Walter Dyer - The Dogs of Boytown

By February they were very proud of their charges and anxious to show them off. Consequently they welcomed a visit one Saturday morning from Harry Barton, a chum of theirs. Harry appeared unannounced and accompanied by his big, bow-legged English bulldog, Mike. He went directly to the barn, from which issued the voices of the Whipple boys and their dogs, and entered Rome. The unexpected appearance of Mike startled Jack, and he picked Remus hastily up and held him in protecting arms. But Harry only laughed.

"What you 'fraid of?" he inquired. "Mike wouldn't hurt a kitten. He looks ugly and that's what scares tramps away, but he never bit anything. You ought to see the baby walk all over him."

"Come on in, then," invited Ernest.

Mike went slowly up to Romulus and sniffed at him noisily. At first the puppy was frightened, but finding that he was not attacked he made one or two playful little lunges at the bulldog and then stood off and barked shrilly at him, Remus joining in the chorus and struggling to be set down.

"They've got spunk, all right," said Ernest, proudly.

Mike sniffed at Remus also, then yawned in a bored sort of way, waddled out of Rome as though his years and dignity forbade his association with such frivolous company, and thumped down on the floor outside. All three boys laughed.

"Well, what do you think of 'em?" Ernest asked presently. "Some dogs, eh?"

"Oh, they'll prob'ly be all right when they grow up," said Harry, unwilling to concede too much. "They'll have to grow a lot, though, before they know as much as Mike."

"But a bulldog can't hunt like a setter," said Ernest, flying to the defense of his breed.

"Who wants to hunt?" demanded Harry. "Hunting isn't all a dog's for, is it? A bulldog's a better watchdog than a setter."

Ernest, not knowing whether this was so or not, made no reply.

"But aren't they cunning, Harry?" asked Jack.

"Oh, sure, they're cunning," said Harry, satisfied that he had scored his point. "Can they shake hands yet?"

"Not yet," said Jack.

"Mike can shake hands," said Harry, "and take the mail from the postman, and do lots of things."

"But he can't hunt," insisted Ernest, returning to the attack.

"I'd rather have a bulldog than a setter, any day," said Harry. "Why, the bulldog is one of the best kinds of dogs. It's an older kind than the setter. They used them in England for fighting bulls hundreds of years ago. A bulldog is brave and faithful, and he sticks to things. He isn't a flyaway kind of a dog."

"But they're so homely," objected Jack, glancing out at Mike.

"Ho," cried Harry, "who ever heard of a pretty bulldog? We don't want 'em pretty. Mike's just like a bulldog ought to be, thick-set, muscular, with wide chest, elbows set far apart, and undershot jaw. See?"

It sounded very much as though he were reading it out of a book, and the other boys were much impressed. Ernest found himself wondering where Harry had picked up his dog lore.

"What do you know about setters?" demanded Harry.

Ernest, in the face of superior wisdom, admitted that he didn't know very much.

"Well, you ought to," said Harry. "What's the use of having dogs if you don't know all about them?"

"Sam Bumpus has told us a good deal about training and hunting," said Jack.

"Yes, but what do you know about the breed, where it came from and all that? Do you want to find out?"

"Sure," said Ernest.

"Well, I'll tell you where you can find out," said Harry. "I know a man that knows more about dogs than anybody else in the world, I guess."

"Who is he?" demanded Ernest.

"Did you ever hear of the Willowdale Kennels?" asked Harry.

Ernest was forced to admit that he had not.

"Well, they're over at Thornboro," said Harry. "They have twenty-eight dogs there. Mr. Hartshorn owns them, but the man that takes care of them is Tom Poultice. He's an Englishman, and he used to have charge of kennels in England once. He knows all about collies and greyhounds and – and every kind of dogs there are."

"I bet he doesn't know more about setters and pointers than Sam Bumpus does," said Ernest, loyally.

"Bet you a hundred dollars he does," said Harry.

"Bet you a thousand he doesn't."

The bidding bade fair to be unlimited, and though the millions and billions and trillions remained to be called upon, Harry desisted.

"Tell you what I'll do," said he. "I'll take you over there and then you can see for yourselves."

Ernest and Jack promptly forgot their controversy with Harry and accepted his proposal with animation.

"And can we see all those dogs?" asked Ernest.

"Sure," said Harry.

"How many did you say there were?"

"Twenty-four besides four puppies."

"Whew!" Jack exclaimed.

"When can we go?" asked Ernest.

"Why, this afternoon, if you want to. It's over five miles to Thornboro, but we can take the 2:10 train and be there in no time. You come along by my house after dinner and whistle," said Harry.

"Bully," said Ernest, and Harry turned and walked jauntily out of the stable with old Mike lumbering at his heels.

As Harry Barton had said, it was only a short run on the train to Thornboro. The three boys disembarked at the station and walked up a winding, muddy road, for the sun was gathering strength and the snow had been melting fast. The fields and hillsides lay brown and dry, but not uninviting. It was a glorious day to be out of doors, especially upon such a quest.

They came at length to an entrance in a privet hedge and passed up a long driveway with maple trees along both sides. At the end of it they could see a large brick house with white pillars along the front.

"My, but this is a big place," said Ernest.

"Sure," said Harry. "Mr. Hartshorn is a rich man. If he wasn't, how do you s'pose he could keep so many dogs and hire a man just to take care of them?"

"What does he do with so many?" inquired Jack, to whom the care of one small puppy seemed a considerable responsibility.

"Oh, he shows them," was Harry's somewhat vague explanation. "He takes prizes with them at dog shows. Some of them are champions. He breeds them, too, and he sells the puppies he doesn't want to keep. I guess he makes a good deal of his money that way."

"What kind of dogs are they?" asked Ernest.

"Mostly Airedale terriers and white bull terriers," said Harry. "Not common bull terriers, like Frank Symonds's, but the finest kind, all white."

As they neared the house, Harry led them into a path through the shrubbery which brought them at last around to the rear, where there was a big stable and garage, a greenhouse, and some other buildings.

"That long low building is the kennels," said Harry. "The dogs are in their runs out back, I expect, and prob'ly Tom is out there, too."

"Why!" exclaimed Jack, "it's just like a house for people."

The Willowdale kennel house was indeed a more elaborate affair than the boys had imagined could ever have been built just for dogs. It made Rome appear very humble in comparison. It was a well-built house, long and low, with windows all along the front and a door in the middle. Over this door was an ornamental gable and there was a cupola at the top. The whole was painted white.

The boys passed around the end of the building, from behind which issued the voices of many dogs which they presently saw running about in yards built of wire fencing. Some of the dogs were smooth and pure white and some were wiry-coated and a rich black and tan – tan on the legs and head and black or a very dark grizzle on the neck and body. They all appeared to be very lively, active dogs, and some of them seemed rather pugnaciously anxious to get at one another through the wire fences.

"There's Tom," announced Harry, and the other boys, following his pointing finger, observed a man in brown clothes and leather leggings apparently engaged in mending the fence at the rear of one of the runs. As they approached he straightened up and came forward to meet them, with a little smile on his broad face.