The Dogs of Boytown
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The next morning and the morning after Romulus and Remus did not seem to be any better, nor, luckily, very much worse. The boys did what they could for them, keeping them warm and feeding them beef soup and warm milk, but they did not seem to be making much progress with the cure. So on Monday Ernest sent another postal card to Sam Bumpus, begging him to come down and look at the dogs. They had infinite confidence in Sam.
He did not fail them, and on Tuesday afternoon after the boys had come home from school Sam appeared. By this time both dogs were pretty sick. They had lost flesh and looked pitifully thin and weak and wan. They seemed to have trouble breathing and to be affected by other complications. They looked up at their young masters with big, pathetic eyes, as though pleading for help in their affliction.
The boys watched Sam anxiously as he examined the dogs. His face was grave.
"It's distemper," said he. "I was afraid it was. Distemper's no joke; it's the dog's worst enemy. Sometimes it runs into pneumonia, or the dogs die in fits, or just waste away and give up. But cheer up; I've seen lots of 'em pull through, and we'll try to save these two. You've done the right thing so far. Careful nursin' does it. Keep 'em dry and out of draughts and keep up their strength with good food, easy to digest. Most dogs that die of distemper die because they didn't have strength enough to last 'em through. The disease has to have its run, and in time it just naturally runs out. That's the way I look at it. It don't do much good to try to cure 'em with medicine. As I say, it's the nursin' does the trick. Still, some folks believe in givin' quinine and you can do that if you want to. It's a tonic and it can't do any harm if you don't give too much. And keep their eyes and noses washed out with boracic acid."
"Is this place all right for them?" asked Ernest.
"Sure," said Sam. "It's a good place, now that the weather is mild. The more fresh air the better, so long as it ain't damp or too cold or draughty. You keep fussin' over 'em and let me know how they get along. Give 'em plenty of clean water and feed 'em a good deal of milk porridge several times a day. Better cut out the solid food till they're better."
For nearly two weeks the boys watched the progress of the disease with aching hearts. Sometimes the symptoms seemed less acute and they felt hopeful; then again the condition of their patients was such as to frighten them. They spent all their spare time with the puppies, in spite of their mother's anxiety lest they catch the disease themselves. Their father, however, was quite positive that human beings could not take distemper from dogs.
A deep cloud of anxiety hung over the Whipple home during those days, even Mrs. Whipple feeling the effects of it. There was no running and romping about the house; no longer the rooms echoed with boyish shouts and laughter. Each morning Ernest and Jack awoke with a feeling that something awful was impending. It seemed sometimes as though the dogs had always been sick and that they would never get well. Sometimes the tension would become too great for Jack and he would cry as though his heart would break.
"Oh, Ernest," he would sob, "what should I do if Remus died?"
And Ernest would have to struggle hard to keep from joining in the tears of his younger brother. The boys had come to love their dogs, and it seemed as though the puppies looked to them alone to save them. It is that way with dogs and people – that is, the people who care for dogs. And when once the wonderful tie has been formed between boy and dog it grows ever stronger. It becomes an ennobling thing.
Romulus developed a distressing cough, but after about ten days of suffering he began to show signs of improvement. He ate with greater relish and seemed brighter and stronger. Gradually the symptoms of the disease lessened and as the days went by Ernest became more and more happily convinced that he was really getting well. But with poor Remus it was different. The distemper seemed unwilling to relax its hold on him and his digestive system became so disordered that he could not gain the much needed strength from his food. Jack spent all the time he could beside the little sufferer, easing his head and bathing his eyes and nose, and listening with helpless agony to the labored breathing.
Suddenly, one afternoon, Remus struggled to his feet and staggered uncertainly for a few steps. His half-closed eyes were glassy and did not seem to see what he was looking at. He lurched into the wall in a way that made Romulus take to a corner in fear. Then he ran a few steps aimlessly and toppled over, his muscles twitching dreadfully and his feet scratching the floor.
Jack was terribly frightened and called to Ernest, who came running in. Both boys thought that Remus was surely dying, but after a while he grew quieter and Jack lifted him tenderly back upon the bed.
"I guess it was a fit," said Ernest. "Sam told about that, you know."
"Oh, what shall we do?" wailed Jack in despair. "We must do something, Ernest."
