Part 12 (1/2)

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 cla.s.sed 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 cla.s.sed 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.

”Now then,” he continued, when he had returned with his books, ”I'll outline a few facts about each of these breeds, but in order to avoid sounding like a walking catalogue, I am going to omit a good many things like color, size, and weight. These things are very important in distinguis.h.i.+ng the breeds, but they aren't very easy to carry in your heads, and you can find them all set down in the dog books. I shall try to tell you only the interesting, picturesque things about each breed's history and character, and you can find all the rest in the books.

”Let's begin with the St. Bernard. He's the biggest of all. Who knows anything about the St. Bernard?”

”There's a piece in the Fourth Reader about them,” ventured Theron Hammond. ”They used to guide travelers in the Alps and rescue them when they were lost in the snow.”

”And there was one named Barry,” put in Harry Barton, ”who saved the lives of forty people, and they set up a monument of him in Paris.”

”Correct,” said Mr. Hartshorn. ”There's no breed more famed in song and story than the St. Bernard. It was developed long ago by the monks of the Hospice of St. Bernard in Switzerland, who trained their dogs for the purposes you have mentioned. So many of them were lost, however, that the breed got into a bad way a hundred years ago and had to be brought back by crossing with the Newfoundland and other breeds.

As I said, it is one of the largest breeds, sometimes weighing as much as two hundred pounds--more than most men.”

”Are there some good St. Bernard stories?” asked Jack Whipple, who preferred anecdotes to descriptive particulars.

”A lot of them,” said Mr. Hartshorn, ”but there seems to be a good deal of sameness about them. They tell of the saving of Alpine travelers and shepherds, lost in snowstorms or caught in creva.s.ses in glaciers. Some of them are very thrilling. The best story I ever read about a St. Bernard, however, had nothing to do with mountaineering.

”This dog was the beloved friend and constant companion of the Count of Monte Veccios, a Venetian n.o.bleman. Now it became very necessary to the Count that he should obtain certain favors from General Morosini, who was somewhat difficult of approach, in spite of the fact that he was in much the same position himself. In order to gain his own ends, the General had arranged in his palace a gorgeous banquet in honor of the Doge of Venice, from whom he hoped to gain important concessions, and he had caused his great banquet table to be laden with gold and silver plate and much fine Venetian gla.s.s.

”The Count, hearing of these preparations, screwed up his courage and called on General Morosini. He praised to the skies the table appointments, which pleased the General, but as soon as he began to plead his own cause, the General became cold and unyielding and begged the Count to cease annoying him about these petty matters. As the Count left the General's palace, he turned to his faithful dog, with tears in his eyes, and said, 'You see, my friend, how badly I am used.'

”The St. Bernard was greatly affected by this, and he formed in his own mind a plan of revenge, since it was beyond his powers to secure justice. Un.o.bserved, he stole back into the General's palace, and just as the Doge was arriving with his retinue, the dog seized the corner of the tablecloth in his mouth and dashed out of the house, upsetting the entire banquet and smas.h.i.+ng most of the valuable gla.s.sware. I don't believe there is any moral to that story, but perhaps that won't spoil it for you.