Fstoiy of a Bull Terrier

STEPHENS MEADER

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•^ 0^*'
 BAT
THE STORY OF A BULL TERRIER
other books by STEPHEN W, HEADER
THE BLACK BUCCANEER
DOWN THE BIG RIVER
LONGSHANKS
RED HORSE HILL
AWAY TO SEA
KING OF THE HILLS
LUMBERJACK
THE WILL TO WIN AND OTHER STORIES
WHO RIDES IN THE DARK?
T-MODEL TOMMY
BAT
boy with a pack
clear for action
blueberry mountain
shadow in the pines
the sea snake
the long trains roll
skippy's family
jonathan goes west
behind the ranges
 '""X

X *»>«.V>.>.-v.^'

TEN-FOOT BREAKERS WERE POUNDING UP

J.
fTHE
BAT
STORY OF A BULL TERRIER

hy Stephen W. Header
ILLUSTRATED BY EDWARD SHENTON

'^ "^'^
' b3^

HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY

NEW YORK
 COPYRIGHT, 1939, BY
HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC.

All rights reserved, in eluding

the right to reproduce this book
or portions thereof in any form.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

 ^•S. 683944
ILLUSTRATIONS
i TEN-FOOT BREAKERS WERE POUNDING UP
frontispiece
Y
Vi
V > THERE WAS A CRASH AS HIS KNEES AND CHEST
^ HIT THE RAILS 10

SPENT HILARIOUS HOURS ON THE COLD

WHITE SLOPE 43

HE TOOK OFF IN A LONG LEAP AND HIT THE

WATER SWIMMING 114

\ FLASHLIGHTS BLINKING IN COURTYARDS 151

HE PAUSED AT EACH CORNER AND LOOKED

UP AND DOWN THE STREETS 184

HALF A DOZEN STARVED CURS CAME CHARG-

ING IN ON THE FEAST 222
 BAT
THE STORY OF A BULL TERRIER
 CHAPTER I

UP the valley, through the sharp, golden air of

the November morning, a sound came drift-

ing. It was faint at first. Hardly more than a whisper

of far-off music. The young bull terrier heard it long
before his master. His investigation of a chipmunk's
burrow in the loose stones of the wall ceased sud-

denly. His head went up, his pink ears cocked in-

tently toward the south, and he stood like a white

marble statue of a dog.
.Farmer Ben Avery was rebuilding the retaining
wall along one side of the lane that led to the big
barn. Absorbed as he was in his work, it was two or

3
BAT
three minutes before he noticed the dog beside him.
Then he straightened his broad back, listening.
"What d'ye hear, Bat?" he asked softly. "Visitors
*?"
coming
He shaded his eyes to stare down the valley. A
mile or more away he caught the movement of white
specks against the russet of the woods, and beyond
them a tiny flash of scarlet. He grinned.
"Hounds headed this way," was his comment. "A
pretty day for a hunt it is, too. Wonder if you've
learned your lesson, youngster."
Bat's reply was a half-comic look of understand-
ing and a wag or two of his whip-like tail. The
chorus of the pack was clearer now. It sent little

shivers of excitement rippling under his snowy hide

and lifted the hair along his spine.

Ben Avery was too old and heavy to ride to

hounds. But like many of the Chester Valley farm-

ers, he had fox-hunting in his blood. On the rare

occasions when the hunt came close to Willowbridge

Farm, he liked to watch the pink coats go by, and
the hard-ridden horses galloping at the fences.

Bat, too, knew what that wild music meant. He

had first heard fox-hounds in September, during the

4
 BAT
cub-hunting season. The memory was vivid still,

and painful, for it was one of the few occasions

when he had been soundly whipped. Much as he

yearned, now, to rush off across the plowed ground

and join those strange, clamoring, black-and-white

dogs, he knew he must stay where he was.

It was a fine scenting morning. The fox had taken

his line and was coming straight up the country

with the pack racing behind him. And trailed out

over half a mile of fields and pastures followed the

hunt.
"'By jumbo!" Ben Avery murmured and slapped
his thigh. "Look at that fellow move Just playing
!

with 'em, he is. Must be that old dog-fox from up

in Stover's Woods. A big 'un, and fresh as a daisy I"
Clearly in sight now, and going like a russet
streak, the fox glanced over his shoulder at the lead-
ing hounds and cut into the brown furrows of
Avery's tilled field. The nearest cover was along
the brookside, fifty yards below the spot where the

farmer and his dog were standing.