Ernest thought for a moment, and then an idea came to him.
"I'll telephone Mr. Hartshorn," said he. "He might know what to do, and I don't believe he'd mind. He wouldn't want a dog to die."
"Oh, please do," begged Jack.
Mr. Hartshorn was not home, but Mrs. Hartshorn, who answered the telephone, was very sympathetic.
"I'm so sorry he's had convulsions," said she. "It's a bad sign. I'm sorry Mr. Hartshorn is away. I know just how it is, though, for I've sat up all night with dogs sick like that, more than once. I'll send Tom Poultice right over. He's a better dog doctor in his way than a good many vets., and he may be able to help you."
Ernest thanked the kind lady very heartily, and Tom Poultice came that very evening. Mr. Whipple lighted a lantern and they all went out to Rome. Tom examined both dogs and pronounced Romulus to be on the mend.
"'E'll be all right," said Tom, "if 'e don't take cold or get upset. But this other one, 'e's in a bad way, I'm afraid."
Then he took Remus up, looked into his eyes and throat, and felt of his stomach and of the pulse under his forelegs.
"'E's got to be straightened out first," said he. "'Ave you any castor oil?"
Tom administered the castor oil in a thoroughly efficient manner and then sent Ernest into the house to beg a little hot tea and a raw egg from Delia. The puppy took the tea quite eagerly and lapped some of the egg.
"Give 'im a little of this as often as 'e'll take it," said Tom, "and telephone me to-morrow 'ow 'e seems. If 'e gets stronger, we'll give 'im something else. If the castor oil don't work, we'll 'ave to give 'im calomel or a compound cathartic pill, though I 'ate to do that if I don't 'ave to. Calomel's terrible strong stuff for a sick puppy. 'Ow long 'as 'e been sick?"
"About two weeks," said Jack.
"That's about the course of it," said Tom. "If 'e ain't better in a day or two now, 'e'll be gone. I wish I'd tackled 'im before. Well, give 'im these pills, one to-night and three to-morrow, during the day, and keep me posted."
"What are these pills composed of?" inquired Mr. Whipple, who was taking a lively interest in proceedings.
"I 'ave 'em made up myself, sir," said Tom. "It's an old receipt I learned in Hengland. I ain't much on medicine myself, but sometimes this 'elps, especially if it's used earlier. There's thirty drops of acetate of ammonia in each pill, fifteen drops of sweet spirits of nitre, and two grains of salicylate of soda. It's better to give 'em in a little camphor water."
The boys followed Tom's directions faithfully. In the morning they found Remus lying against the door of Rome, quite exhausted, and there were signs that he had had another convulsion during the night. But during the day the castor oil got in its effect and there was no need for the calomel. Remus seemed more able and willing to take his tea and egg, and though no gain in strength was to be noted that day, he had no more convulsions.
Recovery was slow but sure for Remus from that time on, while Romulus mended rapidly, and it was not long before he was running about the yard again. Remus gained strength very slowly and for a long time was troubled by a cough and upset digestion, but as the days went by and he suffered no serious relapse Jack's buoyant nature responded and he was glad with hope once more. Tom Poultice came again to offer encouragement and advice, and when Sam Bumpus visited Rome unannounced one afternoon and was told what had happened, he proved himself to be most generous in his praise of Tom's skill.
"I don't know this English feller," said he, "but when it comes to doctorin' sick pups, I've got to hand it to him. When you see him again give him old Sam's best regards and tell him I'll vote for him next election whether he's runnin' or not."
Sam was in a jovial mood and the boys were in the humor to laugh heartily at anything he said. The tension was broken, the days of anxiety were past, and sunshine again filled the house on Washburn Street.
"It's just like a toothache when it's over, ain't it?" said Sam.
As for Jack, he hugged the emaciated little Remus close to his breast, and, with big tears of happiness in his eyes, kissed the tousled little head. Remus gave a little, human-sounding whimper and licked Jack's hand. That was the only way he knew to express his love and gratitude, but Jack understood.
