Chapter 10
CHAPTER X. The Moneyed Pup. Strange to say the thing that could not have been more dramatically arranged if Grandpa had had the planning of it himself. Tilde Jane, Perletta and Hank entered the kitchen at the same time. Hank by the front door, Tilde Jane and Perletta by the back one.
The little girl burst into excuses. She was so sorry it had been so long. Just as she went next door, one of Mrs. Melancon's children had pulled over a pot full of boiling water and had scalded himself, so she had been obliged to help the mother with the little sufferer.
There she paused open-mouthed. What was that lying on Grandpa's chair? Hank, she cried, are my eyes playing me a trick or do I see the truth? The young man, who was putting sundry parcels from his arms to the kitchen table, turned and suddenly round, his own eyes following the direction of the pointing finger.
Perletta, who was hanging her coat and hat on a hook behind the woodhouse door, stepped back to the kitchen with a phlegmatic, what a screech! I thought the house was on fire. Well, I will be switched, ejaculated Hank. If there ain't a pup in my old dog's chair, the last place I'd look to see one.
And he glanced at his father, who stood leaning on his crutches surveying his family and the pup by turns. Father exclaimed Hank, whose dog is that? Mine, said the man. Darling, darling, choked Tilda Jane excitedly and picking up the small, sleepy creature
she cuddled in her arms. Where did you get it? pursued Hank. Friend brought it to me, said his father. Do you calculate to bring it up?
Yes, with her help, said Grandpa, nodding towards Tilda Jane. Let's have a look at it, said Hank, taking it from Tilda Jane's affectionate embrace. Hank's fingers were not ungentle, but Grandpa called warningly, take care, I don't want that pup hurt. Pup hurt, repeated Hank stupidly.
You father. He lost his senses, remarked Grandpa, and an aside, can't talk straight. Hank heard him and fired up. Yes, I can talk straight, sir, and I can say what I'm thinking. What is the sense of all four-legged creatures has possessed you?
Who turned to hurl your crutches at dogs? To take a pup to bring up? I'd have said you'd bounce it out the window. Grandpa scarcely listened to him. His eyes were on the pup.
You're mauling him, he said. Young men don't know how to handle dogs. Give him back to the girl. And he pointed to Tilda Jane, who was only too delighted to receive the tiny member of their family.
Come here, boys, she said, seating herself in her own little rocking chair and addressing Poacher and Gippy. Come see your new brother. The two older dogs approached. Poacher looked foolish and slunk away.
He did not want to have anything to do with the newcomer. Gippy sniffed at him in an amiable fashion and then went to lie under the stove. The pup was not old enough yet for them to be jealous of him. Hank's amazement was very amusing, but no one perceived it. For everybody was too much taken up with a puppy.
Finally, he approached Tilda Jane and asked humbly if he could let him see what kind of a looking dog it was. The pup had got over his sleepy fit and was rolling about the little girl's lap playing with her fingers. My stars, exclaimed Hank.
What a cur, head like a block and a snub nose. Why didn't you get a good dog while you were about it, Dad? At this expression of opinion, the old man burst into such irrepressible and prolonged laughter that the young persons were alarmed. Hank's wildly rolling eyes tried in vain to become normal and he endeavored to check his
father's mirth. Never mind, Daddy, said soothingly. I guess he's all right if you want a pup. You shall have a pup. We'll bring him up for you.
He thinks I've gone crazy, muttered the old man, sinking into his chair and wiping his eyes with his colored handkerchief like a daisy. I never knew what a simpleton Hank was. Doesn't know a thousand dollar dog from a mongrel. Perletta, seeing that Hank, the only person in the house for whom she stood in awe, was
fully occupied with his father, bent over the pup, and exclaimed, He favors a cow we used to have. Old Brindle, we called her. She had a white streak down her nose, too. Ain't he cute?
And she held out a hand to the dog. He turned his little dark face up to her. There was something elfish and wicked in his hard brown eyes, and before she knew what he was about, he had given her a good sharp bite. Ow, ow, she ejaculated.
His teeth be like needles, and he be so weenie, too. Gramp turned round. Keep your fingers away if you don't want to get bitten. Hank opened the door of the kitchen staircase and put his foot on the lowest step. The old man and his second childhood, he muttered.
