Part 25 (1/2)

”Oh, piffle!” snorted the guest. ”Next you'll be reconstructing the man's middle name and favorite perfume from the color of the bark on the tree. You people are always telling about wonderful stunts of Lad's. And that's all the evidence there generally is to it.”

”No, Mr. Glure,” denied the Master, taking a strangle hold on his temper. ”No. That's not quite all the evidence that we have for our brag about Lad. For instance, we had the evidence of your own eyes when he herded that flock of stampeded prize sheep for you last spring, and of your own eyes again when he won the 'Gold Hat' cup at the Labor Day Dog Show. No, there's plenty of evidence that Lad is worth his salt. Let it go at that. Shall we get back to the house?

It's fairly cool on the veranda. By the way, what was it you wanted me to call Lad for? You asked to see him. And----”

”Why, here's the idea,” explained Glure, as they made their way through the heat back to the shade of the porch. ”It's what I drove over here to talk with you about. I'm making the rounds of all this region. And, say, I didn't ask to see Lad. I asked if you still had him. I asked because----”

”Oh,” apologized the Master. ”I thought you wanted to see him. Most people ask to if he doesn't happen to be round when they call.

We----”

”I asked you if you still had him,” expounded Mr. Glure, ”because I hoped you hadn't. I hoped you were more of a patriot.”

”Patriot?” echoed the Master, puzzled.

”Yes. That's why I'm making this tour of the country: to rouse dog owners to a sense of their duty. I've just formed a local branch of the Food Conservation League and----”

”It's a splendid organization,” warmly approved the Master, ”but what have dog owners to----”

”To do with it?” supplemented Glure. ”They have nothing to do with it, more's the pity. But they ought to. That's why I volunteered to make this canva.s.s. It was my own idea. Some of the others were foolish enough to object, but as I had founded and financed this Hampton branch of the League----”

”What 'canva.s.s' are you talking about?” asked the Master, who was far too familiar with Glure's ways to let the man become fairly launched on a paean of self-adulation. ”You say it's 'to rouse dog owners to a sense of their duty.' Along what line? We dog men have raised a good many thousand dollars this past year by our Red Cross shows and by our subscriptions to all sorts of war funds. The Blue Cross, too, and the Collie Ambulance Fund have----”

”This is something better than the mere giving of surplus coin,” broke in Glure. ”It is something that involves sacrifice. A needful sacrifice for our country. A sacrifice that may win the war.”

”Count me in on it, then!” cordially approved the Master. ”Count in all real dog men. What is the 'sacrifice'?”

”It's my own idea,” modestly boasted Glure, adding: ”That is, of course, it's been agitated by other people in letters to newspapers and all that, but I'm the first to go out and put it into actual effect.”

”Shoot!” suggested the weary Master.

”That's the very word!” exclaimed Glure. ”That's the very thing I want dog owners to combine in doing. To shoot!”

”To--what?”

”To shoot--or poison--or asphyxiate,” expounded Glure, warming to his theme. ”In short, to get rid of every dog.”

The Master's jaw swung ajar and his eyes bulged. His face began to a.s.sume an unbecoming bricky hue. Glure went on:

”You see, neighbor, our nation is up against it. When war was declared last month it found us unprepared. We've got to pitch in and economize. Every mouthful of food wasted here is a new lease of life to the Kaiser. We're cutting down on sugar and meat and fat, but for every cent we save that way we're throwing away a dollar in feeding our dogs. Our dogs that are a useless, senseless, costly luxury! They serve no utilitarian end. They eat food that belongs to soldiers. I'm trying to brighten the corner where I am by persuading my neighbors to get rid of their dogs. When I've proved what a blessing it is I'm going to inaugurate a nation-wide campaign from California to New York, from----”

”Hold on!” snapped the Master, finding some of his voice and, in the same effort, mislaying much of his temper. ”What wall-eyed idiocy do you think you're trying to talk? How many dog men do you expect to convert to such a crazy doctrine? Have you tried any others? Or am I the first mark?”

”I'm sorry you take it this way,” reproved Glure. ”I had hoped you were more broad-minded, but you are as pig-headed as the rest.”

”The 'rest,' hey?” the Master caught him up. ”The 'rest?' Then I'm not the first? I'm glad they had sense enough to send you packing.”

”They were blind animal wors.h.i.+pers, both of them,” said Glure aggrievedly, ”just as you are. One of them yelled something after me that I sincerely hope I didn't hear aright. If I did, I have a strong action for slander against him. The other chucklehead so far forgot himself as to threaten to take a shotgun to me if I didn't get off his land.”

”I'm sorry!” sighed the Master. ”For both of them seem to have covered the ground so completely that there isn't anything unique for me to say--or do. Now listen to me for two minutes. I've read a few of those anti-dog letters in the newspapers, but you're the first person I've met in real life who backs such rot. And I'm going----”