CHAPTER VII
SOME OTHER DOGS, INCLUDING RAGS
It was sympathy for Jack Whipple and interest in the sickness and recovery of Remus that resulted in the formation of a sort of freemasonry of dog lovers among the boys of Boy town. It had always been known that some of the boys had dogs, and there had been a good deal of fun with these dogs at different times in the past. But hitherto the dogs had been, in a way, taken for granted, and had lived in a sort of background in the boy life of the town. Suddenly they came to light as important members of the community, and each dog had its boy champion.
While Romulus and Remus were sick, the Whipple boys often had to answer inquiries as to their progress, but Ernest and Jack had been so wrapped up in their own worries that they did not realize the widespread sympathy that had sprung up. They did not know that a dozen other boys each loved a dog much as they loved Romulus and Remus and could understand what it must mean to watch at the bedside of a seriously sick puppy.
But when Romulus was well on the road to perfect health again and Remus was slowly convalescing, the other boy dog lovers of the town began to drop around, sometimes with offerings to be appreciated by dogs, just as neighbors bring in jellies and fruit when a person is recovering from a long illness. Then Ernest and Jack began to realize how many friends they had in Boytown and that they all had a precious possession in common.
Harry Barton came first, with Mike. His manner was subdued and he did not brag. He stepped softly as one would in entering a sick room, and he patted Remus's little head very gently and called him "poor little muttsie." Then came Theron Hammond, though he left his Boston terrier at home because Alert had never had distemper and might catch it. He and the Whipple boys sat for a long time in the stable doorway and speculated about the knowingness of dogs. Monty Hubbard came, too. He left his Irish terrier, Mr. O'Brien, at home because of said Mr. O'Brien's well-known proclivity to fight with anything in the shape of a dog, though Monty was sure he wouldn't hurt two sick puppies. But Herbie Pierson honored Rome by bringing his huge, brindled Great Dane, Hamlet, who regarded the setters with fatherly indulgence and then walked off in his stately manner and crouched like a noble statue beside the front gate.
And last of all came Rags and Jimmie Rogers, of whom I will presently tell you more.
Boytown had always been a great place for dogs. Not only the aristocrats of dogdom, living comfortably in homes with loving masters and mistresses, but all sorts of nondescript dogs, many of whom seemed to be masterless and homeless, though not invariably unhappy. In fact, there were many good citizens of Boytown who did not like dogs and who felt that the canine population of the place was altogether too large.
There were restrictive laws that ought to have reduced this canine population to such dogs as were properly owned and licensed, but the government of Boytown was criticized as being a happy-go-lucky affair a good deal of the time, and it was only when complaints became sufficiently numerous and serious that the town fathers took steps to enforce the laws and abolish what was conceded to be a public nuisance. Then a dog catcher was hired, warnings were posted, and the stray dogs were gathered up and mysteriously disposed of. It was rather a cruel and heart-rending business, if you stopped to think of it, and it would not have been necessary if the authorities had been more uniformly strict in observing the statutes and ordinances, but that was their way.
It was during one of the periods of laxity that a wire-haired terrier appeared from no one knew where. He was not an authentic representative of any of the established breeds; it was quite evident that he had just happened somehow. But he was conspicuous among his miscellaneous black and white and brown and brindled brethren by reason of his superior alertness and intelligence and his never-failing good humor and high spirits. His tramp life had in no way damaged his disposition; he seemed to have been born full of the joy of life. He was about the size of one of Mr. Hartshorn's smaller Airedales and in the main he was not badly formed. But his tail, which had never been docked, hung at a rakish angle to one side and one ear was set higher than the other. His eyes were extraordinarily bright and his wiry coat was a grizzled black, always tousled and generally dirty.
The boys were not long in making this stranger's acquaintance. Indeed, he made the first advances, joining in their sport one day when they were in swimming in the pond over by the brickyard, and mingling his joyous barks with the shrieks of laughter which his antics provoked. He would pick them up on their way to school, or anywhere, and make himself generally companionable, and it was not long before they discovered him to be most precocious in the learning of tricks.
It was not in the nature of things that such a dog should remain forever masterless, but the periodical cleaning up of the dog catcher had begun before anyone had had time to think of him as anything but everybody's dog. It was Jimmie Rogers who saw him seized and thrust unceremoniously into the dog catcher's covered wagon, and it was Jimmie who set out alone to achieve his rescue. Jimmie's people lived on Sharon Street and were not well to do, but somehow Jimmie managed to scrape together the five dollars which he found must be paid before he could establish his claim to ownership.