I expect we'll have some fun with him. That pup's going to rule the house. I've noticed a change in poor Dad the last few days. He turned plum round. Used to be so ugly, and now he's pleasant.
Used to sit with his mouth shut, and now he opens it and talks. He's going to drop off soon, I fear. And Hank hung his head in real concern as he went to his bedroom to change his street clothes for old ones. Down in the kitchen, Grandpa was saying to Tilda Jane, give Puff food.
Young things eat often. What shall I give him, sir? The little girl asked ecstatically. Grandpa began to speak. Then he hedged.
He really knew no more than the upbringing of dogs than of elephants. Give the usual thing, he said grandly, and plenty of it. That will be bread and milk, I suppose, with a little sugar, replied Tilda Jane. Put some water in the milk, interposed perletta. Hot water to warm it.
I've heard say cow's milk ain't too strong for pups, but owing to the change from mother's milk, you water it. That's common sense, said Grandpa critically. Now, don't scrimp him, he added. As Tilda Jane put down a bowl full of supper for the puppy.
Don't scrimp him, draw perletta aggravatedly and with her usual lack of respect. By the time your pup gets round, that bowl full his sides will stick out like a barrel and he'll likely have a conniption fit. Take half away, take half away, cried Grandpa, and he surveyed in alarm the plump little creature who stood with legs braced far apart and brindled head in the bowl.
The pup bit Tilda Jane and protested vigorously, but Grandpa was inexorable and waved half the contents of the bowl away. Put it out of his sight, girl, put it out of his sight. Don't tantalize the creature. Tilda Jane threw him a wandering glance.
What had come over Grandpa? Poacher and Gippie might stuff themselves to death before his eyes and he would not show a sign of emotion. Truly this pup had wrought a wonderful change in the old man. Grandpa, she said coaxingly, who was the friend that gave you this little dog?
A good friend replied, Grandpa promptly and with a look that was a command to ask no further questions. Don't let him go under the stove with those cannibals. He suddenly shouted in great excitement. They'll gobble him up.
Give him to me. Poacher and Gippie would not hurt him, Grandpa remarked Tilda Jane reproachfully as she put the pup on the old man's knee. Big dogs don't hurt tiny pups. They just look silly at them.
He won't sit on them bare knees, said Proletta slowly. He ain't comfy. He wants a chair to his own self. Get him one, said Grandpa, one with a cushion and side so he can't fall out. There isn't one here, said Tilda Jane looking about.
There isn't one short of the parlor, remarked Proletta. There's a red plush there that would be fine for a dog. Tilda Jane gave her a rebuking glance, but Grandpa at once fell in with her suggestion. Get it, he said with a wave of his hand and quickly. He's biting my knee bones.
Proletta went in a lumbering way to the parlor and came back again, proudly breaking aloft a big fiery red plush armchair that had been brought to enliven its somber hair cloth companions. Put an old blanket on it, said Grandpa and cover him up. His teeth are wicked. It's main hot to cover him, sir, said Proletta ingratiatingly.
I'll fold the blanket and let him sit on it like a little man. All right, said Grandpa. Tilda Jane gave the pup an affectionate glance and the chair a disapproving one. She adored dogs, but she did not believe in letting them rule the household. Proletta, on the contrary, had a strong, unreasoning love for animals and treated them as foolish
mothers treat their spoiled offspring. Now we had better get the supper, said Tilda Jane to Proletta. Mr. Hank will soon be coming down. You set the table and I'll fry the sausages. The big girl and the little girl bustled about the kitchen and dining room, and Grandpa,
with a red face, sat in the chair, one protecting arm thrown round his troublesome pet. The pup wriggled and squirmed, and finally, being on the point of falling, caused Grandpa to cry in alarm. The smell of meat is driving him crazy. Give him a bit.
What? Cried Tilda Jane, and Proletta, in unison, meat for a pup? Grandpa quailed. He's a fighter, I guess, he said weakly, but just as you think, I wouldn't hurt him. He's only a baby, Grandpa, said Tilda Jane.
You don't give babies meat. Here, let me take him. So good doggy, lie down and go seepy. He wants to play, does he? Well, Tilda will play with him, and going to a draw, she took out a piece of soft cotton
cloth and began to draw it over the kitchen floor. The pup was in ecstasy. Bracing his tiny paws, he growled and hung on, and allowed himself to be swung to and fro until Grandpa exclaimed, wonderingly, He's a whole fast and a gripper.
