His full name was Pepsin. His master was a doctor so that accounted for the name. With the boys, however, who all loved him, the name stood for pep or grit.
Pep was an English bull terrier, sleek and clean cut. His white coat shone like satin and it was as soft as velvet. Well it might have shone, for the doctor’s man had been[26] washing and brushing the dog for weeks.
Pep knew that the trip was momentous, but just where they were going, or what was up he could not have told.
His master was usually calm and collected, but this morning, he was excited. The dog could feel it plainly. In fact he felt all the changes of temperament in his beloved master. If he was sad or glad the dog changed his own feelings to keep pace with his god.
Pep was not as democratic as most terriers. He was quite particular about his friendships. There was but one person in the whole world whom he devotedly loved and that was the doctor. You could see this by the way he looked sideways at his master when he tired of the landscape. Also by the manner in which he met the advances of strangers on the train.
Their destination was the New York Bench Show where Pep was to be entered. This was the momentous errand on which they were bent.
Pep was the usual type of bull terrier, about sixteen inches at the shoulders and weighing nearly forty pounds.
[27]His ears were cocked and pointed. Their backs had been shaved that very morning, and the pink blood coursed through them freely.
The doctor was reading a newspaper and occasionally the dog would give it a poke with his nose, to intimate that the man ought to stop and talk to him.
The doctor and his wife had no children and they always referred to Pep as “the boy.”
Arrived at the New York Central, Pep and his master took a taxi for Madison Square. Once they were fairly within this great arena, Pep thought it the most exciting place he had ever even dreamed of.
Such a host of dogs he had not thought the world contained. There were large dogs and small dogs, short-haired dogs and long-haired dogs, excited dogs and complacent dogs, but most all were excited. A dog had to have a pretty good opinion of himself to keep his head in such a place as this. Such a chorus of yelping and barking, growling and whining greeted them as they walked down the main street that Pep did not know[28] whether to be joyous or angry. For the life of him he could not tell whether it was only just play, or the preliminary to a great fight.
If the men did really loose all these dogs and they should fly at one another’s throats, he made up his mind that he would get a good hold on the throat of a bulldog who had growled at him as he passed, and not let go until the cross fellow had apologized.
Presently they stopped before a man in a small booth, who asked a lot of tiresome questions about Pep. He wanted his age, weight, breeding and many more facts, which the master patiently gave him.
Finally Pep was given a number, 223, and they passed along.
They passed by St. Bernard street, Newfoundland street, Collie street and finally down to the smaller dogs, until they came to the terriers, where they located permanently in Bull Terrier street. There were about forty dogs here, tied in a double row, with a broad walk between the rows. Here the master tied Pep in his own stall and told him to be a good dog, and went to look for some friends.
[29]For the first five minutes the dogs in Bull Terrier street were very disrespectful to Pep and called him all the bad names in the dog dictionary, but seeing how goodnatured he was, they soon ceased their jollying and asked him where he came from, what his master’s name was, and what his name was. Presently he was on speaking terms with the dogs on either side of him.
“It is a very fast class, Pep old boy,” said a sleek terrier across the street. “If the judge so much as looks at you you will be lucky.”
“My master says I am a sure winner, but I am not saying anything about it.”
“You’ve told each newcomer for the past two hours,” growled a savage looking bull terrier next to him. “If I could only slip my collar, I would fix you so that the judge would kick you out of the ring. You have got too many airs, my fine fellow.” At this harsh threat the dandy slunk back in his corner and finally lay down and pretended he was asleep, but Pep knew he was just shamming.
It seemed an eternity before his master[30] reappeared, but he was not really gone more than an hour. When he came back he had another doctor with him, whom Pep knew well. He was the master of Pep’s friend, Larry, a clever Irish terrier, who had also come to the show.
Presently there was great commotion in Bull Terrier street. Men came from every direction and unchained their dogs. Some put them on fancy show leashes, and they were led away to the show ring.
Here there was another inquisitive man, who entered their names and numbers. Finally the ring was nearly full of bull terriers, all excited and straining at their leashes. Each master was trying to make his dog hold up his head and look his prettiest.
Pep’s master had been giving him lessons to stand for inspection on the leash so he stood like a drum major, with head up and his tail carried properly. The judge spotted him almost as soon as he came into the ring.
He stopped short in his tracks at the sight of Pep and stood very still. The other dogs were straining at their leashes, but the judge did not see them. His eyes were all for Pep.[31] Finally he lifted his eyes to the doctor’s face and winked at him knowingly. The doctor looked down quickly, but he gave Pep a confidential shove with his leg.
Pep did not just understand this, but thought it a good omen.
After that, the judge did not even glance at him, but went methodically about his work. One by one the dogs were led from the ring. Each one took his cue from the dejected manner of his master, so all went with tails drooping. Finally, there were only two left besides Pep. Then the judge stood these two dogs upon a little platform at the center of the ring and examined them carefully. Occasionally he would stop and glance across at Pep.
