Part 40 (1/2)

”The p'int I'm gettin' to is this,” went on Mr. Kirby, not paying attention to him: ”a dog is not like a cow or a horse or any four-footed critter. He's a individual, an' so the courts have held in spirit if not in actual words. Now this court of mine here in Tom Belcher's sto, ain't like other courts. I have to do the decidin' myself; I have to interpret the true spirit of the law, without technicalities an' quibbles such as becloud it in other an' higher courts. An' I hold that since a dog is _de facto_ an' _de jure_ an individual, he has a right to life, liberty an' the pursuit of happiness.

”Therefore, gentlemen, I hold that that houn' dog, Buck, had a perfect right to follow that boy, Davy Allen, there; an' I hold that Davy Allen was not called on to drive that dog back, or interfere in any way with that dog followin' him if the dog so chose. You've heard the evidence of the boy. You know, an' I know, he has spoke the truth this day, an'

there ain't no evidence to the contrary. The boy did not entice the dog.

He even went down the road, leavin' him behind. He run back only when the dog was in dire need an' chokin' to death. He wasn't called on to put that block an' chain back on the dog. He couldn't help it if the dog followed him. He no more stole that dog than I stole him. He's no more a thief than I am. I dismiss this case, Mr. Th.o.r.n.ycroft, this case you've brought against Davy Allen. I declare him innocent of the charge of theft. I set it down right here on the records of this court.”

”Davy!” gasped Mrs. Allen. ”Davy!”

But, face working, eyes blazing, Old Man Th.o.r.n.ycroft started forward, and the dog, panting, shrank between boy and mother. ”Jim Kirby!” cried the old man, stopping for a moment in the cleared s.p.a.ce. ”You're magistrate. What you say goes. But that dog thar--he's mine! He's my property--mine by law!” He jerked a piece of rope out of his overcoat pocket and came on toward the cowering dog. ”Tom Belcher, Bob Kelley!

Stop that dog! He's mine!”

”Davy!” Mrs. Alien was holding the boy. ”Don't--don't say anything.

You're free to go home. Your record's clear. The dog's his!”

”Hold on!” Mr. Kirby had risen from his chair. ”You come back here, Mr.

Th.o.r.n.ycroft. This court's not adjourned yet. If you don't get back, I'll stick a fine to you for contempt you'll remember the rest of your days.

You stand where you are, sir! Right there! Don't move till I'm through!”

Quivering the old man stood where he was. Mr. Kirby sat down, face flushed, eyes blazing. ”Punch up that fire, Tom Belcher,” he said. ”I ain't through yet.”

The hound came trembling back to Davy, looked up in his face, licked his hand, then sat down at the side opposite his former master, looking around now and then at the old man, terror in his eyes. In the midst of a deathly silence the magistrate resumed.

”What I was goin' to say, gentlemen, is this: I'm not only magistrate, I'm an officer in an organization that you country fellers likely don't know of, an organization known as the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. As such an officer it's my duty to report an' bring to trial any man who treats a dumb brute in a cruel an' inhuman way. Mr Th.o.r.n.ycroft, judgin' by the looks of that houn', you ain't give him enough to eat to keep a cat alive--an' a cat we all know, don't eat much, just messes over her vittles. You condemned that po' beast, for no fault of his own, to the life of a felon. A houn' that ain't happy at best, he's melancholy; an' a houn' that ain't allowed to run free is of all critters the wretchedest. This houn's neck is rubbed raw. G.o.d only knows what he's suffered in mind an' body. A man that would treat a dog that way ain't fitten to own one. An' I hereby notify you that, on the evidence of this boy, an' the evidence before our eyes, I will indict you for breakin' the law regardin' the treatment of animals; an' I notify you, furthermore, that as magistrate I'll put the law on you for that same thing. An' it might be interestin' to you to know, sir, that I can find you as much as five hundred dollars, or send you to jail for one year, or both, if I see fit--an' there ain't no tellin' but what I will see fit, sir.”

He looked sternly at Th.o.r.n.ycroft.

”Now I'm goin' to make a proposition that I advise you to jump at like you never jumped at anything before. If you will give up that houn'

Buck--to me, say, or to anybody I decide will be kind to him--I will let the matter drop. If you will go home like a peaceable citizen, you won't hear no more about it from me; but if you don't--”

”Git out of my way!” cried Old Man Th.o.r.n.ycroft. ”All of you! I'm goin'--I'm goin'!”

”Hold on!” said Mr. Kirby, when he had got almost to the door. ”Do you, in the presence of these witnesses, turn over this dog to me, relinquis.h.i.+n' all claims to him, on the conditions named? Answer Yes or No?”

There was a moment's silence; then the old man cried out:

”Take the old hound! He ain't wuth the salt in his vittles!”

He jerked the door open.

”Yes or no?” called Mr. Kirby inexorably.

”Yes!” yelled the old man, and slammed the door behind him.

”One minute, gentlemen,” said Mr. Kirby, rising from the table and gathering his papers and records together. ”Just one more thing: If anybody here has any evidence, or knows of any, tendin' to show that this boy Davy Allen is not the proper person to turn over a houn' dog to, I hope he will speak up.” He waited a moment. ”In the absence of any objections, an' considerin' the evidence that's been given here this mornin', I think I'll just let that dog go back the way he come. Thank you, gentlemen. Court's adjourned!”

PORCELAIN CUPS