Seems well and strong, too. Hope he'll keep so. The poor old man's face was puckered with anxiety. Ever since Tilda Jane came, he had had no cares, no troubles, except the ones of years standing, lately providentially removed.
Now he had something to think about. From the very bottom of his heart, he wished to raise this dog for Mr. Weismuth. It would be a slight return to make for his kindness to him, and yet, I don't know about Being slight muttered Grandpa, wiping the perspiration from his face, judging by the way it's begun, to be a sore task.
How soon do pups grow up, Hank? he asked, addressing his son, who at the moment entered the kitchen and stood gazing in surprise disapproval at the red plush chair. That chair, I slaved to get money for, the young man was saying under his breath, made into a hack for a cur. Oh, I don't know, Father, you said aloud.
I guess a dog is well grown at a year, though I once heard a dog fancier say that most dogs don't get to the pink of perfection till they are three years old. Grandpa groaned, and Hank said keenly, Does it seem long to wait? No, certainly not, none too long. Pups should have time to grow, just like boys.
Yes, sir, remarked the young man, resignedly. Then he added, Supper's ready. I suppose a new addition to the family will go into the dining room with us. Of course he will, said Grandpa, taking his suggestion literally. And the semi-disgusted Hank had the pleasure of lifting the pup and his red-flush throne
in beside Grandpa's seat. I'd not leave him out here with her, said Grandpa with a dissatisfied nod in the direction of Perletta, who had gone into the woodhouse. She's got too little sense. Tilda Jane thought this rather ungrateful in Grandpa, when he had so recently been adopting
Perletta's suggestions with regards to the pup. However, she said nothing and generously reflected that it was such a blessing to have Grandpa interested in some animal that must not mind even if he were a trifle queer. The pup fortunately dropped off to sleep while they were at their meal, and Grandpa had at last looked at him uneasily.
Seems to me he naps a good deal. I hope he isn't sick. Pups always sleep a lot, Grandpa, said Tilda Jane. Like babies, you know. They take nap and romp and eat by spells.
Grandpa looked relieved, and as the pup slept the most of the evening, his care for him was only nominal. When bedtime came, Tilda Jane said, Shall I make a little sleeping place beside the other dogs for Puppy? Grandpa stared at her with eyes wide open with alarm.
Oh, I can take him upstairs with me, she said. I'd love to. You're young and you want your rest of Grandpa. Put this chair beside my bed and a lunch on the shelf by the bedhead for him. Young things like to eat in the night.
Are you going to take him right in bed with you, Grandpa? asked Tilda Jane timidly. Oh, no, said the man with slight shiver. Put this chair close to me, though, where I can reach out a hand and feel if he's warm. The little girl made a convulsive sound in her throat and said,
Excuse me, Grandpa, I want to go out to the woodhouse to get a couple of apples to take upstairs. I'll see to Puppy when I come in. Five minutes later, Hank found her leaning against the apple barrel. Her handkerchief pressed to her face and happy tears rolling down her cheeks.
What's the matter, young one? He said bluntly. She lowered her handkerchief. Hank, I'm most dead laughing to think of dear old gramps sleeping with a pup. Why that little fellow will be in his bed before five minutes are over.
Tilda Jane was right. Hank, who did not laugh, for he really was concerned about his father, crept downstairs several times through the night to see how matters were progressing. At 10 p.m., he found his father putting up a brave fight to keep the little dog out of his bed and on his plush chair. At 10.30, Grandpa had succumbed and the pup was lying with his dark, mischievous head tucked close to the old man's neck.
At 1 a.m., there were sounds of conflict as Hank went cautiously down the staircase. The pup waked up and was insisting on having a game of romps with the sleepy old man. You won't lie down, will you? The unfortunate grandpa was exclaiming. If I had a stick here, I'd beat you.
Lie down, I say, lie down. We'll play them, he said. At last, in a tone of sheer exhaustion, that's all right. Worry the sheet. Sick him.
Good dog. Tilda Jane has nothing to do but sew up for you. It's good. You're a money dog and can afford it. A money dog mused Hank as he crawled back to his own bed.
What does the old man mean? End of chapter 10.