After that, by common consent, he became Jimmie Rogers's dog. He had already won the name of Rags.
So Jimmie brought his beloved Rags to visit the invalids, and Romulus and Remus looked on with big-eyed amazement while Rags was made to sit up, shake hands, roll over, chase his tail, play dead, and sing.
But there was one boy with a dog who did not come to visit the sick, and Ernest and Jack Whipple were not sorry. They did not like Dick Wheaton, and Dick, it was easy to believe, was not one to care whether another boy's dog died or not. He was a good deal of a bully at school, and Jack feared and avoided him. As for the older boys, they found him generally unamiable and those of them who knew the love of dogs were angry with Dick for the way he treated poor little Gyp.
Gyp was a smooth-coated fox terrier and a very good specimen of his breed. He was smart and gamey, but his spirit had nearly been broken by his tyrannical master. Dick seemed unable to resist the temptation to bully everything smaller and weaker than himself, and when there were no small boys or little girls within his reach he indulged his proclivities by teasing his dog.
Gyp, who had never had any other master, did not think of resenting this. He merely endured it as best he might. In fact, there was no more obedient dog in Boytown. It was pitiful to see the way in which he would answer his master's lightest word, as though he lived constantly in the hope of winning favor by his promptness.
Boys often like to tease animals, but they are seldom actually cruel, at least not knowingly so. And when a boy becomes possessed of a dog or a pony of his own, his attitude often undergoes a marked change. But no relenting took place in Dick Wheaton's nature, and the other boys who had learned the lesson of kindness, recognizing his right to do as he chose with his own, could only look on with growing disapproval and dislike.
But all the other dog-owning boys of the town found their friendships growing closer in the warmth of this common interest. During the convalescence of Remus they made Rome a sort of lodge room for the meetings of a new association with an unwritten constitution and no by-laws. They talked much of dogs and it was not long before a number of them were keenly desirous of visiting Willowdale and making the acquaintance of dog-wise Tom Poultice, the rich Mr. Hartshorn, and all the Airedales and white bull terriers.
So Harry Barton made the arrangements and one Saturday in May an expedition was formed to walk to Thornboro and visit Willowdale. There were seven boys in the company and three dogs – Mike, Alert, and Rags. Romulus and Remus were not yet strong enough to make such a trip and it was voted that these three could be counted upon to behave themselves properly. There was a little doubt about Rags, but he was a general favorite and was always given the benefit of any doubt. At the last moment Herbie Pierson and Hamlet joined the excursion.
To these active boys and their dogs the way did not seem too long. In fact, Rags, full of joyful exuberance at this rare treat, dashed about on all sorts of secondary adventures, running three miles to every one traversed. Even sturdy little Alert, in spite of his short legs, took it all as a lark and did not think to be weary until he reached home that afternoon and fell sound asleep on his front door mat.
The arrival of the four canine strangers at Willowdale created a good deal of commotion in the fenced-in runs, and Rags nearly went crazy with the excitement. But Tom Poultice took it all good-naturedly, and when he had got things quieted down a little he took the boys through the kennels and introduced them to the prize dogs.
They were all so absorbed in this pleasant occupation that it was noon before they knew it, and Mrs. Hartshorn came out to invite them all up to the porch for a luncheon. As they were following her up to the house she asked questions about their four dogs, and appeared to take a great interest in Alert especially.
"He's really a very fine little dog," she said. "But who is this?" Rags had come up and thrust his cold nose ingratiatingly into her hand.
"Oh, that's Rags," they said, and interrupted each other with explanations. Mrs. Hartshorn laughed.
"Well, I would hardly know what to call him," she said, "but he is evidently a very popular person. But what's the matter with his back?"
"Oh, it just itches," said Jimmie.
There was a spot on Rags's back that was difficult for him to reach, and it gave him a good deal of trouble, but he had managed to bite a good deal of the hair out of it. Beneath, Mrs. Hartshorn discovered the skin to be in a scabby and unhealthy condition.
"Well," said she, "this shouldn't be neglected. It may be mange, and that's serious. Let's have Tom look at it."
Tom came up at her bidding and examined Rags's back.
