Читать книгу Bound to Succeed: or, Mail Order Frank's Chances - Chapman Allen - Страница 4

The little ragamuffin addressed by Frank raised his dirt-creased, tear-stained face pathetically. He looked at his questioner for a moment and then went on crying harder than ever.

“Well,” said Frank, “this is a queer go. Come, little son, brace up and tell what is the matter with you. Who is Fido – a dog?”

“Sure. He’s in there, he’s been in there for two days now, and I cannot get him out.”

“There appears to be a good many dogs in there, judging from the racket,” said Frank. “What kind of a place is this, anyhow?”

“It’s the pound,” explained the urchin. “Belongs to Riverton, but Sile Stoggs runs it. Know Stoggs?”

“I don’t,” answered Frank.

“He’s a brute – Oh, what a brute!” cried the little fellow. “Was a constable – the mean kind. Turned a poor woman out of her house in the cold last winter. She died, and her two big brothers met Stoggs one dark night and nearly kicked the life out of him. He had to give up business, for they crippled him.”

“Go ahead,” encouraged Frank.

“He had some pol – politicattle friends, I think they call it. One of them was a sharp lawyer. He raked up a lot of old ord – ordinants.”

“Ordinances, I suppose you mean?” suggested Frank.

“Yes, sir, that sounds more like it, – anyway, village laws, see? They said Riverton should have a pound. They worked it so that Stoggs got the job of poundmaster. The town pays him a big rent for these old barracks. Used to be a trotting park. He drives around in a little dog cart, and picks up all the stray horses and cows he can catch. Then the owners have to pay two dollars to get them out of the pound. Stoggs gets half. Wish that was Stogg,” and the boy kicked a dirt clump so hard that he stubbed his toe and winced.

“And what about the dogs?” asked Frank.

“That’s a new wrinkle. About a month ago Stoggs’ lawyer fished up another old law about dog license, or tax, or something of that kind. Since then he’s been capturing all the dogs he could find for miles around. It wouldn’t matter, if he was kind to them,” went on the lad, “but he isn’t. He starves them. He beats them, too awfully. And you’d ought to see the dirty old water trough where he makes them drink. Mother is poor. We can’t pay any two dollars to get Fido out. But I come here every day and bring all the meat I can gather up, and feed the poor things. The trouble is, though, there is so many of them in there, and they are so hungry, and poor Fido is so small, he hardly ever gets a nibble. There’s a grand, big dog in there looks out for him when he can, and divides a bone with him, but the rough dogs get most of the food.”

“Have you tried to get this Stoggs to let you have Fido back?” inquired Frank.

“Yes, but he only abused me, laughed at me, and drove me away. Yesterday he caught me trying to dig that board loose near the boulders. He kicked me, and struck me twice with his club. Wish I had a shovel. It would be safe to dig a bit now. A big balloon went over here a little while ago. I saw Stoggs in his cart driving over to the hill to get a better sight of it.”

“H’m,” mused Frank. “Quite an interesting situation. I’ll take a look inside there, I guess. Hey, hello, why – Christmas!”

Frank, in mingled pleasure and astonishment, fairly shouted out this name. The minute he had mounted the boulders and peered in through the crack in the fence, he made out his own missing canine among a motley group of over forty dogs.

Slam! came an instantaneous bound against the fence that made it quiver and creak. Slam – slam! right up to the spot where Frank had uttered the name, Christmas sprang repeatedly. He was mad with joy and excitement at recognizing his young master’s voice.

Frank was now quite as much stirred up as his youthful companion. He had to call to Christmas to reassure and quiet the animal. The dog was tearing at the fence barrier in such a frenzied manner that Frank feared he would severely injure himself.

“How did Christmas ever get this far away from home?” he reflected, getting off the boulders and onto the ground again. “Say, if that Stoggs has gone deliberately out of his territory and caught him at Greenville, I’ll get the boys to come here and tar and feather him. Easy, old fellow,” called Frank to Christmas, who, yelping frantically, could still be heard throwing himself against the boards of the fence.

“My goodness!” shouted Frank’s companion, suddenly. “Look at that, now.”

His eyes goggled as a great snap sounded out.

“The mischief!” exclaimed Frank. “This won’t do.”

Christmas, it seemed, had flung his body with terrific force against the very plank where the owner of Fido had been digging. Its ground end was soaked and rotted by the damp earth that had surrounded it. It gave, vibrating, and Christmas forced his head and shoulders through the aperture. He wriggled and howled, for the board closed on him like a wedge. Then, making a desperate lunge, the dog bore the board outwards. There was a sharp snap. Obliquely the timber ripped four feet up its length.

