote, and even the boys could see that he was a past master at the game. He went at it as though he knew just how to make the winning move, and he did it every time.

"He ought to be in the championship class," said Mr. Hartshorn. "He's an old-timer, and if Romulus can beat him it will be a great triumph."

Time was called as the shadows began to lengthen, and the crowd, tired, hungry, and happy, returned to the hotel at Bedlow. At dinner everyone was speculating as to which two dogs would be chosen to compete in the finals, and Ernest was sure that the name of Romulus was heard as often as that of any other dog except Don Quixote. In response to the popular demand, the judges held a conference that evening and chose the two who would compete for final honors on the morrow. Crowds gathered in the lobby to ascertain the outcome of this conference, and when at last the judges came out everyone was a-tiptoe with expectation. One of the judges walked over to a bulletin board and pinned up a piece of paper. It read: "The dogs chosen by the judges to compete in the final heat of the All-Age stake to-morrow morning are Don Quixote, pointer, owned by the Rathmore Kennels, and Romulus, English setter, owned by Mr. Ernest Whipple. The trials will start promptly at 9.30."

A cheer went up all over the lobby, and Ernest and Jack, strangely enough, found tears in their eyes.

"That means," said Mr. Hartshorn, "that unless Romulus is in some way disqualified, he wins second place at least, and to become runner-up in the All-Age stake at his first trial is a big honor, even if he isn't the winner. I tell you this because I don't want you to be too much disappointed if Don Quixote beats him. The pointer is a fast, rangy dog, an old-timer that knows all the tricks of the game, while Romulus, for all Sam's fine training, is still green. Let's not expect too much."

That evening Mr. Hartshorn did not even suggest a movie to take the minds of the boys off the great event of the morrow; he knew it would do no good. He told them stories of historic events in the field-trial game, and then sent them to bed. They talked excitedly together for an hour after that, but at last sleep claimed them, for they were really tired, and running dogs filled their dreams.

An even larger crowd followed the dogs to the trial grounds next morning, for there were some who were interested only in the Championship stake, though they were glad to witness the finish of the All-Age. The day was fine and Sam pronounced Romulus to be in first-class trim.

This time the setter seemed to understand what was required of him. He strained at his leash, and when at last he was set free at the command of the judges, he was off like a shot, neck and neck with the pointer, and the gallery cheered.

Old field-trial fans told Mr. Hartshorn afterward that they had never witnessed a prettier contest than that one. The pointer was cool and collected, but full of strength and spirit. When there was any leading done at all, he generally did it. But there was a certain spontaneous fire and energy in the running of Romulus that caught the fancy of the spectators. And Sam's careful drilling began to tell. Romulus settled down to the steadiest kind of work; his form was perfect and beautiful to watch; his scent was sure and keen.

The second move brought the dogs to a very birdy spot, and the points became frequent. In this department of the work it was nip-and-tuck between the two dogs. No one could say that either had a quicker nose than the other or responded more promptly to the scent. Sometimes one dog would be first on the point, sometimes the other. It was largely a matter of luck, for the birds lay on both sides of a series of fields, and the dogs ranged from side to side, circling and quartering in a manner to delight the heart of a sportsman.

If Romulus had a fault it was overzeal. He covered more ground than was absolutely necessary.

"He is doing wonderfully," said Mr. Hartshorn. "I am only afraid he'll run himself off his feet. This is bound to be a protracted contest, the dogs are so nearly equal in every way, and endurance is the quality that is going to tell in the end."

As the race continued, those who were familiar with the signs observed that Romulus was weakening. The more methodical pointer kept up his steady, fast lope unflagging, but Romulus showed an increasing inclination to drop behind.

"I'm afraid this can't last much longer," said Mr. Hartshorn. "The pace is too hot for Romulus. If he had had more experience he would know how to save his strength for the last ten minutes. As it is, it looks as though the pointer had the reserve power."

Suddenly Don Quixote seemed to tap a new supply of strength and speed. He dashed to the right, and then circled swiftly around to the hedgerow of wild shrubs at the left of the field, and all so swiftly that poor Romulus was left well behind. As they watched, they saw the setter stumble. He recovered himself, but stood trembling with weariness and nervous tension. Sam's shrill whistle sounded and Romulus gathered himself together again, but his feet seemed to drag; he had lost speed.

Ernest Whipple was almost beside himself with excitement and fear of defeat. A hush fell over the gallery as they watched this last manœuver of the dogs, and Ernest's voice sounded loud and distinct as he shouted, "Go on, Romulus! Go on!"

