****, you don't mean to tell me you've gone and bought yourself a--a FEMALE dog?"The woman spoke in the tone of horrified contempt that might well have been hers had she found a rattlesnake and a brace of toads in her son's pocket. And she lowered her voice, as is the manner of her kind when forced to speak of the unspeakable. She moved back from the puppy's politely out-thrust forepaw as from the passing of a garbage cart.
"A female dog!" she reiterated. "Well, of all the chuckle-heads!
A nasty FEMALE dog, with your birthday money!""She's not one bit nasty!" flamed ****, burying the grubby fingers of his right hand protectively in the fluffy mass of the puppy's half-grown ruff. "She's the dandiest dog ever! She--""Don't talk back to me!" snapped Mrs. Hazen. "Here! Turn right around and take her to the cheats who sold her to you. Tell them to keep her and give you the good money you paid for her. Take her out of my yard this minute! Quick!"A hot mist of tears sprang into the boy's eyes. Lass, with the queer intuition that tells a female collie when her master is unhappy, whined softly and licked his clenched hand.
"I--aw, PLEASE, Ma!" he begged chokingly. "PLEASE! It's--it's my birthday, and everything. Please let me keep her. I--I love her better than 'most anything there is. Can't I please keep her?
Please!"
"You heard what I said," returned his mother curtly.
The washerwoman, who one day a week lightened Mrs. Hazen's household labors, waddled into view from behind the billows of wind-swirled clothes. She was an excellent person, and was built for endurance rather than for speed. At sight of Lass she paused in real interest.
"My!" she exclaimed with flattering approval. "So you got your dog, did you? You didn't waste no time. And he's sure a handsome little critter. Whatcher goin' to call him?""It's not a him, Irene," contradicted Mrs. Hazen, with another modest lowering of her strong voice. "It's a HER. And I'm sending **** back with her, to where she came from. I've got my opinion of people who will take advantage of a child's ignorance, by palming off a horrid female dog on him, too. Take her away, ****.
I won't have her here another minute. You hear me?""Please, Ma!" stammered ****, battling with his desire to cry.
"Aw, PLEASE! I--I--"
"Your ma's right, ****," chimed in the washerwoman, her first interested glance at the puppy changing to one of refined and lofty scorn. "Take her back. You don't want any female dogs around. No nice folks do.""Why not?" demanded the boy in sudden hopeless anger as he pressed lovingly the nose Lass thrust so comfortingly into his hand. "WHY don't we want a female dog around? Folks have female cats around them, and female women. Why isn't a female dog--""That will do, ****!" broke in his shocked mother. "Take her away.""I won't," said the boy, speaking very slowly, and with no excitement at all.
A slap on the side of his head, from his mother's punitive palm, made him stagger a little. Her hand was upraised for a second installment of rebellion-quelling--when a slender little body flashed through the air and landed heavily against her chest. Aset of white puppy-teeth all but grazed her wrathful red face.
Lass, who never before had known the impulse to attack, had jumped to the rescue of the beaten youngster whom she had adopted as her god. The woman screeched in terror. **** flung an arm about the furry whirlwind that was seeking to avenge his punishment, and pulled the dog back to his side.
Mrs. Hazen's shriek, and the obbligato accompaniment of the washerwoman, made an approaching man quicken his steps as he strolled around the side of the house. The newcomer was ****'s father, superintendent of the local bottling works. On his way home to lunch, he walked in on a scene of hysteria.
"Kill her, sir!" bawled the washerwoman, at sight of him. "Kill her! She's a mad dog. She just tried to kill Miz' Hazen!""She didn't do anything of the kind!" wailed ****. "She was pertecting me. Ma hit me; and Lass--""Ed!" tearily proclaimed Mrs. Hazen, "if you don't send for a policeman to shoot that filthy beast, I'll--""Hold on!" interrupted the man, at a loss to catch the drift of these appeals, by reason of their all being spoken in a succession so rapid as to make a single blurred sentence. "Hold on! What's wrong? And where did the pup come from? He's a looker, all right a cute little cuss. What's the row?"With the plangently useless iterations of a Greek chorus, the tale was flung at him, piecemeal and in chunks, and in a triple key. When presently he understood, Hazen looked down for a moment at the puppy--which was ****** sundry advances of a shy but friendly nature toward him. Then he looked at the boy, and noted ****'s hero-effort to choke back the onrush of babyish sobs. And then, with a roughly tolerant gesture, he silenced the two raucous women, who were beginning the tale over again for the third time.
"I see," he said. "I see. I see how it is. Needn't din it at me any more, folks. And I see ****y's side of it, too. Yes, and Isee the pup's side of it. I know a lot about dogs. That pup isn't vicious. She knows she belongs to ****. You lammed into him, and she took up and defended him. That's all there is to the 'mad-dog' part of it."
"But Ed--" sputtered his wife.