Bursting the slivered section fully apart, Christmas, with a joyous howl, sprang free. He bounded upon his master in frantic delight, with such impetuosity that he bore Frank flat to the ground.

“Here, behave, old fellow. Well, I’m glad, too,” said Frank. “For mercy’s sake!”

With difficulty restraining the wild caresses of his loyal dumb friend, Frank regained his feet to stare about him in consternation.

Christmas had blazed the way to freedom, and a vast concourse was following his lead. It was like bees pouring out from a bee hive. Through the break in the fence there came bounding what seemed to be an endless procession. There were big dogs and little dogs, mastiffs, fox terriers and collies. One magnificent St. Bernard got wedged in the fence break. Those behind fairly pushed him through, letting loose a stream of canines like corn from a spout.

Out bounded the released animals, fairly crazy with delight at finding their freedom. Nearly all of them instantly made for a near ditch filled with clear water. They lapped it up luxuriously, they rolled and wallowed in the pure, cool element. Then, like diverging spokes from one central source, they streaked it homewards as instinct told them their proper compass point.

The little ragged urchin Frank found seated on the ground, fondling and crying over the tiniest, silken-haired poodle he had ever seen. Its own affectionate antics were fairly affecting. Beside the pair, limping on three legs, a forlorn little fox-terrier looked homelessly and friendlessly longing, as if begging for a share of attention.

“Yes, I’ll take you, too!” cried the ragged youngster, putting Fido under one arm and gathering up the crippled canine in the other. “Say,” he shouted to Frank, “you’re a brick! Oh, but you’ve done a good day’s work. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Only, get now – don’t wait. If Stoggs catches us, he’ll send us to jail for life. Why,” continued the urchin with a start, staring hard at Christmas, “is that your dog?”

“It is,” nodded Frank.

The little fellow stooped and deliberately kissed Christmas, his eyes full of grateful tears, purring out fond terms of endearment.

“You’re two grand fellows!” he blubbered. “That’s the dog that was such a good friend to Fido,” and Fido, whimpering, struck out his head and rubbed noses with Christmas, who frolicked around all hands as if some great jubilee was going on.

“Yes, I fancy we had better be moving on,” said Frank, with a glance into the enclosure to find it entirely deserted by its recent inmates.

“About your dog, though,” said his companion, hurriedly. “I can tell you something about him.”

“Can you, indeed?” asked Frank.

“Yes, sir. I was here the day a man drove up in a gig from Riverton-way with your dog.”

“In a gig?” repeated Frank, pricking up his ears.

“Yes, I was hanging around near the house at the front of the pound. The man called Stoggs out. He had your dog tied behind the axle. He made a bargain with Stoggs for five dollars to get rid of the animal – send him away somewhere. He was a man with reddish side-whiskers and a cast in one eye.”

Frank’s own good eyes flamed. He drew his breath with an angry catch in it.

“Dorsett,” he said. “The villain did it, eh? I wondered how poor Christmas came to be cooped up here, so far away from home. The mean sneak! He did it so he could snoop around the house and spy on us without interruption. Going? Good-bye. I hope you will keep Fido safe and sound from the dogcatchers this time.”

“You bet I will,” cried the little fellow, bolting off with his double canine burden. “And you’re a brick!”

Frank turned his face in the direction of home. He soon got out of sight of the pound with no indication of his having been seen or pursued. Christmas bounded over the fresh turf, cutting up all kinds of antics and barking joyously.

When they reached the flats Frank secured his rubber boots and was soon in the midst of the morass. Christmas led the way, making grand fun of leaps and dousings, and they reached the woods beyond with no mishap.

Frank drew his bicycle from the spot where he had hidden it, secured his rubber boots to the machine, and was speedily threading the path he had traversed in the opposite direction earlier in the day.

Passing down a gentle declivity in an open space, Christmas set up a sudden bark. Frank turned, to observe the dog halted and looking aloft.

“Hello!” exclaimed Frank, also glancing skywards. “That must be the balloon the little fellow at the pound was telling about.”

The balloon was about two miles distant, and was instantly obscured from view by some tall trees.

Frank had kept on going without looking ahead. The momentary distraction had its result.

Too late he turned the handle bars of the bicycle and set the brake.

Bump! the machine struck a jagged tree stump, and Frank Newton took a header.