The setter heard. He knew that voice and he loved it well. Sam's whistle, which he had become accustomed to obey, had become monotonous in his ears; it no longer served to put energy into his flagging limbs. But here was a new call, a call that demanded the last atom of his devotion and will and strength. He raised his head and looked about for an instant, his lower jaw quivering. Then he seemed to draw together and bound away like a steel spring released. Straight ahead he went, cutting across the track of the pointer and circling around clean in front of him. Don Quixote, surprised by the suddenness of this rush, hesitated and looked a bit dazed. The awful strain of the contest was telling on him, too, and the setter's burst of speed upset his equilibrium.

While the pointer still trotted along in a wavering course, as though in doubt whether to lead or to follow, Romulus caught a scent from the bed of a little brook almost under the pointer's nose. He whipped about like a flash and froze to a statuesque point that would have made a perfect picture for an artist. The pointer, still bewildered, did not even back him up.

The umpire's whistle sounded and the handlers called their dogs in. Sam picked up the trembling Romulus bodily and carried him to the Hartshorn car.

"He's all in," said Sam. "He used the last ounce he had. What a heart!"

Jack began fondling the setter's ears, but Ernest was eagerly watching the little group about the judges. At last a man on horseback came riding up. He was smiling.

"My congratulations," said he. "Your dog won, and I never hope to see a pluckier finish."

The forenoon was already half over and so the Championship stake was begun immediately, but the occupants of the Hartshorn automobile had no eyes for it. They could have told you nothing about what happened, though they learned afterward that it was an exciting contest in which some of the best dogs in New England took part. They were engrossed in their own triumph, and if ever a dog stood in danger of being spoiled, it was Romulus. Sam wore one of the broadest grins the human face is capable of and Ernest found his emotions quite beyond expression.

The party left early, before the Championship stake was finished, and they made a triumphal entry into Boytown. The last part of the way they were accompanied by a noisy convoy of cheering boys and barking dogs, and the town knew what had happened long before it read the stirring account in the papers.

In due course Ernest received a handsome silver trophy, engraved with the now famous name of Romulus, and Mrs. Whipple appeared to be as proud of its appearance on the mantelpiece as any of the others. There was also the fifty dollar purse, from which Ernest was obliged to deduct a considerable amount for entrance fee and other expenses. The rest he tried to force upon Sam in payment for his invaluable services, but Sam would not hear of it.

"Why," said Ernest, "you earned ten times as much as that."

"I didn't earn anything I didn't get," said Sam. "I raised that pup and I'm as proud of him as you are. I'm satisfied."

So Ernest put the balance in the savings bank as a fund for financing similar undertakings in the future.

"A great dog, that Romulus," said Mr. Whipple, when it was all over. "I always did believe he'd cut a figure somehow. It's a pity Remus isn't in his class."

He didn't mean Jack to overhear him; he had no wish to hurt the boy's feelings. But Jack did overhear and came promptly into the room.

"That's all right," said he. "Remus will have his day yet. He'll show you."

CHAPTER XVI

THE MASSATUCKET SHOW

During the winter the Willowdale dogs had again won bench-show honors in New York, Boston, and elsewhere, and Mr. Hartshorn and Tom Poultice were now getting some of them in shape for the smaller outdoor shows of the summer season. Several of the boys made a pilgrimage to Thornboro one day early in June and found Tom engaged in combing the soft, puppy hair out of the coat of one of the young Airedales.

"Why do you do that?" asked Elliot Garfield.

"It does seem foolish, doesn't it?" said Tom. "Well, you see a Hairedale is supposed to 'ave a short, stiff coat, and if you put one in the ring with a lot of this soft 'air on him, the judge won't look twice at 'im."

"Are you going to show this one?" asked Ernest Whipple.

"Yep," said Tom. "'E goes to Mineola next week. It'll be his first show. I don't know what his chances are. Mineola usually has a lot of good dogs. It's near New York and it's one of the biggest of the country shows. We usually try out the youngsters and the second-string dogs on these summer shows and keep the best ones for the big winter shows. Then we 'ave a chance to see 'ow they size up. If a dog wins ribbons enough in the summer shows we figure he's qualified for the big ones next winter. Sometimes a dog can win his championship without ever seeing the inside of Madison Square Garden. He has to be shown a lot of times, that's all, and win pretty regular."

"It isn't so hard to win at the summer shows, is it?" asked Theron Hammond.

"Oh, my, no," said Tom. "Sometimes when the classes are small it's a cinch. Take a rare kind of dog and he's apt to 'ave no competition."

"I wonder if any of our dogs would have a chance at one of the summer shows," said Jack, with suppressed eagerness in his voice.

"I don't know why not," Tom responded.

That started the boys thinking and talking, and a week later they trooped out to see Mr. Hartshorn about it. Half the boys in town had decided that they wanted to show their dogs, and Mr. Hartshorn was at first inclined to discourage them all.