"Do you think it's mange, Tom?" asked Mrs. Hartshorn.
"I don't think so," said he. "It looks like heczema, like the Hairedales had last summer. 'E better 'ave some of that medicine, I fancy."
"All right," said Mrs. Hartshorn, "I still have some at the house, I think, that I got in case my dogs should need it. Eczema," she explained to the boys, "isn't exactly a skin disease. It is caused by the dog's general condition, and should be treated internally, though if you will rub zinc ointment on that spot it will heal more rapidly. The cure is first a good dose of sulphur and cream of tartar; you can get that in tablet form at the drug store. Then give him the pills I am going to get for you. They are a tonic and ought to fix him up all right."
"Only be sure not to feed him any corn meal," warned Tom.
"That's so," said Mrs. Hartshorn, "especially now that warm weather is coming."
Before the boys left that afternoon she gave Jimmie half a dozen soft pills and also a prescription for more. It read, "Sulphate of quinine, 1 grain; sulphate of iron, 2 grains; extract of hyoscyamus, 1 grain; with enough extract of taraxacum and glycerine to make a pill." It might be added that Jimmie used this medicine faithfully and the sore, itching spot at length disappeared from Rags's back.
Meanwhile the boys had arranged themselves expectantly on the front porch and the maid presently appeared with plates, napkins, sandwiches, crullers, and lemonade. Mrs. Hartshorn was a charming hostess and the boys waxed merry over their luncheon. Great piles of sandwiches disappeared as if by magic, and then there was chocolate ice cream and sponge cake. The dogs lay eying their masters enviously, all except the incorrigible Rags. He sat up and begged constantly, and even Mrs. Hartshorn could not resist the temptation to toss him a morsel now and then, which he caught with great deftness.
Just as they were finishing, Mr. Hartshorn drove up in his car.
"What have we here?" he cried. "An orphan asylum or a dog show?"
He got out of his car and ascended the steps, demanding his share of the luncheon. Those of the boys who had not already met him were introduced. Then he asked to be made acquainted with the dogs.
"What do you think of them?" asked Herbie Pierson, who was very proud of his imposing Great Dane.
"I'll tell you after I've partaken of a little nourishment," said Mr. Hartshorn. "You can't expect a man to talk learnedly on an empty stomach, can you?"
He proceeded to do ample justice to his share of the sandwiches and ice cream, while a jolly conversation was kept up, even the shyer boys entering in at last.
"Now," said Mr. Hartshorn, as he finished his last spoonful, "let's have a look at that Great Dane."
He stepped down from the porch and approached Hamlet, who submitted to his caress with dignity. Then Mr. Hartshorn did strange things to him which brought a look of amazement into his eyes. He pulled back the dog's hind feet and made him stand straight, measured his head with his hands, pulled down his lips, and thumped his ribs.
"A pretty good dog," said Mr. Hartshorn. "A trifle off in the shoulders, perhaps, and a bit cow-hocked, but he has a good head. Ever show him?"
"No, sir," said Herbie.
"Well, you ought to. We'll see about that some time."
"Won't you tell us something about Great Danes and other dogs, Mr. Hartshorn?" asked Harry Barton. "Things like you told us about the terriers the other day."
"Why," said he, "I thought I must have given you such a dose of it the other time that you would want to run away from any more."
"Oh, no, sir," said Ernest Whipple. "We thought it was very interesting. We've talked it over a lot since, and we want to know about all the other kinds of dogs, too. All the boys do."
"Well," said Mr. Hartshorn, "you never can tell what a boy will like, I guess. If you had to learn all that in school, I'll bet you'd hate it. But I don't want to overdo it. I'll tell you about just a few this time."
The boys crowded around him expectantly as he sat down again on the porch.
"The Great Dane," he began, "though once a hunting dog, a boarhound, is now classed among the non-sporting breeds, and I'll tell you something about those. They include the very biggest dogs – the mastiff, the St. Bernard, the Newfoundland, and the Great Dane. The smaller ones are the English bulldog, the French bulldog, the chow chow, the poodle, the Dalmatian, and the schipperke. The collies and other sheepdogs are also classed with the non-sporting breeds, but I'll save those for another time. Let me get a book or two, so that I'll be sure to get my information correct.