A rank odor of fox came up the hill to Bat's

twitching nostrils. Avery heard the stifled whimper

of excitement in the terrier's throat and laid a hand
BAT
gently on his head. "Steady, boy," he warned.
In the tangle of brush and willows that lined the
brook the hounds halted, raising baffled voices. They
cast futilely up and down the stream for a minute

or two, then picked up the scent on the nearer side.

And just at that moment their quarry, wet and

dark and slim, came lolloping up the lane.
Bat was nearly frantic. He made one instinctive
bound forward and stopped, trembling, at Ben
Avery's sharp word of command. The fox darted
under the fence and sped away past the corner of
the barn. A moment more and the hounds were
streaming past. Then came the Master on his big

Irish hunter, clearing the brook in a mighty leap

and pounding up the hillside. And suddenly the
lane was full of sweating horses —of scarlet hunting
coats and tweeds —of voices, thudding hoofs, the
clink of bits and the creak of saddle leather.

No puppy, however well-trained, could mind his

manners in such a whirlwind of sight and sound.

Bat exploded in a series of gruff, short barks as he

felt the earth shake under him, and Avery pulled

him back against the wall out of harm's way. The
farmer was chuckling with delight.

6
 BAT
With thirty horses crowding the narrow space
there was no room for a proper take-off. "Go back
to the bridge and around!" someone gestured.
*'Take out a fence panel!" another shouted.
Ben Avery's voice cut through the confusion.
"Hold on," he bellowed. "Wait till I get some

bars down!"
But before he could reach the far side of the

lane a fidgety chestnut hunter went plunging at

the fence. There was a crash as his knees and chest

hit the upper rails, and splintered wood flew

through the air. The horse recovered his footing on

the other side, limped a few strides and came to

a halt. By a miracle the girl in the saddle stayed

on. A man riding a rangy bay went over to her

and dismounted, while the rest of the hunt streamed
through the gap to follow the hounds.
Bat stayed close at the farmer's heels as he hur-

ried toward the two who remained. The man was

helping the girl down from her horse. He was an
erect, middle-aged figure in faultless tweed jacket
and riding-breeches. Iron gray hair showed below
the brim of his derby, and there were wrinkles of
worry between his grizzled brows.

7
 "

BAT
"You're sure you're all right, June?" he asked.
She laughed, a bit shakily. "Perfectly all right.

Dad," she said, and turned toward Avery. She was

tall and slim, with fair, bright hair, lovely in spite
of her paleness. "I'm so terribly sorry," she told the
farmer. "About your fence, I mean. It was such a
stupid thing to do
—
Ben Avery grunted. "Don't you fret about that.
Ma'am," he replied. "I was scared there for a sec-

ond that you'd have a bad fall."

"So was I!" she laughed again. "Rufus hasn't

been hunted enough this autumn, and I couldn't

him. Dad —
!"
manage him. Look at ^he's hurt
The chestnut, still breathing hard, was standing
with his head lowered. One of his knees was begin-
ning to swell, and there was a red, ragged wound
on his breast, where one of the broken rails had
gashed his hide.
The two men stepped closer and examined the
horse's injuries. "Too bad to miss the rest o' the

run," said the farmer with a sympathetic shake of

his head. "But I don't believe he's fit to ride any

more today."
"No," the other agreed. "He's a case for the vet.

8
T^ERE WAS A CRASH
AS HIS KNEES AND CHEST HIT THE RAILS
 BAT
I hate to trouble you but could I use your telephone*?

I should have introduced myself before. I'm Rams-

dell Faulkner, of Devon. This is my daughter
June."
Avery shook hands heartily and gave his own
name. ''Tie the horses here at the fence," he sug-
gested, ''and come right up to the house."

June Faulkner walked beside Bat across the

lawn. The pink had come back into her cheeks and
she smiled when the young dog sniffed politely at

her polished riding-boot.

"I like your manners," she told him. "I wonder
if it's all right to pat you."

