It was the longest speech I had ever heard the man make, and it seemed to impress Bill. He was quite humble.
‘I didn’t think of that,’ he said. ‘We’d best start in to train this tyke at once.’
Mother often used to say, when I went on about wanting to go out into the world and see life, ‘You’ll be sorry when you do. The world isn’t all bones and liver.’ And I hadn’t been living with the man and Bill in their cottage long before I found out how right she was.
It was the man’s shyness that made all the trouble. It seemed as if he hated to be taken notice of.
It started on my very first night at the cottage. I had fallen asleep in the kitchen, tired out after all the excitement of the day and the long walks I had had, when something woke me with a start. It was somebody scratching at the window, trying to get in.
Well, I ask you, I ask any dog, what would you have done in my place? Ever since I was old enough to listen, mother had told me over and over again what I must do in a case like this. It is the A B C of a dog’s education. ‘If you are in a room and you hear anyone trying to get in,’ mother used to say, ‘bark. It may be someone who has business there, or it may not. Bark first, and inquire afterwards. Dogs were made to be heard and not seen.’
I lifted my head and yelled, I have a good, deep voice, due to a hound strain in my pedigree, and at the public-house, when there was a full moon, I have often had people leaning out of the windows and saying things all down the street. I took a deep breath and let it go.
‘Man!’ I shouted. ‘Bill! Man! Come quick! Here’s a burglar getting in!’
Then somebody struck a light, and it was the man himself. He had come in through the window.
He picked up a stick, and he walloped me. I couldn’t understand it. I couldn’t see where I had done the wrong thing. But he was the boss, so there was nothing to be said.
If you’ll believe me, that same thing happened every night. Every single night! And sometimes twice or three times before morning. And every time I would bark my loudest and the man would strike a light and wallop me. The thing was baffling. I couldn’t possibly have mistaken what mother had said to me. She said it too often for that. Bark! Bark! Bark! It was the main plank of her whole system of education. And yet, here I was, getting walloped every night for doing it.
I thought it out till my head ached, and finally I got it right. I began to see that mother’s outlook was narrow. No doubt, living with a man like master at the public-house, a man without a trace of shyness in his composition, barking was all right. But circumstances alter cases. I belonged to a man who was a mass of nerves, who got the jumps if you spoke to him. What I had to do was to forget the training I had had from mother, sound as it no doubt was as a general thing, and to adapt myself to the needs of the particular man who had happened to buy me. I had tried mother’s way, and all it had brought me was walloping, so now I would think for myself.
So next night, when I heard the window go, I lay there without a word, though it went against all my better feelings. I didn’t even growl. Someone came in and moved about in the dark, with a lantern, but, though I smelt that it was the man, I didn’t ask him a single question. And presently the man lit a light and came over to me and gave me a pat, which was a thing he had never done before.
‘Good dog!’ he said. ‘Now you can have this.’
And he let me lick out the saucepan in which the dinner had been cooked.
After that, we got on fine. Whenever I heard anyone at the window I just kept curled up and took no notice, and every time I got a bone or something good. It was easy, once you had got the hang of things.’
It was about a week after that the man took me out one morning, and we walked a long way till we turned in at some big gates and went along a very smooth road till we came to a great house, standing all by itself in the middle of a whole lot of country. There was a big lawn in front of it, and all round there were fields and trees, and at the back a great wood.
The man rang a bell, and the door opened, and an old man came out.
‘Well?’ he said, not very cordially.
‘I thought you might want to buy a good watch-dog,’ said the man.
‘Well, that’s queer, your saying that,’ said the caretaker. ‘It’s a coincidence. That’s exactly what I do want to buy. I was just thinking of going along and trying to get one. My old dog picked up something this morning that he oughtn’t to have, and he’s dead, poor feller.’
‘Poor feller,’ said the man. ‘Found an old bone with phosphorus on it, I guess.’
‘What do you want for this one?’
‘Five shillings.’
‘Is he a good watch-dog?’
‘He’s a grand watch-dog.’
‘He looks fierce enough.’
‘Ah!’
So the caretaker gave the man his five shillings, and the man went off and left me.
At first the newness of everything and the unaccustomed smells and getting to know the caretaker, who was a nice old man, prevented my missing the man, but as the day went on and I began to realize that he had gone and would never come back, I got very depressed. I pattered all over the house, whining. It was a most interesting house, bigger than I thought a house could possibly be, but it couldn’t cheer me up. You may think it strange that I should pine for the man, after all the wallopings he had given me, and it is odd, when you come to think of it. But dogs are dogs, and they are built like that. By the time it was evening I was thoroughly miserable. I found a shoe and an old clothes-brush in one of the rooms, but could eat nothing. I just sat and moped.
It’s a funny thing, but it seems as if it always happened that just when you are feeling most miserable, something nice happens. As I sat there, there came from outside the sound of a motor-bicycle, and somebody shouted.
It was dear old Fred, my old pal Fred, the best old boy that ever stepped. I recognized his voice in a second, and I was scratching at the door before the old man had time to get up out of his chair.
Well, well, well! That was a pleasant surprise! I ran five times round the lawn without stopping, and then I came back and jumped up at him.
‘What are you doing down here, Fred?’ I said. ‘Is this caretaker your father? Have you seen the rabbits in the wood? How long are you going to stop? How’s mother? I like the country. Have you come all the way from the public-house? I’m living here now. Your father gave five shillings for me. That’s twice as much as I was worth when I saw you last.’
‘Why, it’s young Nigger!’ That was what they called me at the saloon. ‘What are you doing here? Where did you get this dog, father?’
‘A man sold him to me this morning. Poor old Bob got poisoned. This one ought to be just as good a watch-dog. He barks loud enough.’
‘He should be. His mother is the best watch-dog in London. This cheese-hound used to belong to the boss. Funny him getting down here.’
We went into the house and had supper. And after supper we sat and talked. Fred was only down for the night, he said, because the boss wanted him back next day.
‘And I’d sooner have my job, than yours, dad,’ he said. ‘Of all the lonely places! I wonder you aren’t scared of burglars.’
‘I’ve my shot-gun, and there’s the dog. I might be scared if it wasn’t for him, but he kind of gives me confidence. Old Bob was the same. Dogs are a comfort in the country.’
‘Get many tramps here?’
‘I’ve only seen one in two months, and that’s the feller who sold me the dog here.’