Pep saw that his master was watching the judge intently so he did the same. When the judge looked his way he wagged his tail, for he felt sure that this was a man to be cultivated.
Finally the judge got up with a deep sigh. “Take them both away,” he said shortly. “They are good dogs, but they are not in the class with this one,” and he came over and[32] stroked Pep’s head. “Here’s his blue ribbon. Take him up to the free for all. It may not do any good, but I want to see him lined up against the old champion, Lord Lansdale. Somehow I can’t keep my eyes off him, but I presume he will look small enough beside the champion.”
The doctor stooped down and hugged Pep and he was very happy. He felt sure that the man had liked him and that pleased his master. He loved to please his master above all else.
So they went back to Bull Terrier street, Pep with his blue ribbon and his master looking very happy. There they received the congratulations of the surly dog who had threatened to chew the dandy’s throat if he could get at him, while the dandy sulked in his corner.
“I liked you the first minute I saw you,” said the surly terrier, mellowing up and fairly smiling. “You don’t put on airs. I can’t stand airs in a dog. That is, unless he is a champion.”
“Wait till he goes up to meet the champion,” whimpered the dandy. “He’ll come[33] back with his tail between his legs, or I am a liar.”
“You are a liar all right,” growled Pep’s new friend, “but he won’t come back with his tail between his legs. If he’s licked he’ll take it like a thoroughbred. If the other dog’s better than you are, admit it and don’t sulk as you are doing.”
Here the conversation was interrupted by a call for the winners in each class to go up to the ring for the finals, so Pep went with his master and both were much excited.
The judge did not so much as look at him when he entered the ring and poor Pep thought it was all up. He felt sorry for his master, who, he at once saw, felt the slight.
“Keep your head up, old chap,” whispered the master, and Pep looked as haughty as he could, copying the manner of the old champion who stood at the center of the platform, his eyes half shut, gazing off into space, just as though the whole show bored him to death and he would be glad when it was over.
One by one the winners were placed on the platform by the champion but it needed only[34] a glance at most of them and the judge said, “Take ’em away.” Then master and dog would slink out of the ring. The last dog who went on before Pep lasted much longer than his predecessors had. The judge looked him over for several minutes and even held his head beside the champion’s before pronouncing his doom.
Then he turned about quickly. “Where’s the doctor’s dog?” he said. “He is the only dog in the show that can give the old champion anything like a go. Bring him on.”
Pep mounted to the platform much excited, although he tried hard not to show it. The champion looked at him sleepily out of the corner of his eye. Pep thought his manner said, “So here’s another. Well, they will soon take him away.”
The judge stepped back several feet and looked at them very hard, without saying a word. Then he scratched his head and said, “Well, I’ll be darned. I never expected to be up against it like this.”
The judge examined them carefully
“The judge examined them carefully.”
Then he went up and began feeling the two dogs over very carefully. He passed his[35] hand along their backs, and legs. He let their ears slip gently through his fingers. He lifted up their paws. Then put them down.
Pep watched him from the corner of one eye. He could see that the judge was more and more worried.
Then he stood off and looked at them again. He scratched his head and pulled his mustache, then came back and went all over the handling process once more.
Finally he held a muzzle in either palm and laid their heads side by side. His hand trembled and Pep felt that he was much excited.
At last he stood up and heaved a deep sigh. “I am very sorry,” he said, and stooped down and stroked the old champion’s head.
Poor Pep’s heart stood still. He felt as though the judge had struck him. He wanted to yelp with pain. He knew it would disappoint his master so, but the judge’s next words fairly stunned him.
“Take away the old champion,” he said. “He is outclassed. This,” and he laid his[36] hand caressingly on Pep’s head, “is the better dog. I never dreamed that I would live to see Lord Lansdale dethroned.”
Then a great shouting went up around the ring.
“Hurrah for Pepsin. Congratulations, doctor. Let me stroke him. Let me get inside and feel him over. Bring him out, doctor, we want to take some photos of him for the press.”
Pepsin was so astonished at all this fuss that at first he thought he had done something bad and was to be punished, but when his master caught him up in his arms and hugged him joyously his happiness was complete.
From that time on, as long as they stayed at the show, he was a much petted and flattered dog.
If he had been a silly, vain dog, it would have turned his head, but he was a sensible fellow and he took it as a matter of course.
The following day, when Pep and the doctor were having a fine time, walking about the great hall, along the main street, looking at the dogs, a boy in uniform with a blue cap[37] came up to his master and gave him an envelope.
Pep sat on his haunches and watched the doctor very closely while he looked at the piece of paper. Somehow he did not like these messengers with their pieces of paper. They always upset things. This one seemed to be even more disturbing than usual, for the doctor put the telegram hurriedly into his pocket and they started out of the building not stopping to speak to any one.
“It’s my call, Pep,” he said as they took a taxi for the Grand Central. “I’m off for the war, old chap.”