The farmer had heard her. "Sure," he said. "Go

ahead and make friends with him. Miss Faulkner.
Now he knows you're guests of mine he wouldn't
harm a hair of you."

The girl stayed on the sunny side porch with the

dog while her father went inside to telephone. Ben
Avery came out to join them a moment later. "Bat's
taken a sure enough fancy to you," he laughed.
"He's good-tempered, but he's generally pretty
dignified with strangers."

"He's beautiful," she answered, and her gloved

13
BAT
fingers scratched the pup's neck delightfully just
behind the ear. He cuddled his head closer against
her knee, his tail whipping in a white arc.

''How old is he?" the girl asked.

"Born last February. He was the littlest and

runtiest in a litter of nine. You'd never know it

to look at him now, though. Friend o' mine down

the road owns his mother, and she's a real beauty.

Edgcombe Snowmaid, her name is. Maybe you've

seen her if you go to the shows. When this big lit-

ter came she didn't have enough milk to go 'round

and something had to be done, so four o' the pups

were sent up here for my old beagle Jenny to
suckle. I got Bat, here, as payment."
"Bat? Is that his whole name?"
"Well, no, he's got a fancy one for the stud
book. Snowboy of Battersby is the way he's regis-

tered. His sire's one o' the best. Imported from

England. Ever hear of Champion Beauchamp of

Battersby? That's him."
Mr. Faulkner had returned while the farmer was
speaking. "I thought that dog had good blood," he

nodded. "I'm not a bull-terrier man, myself, but

I've always admired the breed. This fellow's got a
 BAT
nice head —just enough down-face — well-set eyes

and ears. Do you ever expect to show him?"

Ben Avery chuckled. "No," he said, "that's not
in my line. I can use a good able dog around the
place, though, and Tm teaching this pup to bring

up the cows and such-like chores. He's not as quick

at it as a collie but he's got good sense. Come here,

boy !" He snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot

beside his chair. "Lie down."

Soberly the lanky pup marched over to him and
stretched himself on the floor with a thump.

Mr. Faulkner watched the demonstration and

nodded his approval. "Well trained for a young-

ster," he said. "He looks a bit weedy, but that's

probably his age." He stroked his chin and studied

the dog. "There's plenty of bone there, and he'll fill

out stocky enough. Good broad chest and straight

legs. Smart action. Yes, I shouldn't wonder if

he turned out to be quite a terrier. Think so,

June?"
"I think he's adorable now," she replied. "And
he sort of likes me, too. Don't you, Bat? Want to

be petted some more?"

Bat glanced up to catch his master's nod and

15
BAT
was at the girl's side in a single bound.

The next half hour was the happiest he had

known in his brief life. He spent it having his
head stroked and his back scratched by his charm-
ing new friend —fetching sticks which she threw
for him — escorting her on a tour of the farm build-
ings.

Too soon it was over. A truck rolled up the lane

and everybody's attention was transferred to the

horses. Bat watched the veterinarian put a tempo-

rary dressing on Rufus' hurts and usher the sub-

dued chestnut up a gang-plank into the truck. The

golden-haired girl turned and gave Bat a quick
caress before she climbed into the cab. Then she

was gone, her enchanting fragrance lost in a cloud

of smelly engine smoke.
Mr. Faulkner swung into the saddle, waved to

the farmer and trotted his hunter off across the

bridge.

Standing very still in the lane, the white dog

stared after them till the dust of their departure

had settled. His eyes were sad and his tail hung
down dejectedly instead of standing straight out
from his body at its usual jaunty angle.

16
 BAT
Ben Avery saw the signs and smiled. "Come on,
hoy," he said. "The sun's still shining, and we've
got a fence to mend 'fore lunch-time."

They went together to the pile of split chestnut

rails back of the barn, and selected a couple that
would fit the gap left by the unruly Rufus. Repair-
ing the fence was a job which claimed all Bat's
attention. When his master had gone in for the

noon meal he found a ridge in the lawn made by

a mole which needed investigating. And after lunch

Avery took him for a run to the upper reaches of

the farm.

So the day passed. By the time darkness came

and Bat had eaten his supper, he could barely re-

member what it was that had made him happy and

then sad. Comfortably tired, he went to his old
horse-blanket in a corner of the barn, turned care-
fully around twice and flopped down facing the
long row of cow stalls. He sighed gustily, laid his
muzzle on his forepaws and closed one eye. The
other remained vigilantly open for perhaps five sec-

onds. Then it, too, fluttered shut. He was instantly

asleep.

17
BAT
Deep as Bat's slumbers were, they never lasted

long. If a cow's horn clicked against a stanchion

the terrier heard the sound and lifted his head.

Half a dozen times during the night he rose and

made the circuit of the barn like a watchman on

his rounds. He went to the door and made sure no
hand had profaned it, skirted the stalls to find all

the cattle properly in their places, lapped a swallow

or two of water from his pan, sniffed at the plank-

ing beside the grainbins, where he had once had

the good fortune to kill a rat, and went back to his

blanket again.
He did not need the crowing of the roosters in
the hen-house to tell him dawn was at hand. As
soon as the first tinge of gray came into the sky he

was up, waiting for the day's activities to begin.

The cattle lumbered to their feet, stirring the straw

and murmuring over their cuds. The two big work

horses whinnied and shook themselves. Soon a heavy

tread came across the yard and the hired man
entered with his milk pails. Old Jenny, the beagle
hound, who slept in the kitchen, pattered in after

him.
Bat still stood in some awe of his foster-mother.

18
 BAT
She was too old and too dignified to share in the
rough play that he enjoyed, and she was inclined
to snap at him and send him on his way when he
made friendly advances. To her mind he was an
unsatisfactory pup — too long in the legs and strong
in the jaw to make a good rabbit-dog. His ears stood

straight up instead of hanging halfway to the

ground as everyone knew they should, and she con-

sidered the lack of spots on his white hide a definite

drawback.
The young bull terrier knew that he was differ-

ent from Jenny and her beagle pups, but life was
too full of exciting things for him to be unhappy
about it. He left her to supervise the milking and
went out for his morning run.

An exuberant dash across the frosty grass brought

him to the field beyond the lane. A faint scent of

fox and hounds and horses still hung there and he

followed it north to the line fence. Beyond was the
next farm, where he was forbidden to go. He swung
eastward, flushed a cock pheasant in a patch of
brush and raced the flying bird for a hundred yards
before it circled high over the woods and left him
panting. He did a little half-hearted digging at an

19
BAT
abandoned groundhog hole, then returned circuit-

ously toward the farm-buildings. At the first rosy

beam of sunrise he was waiting by the back door

for Ben Avery to come out.

20
 CANDY

CHAPTER II

you have never been a nine-months-old bull

IFterrier pup on a Pennsylvania farm, you can
hardly imagine the number of thrilling experiences
that crowd themselves into a sunny autumn morn-
ing. Everything Bat saw or heard or smelled sent
tingles of pleasure up and down his sturdy spine.

The boss, as usual, had two dog-biscuits in his hand

when he appeared.
"Easy, boy," he admonished. "Mind your man-
ners."

Bat waited obediently, his head cocked on one

side. He took the proffered biscuits in his mouth,

21
BAT
wagged an appreciative tail and trotted off around
the corner of the house. Hungry as he was, some-

thing at the back of his doggy brain forbade him

to eat until he had made provision for the future.

When he was sure he was out of sight he chose a

spot in Mrs. Avery's rose-bed and buried one of the
biscuits carefully. Thirty seconds later he had break-
fasted and was ready for the day.

At eight o'clock, when the sun had got around

to the south side of the barn, the hired man shook
out a few forkfuls of hay in the fenced enclosure
and whistled for Bat. The terrier came on the run.

This was a job he enjoyed. As each cow was released

from her stanchion, he urged her toward the open
door. A playful nip at the heels, a gruff bark now
and then, an agile jump when she swung her horns
at him —and the trick was done.
He knew that once the cattle were in the yard

he must leave them alone. But he remained on

guard, marching importantly up and down in front

of the gate while they munched their hay and

sunned themselves.
It was the sound of a car turning into the farm
lane that interrupted his vigil. Cars that turned in

22
 BAT
were always interesting, and this one he felt needed
special investigation. It wasn't Ben Avery's old
touring-model or the grocer's truck. He knew the

noise their motors made. Here was a deep, purring

note that was strange to his ears.
Bat slipped under the bars of the fence and
raced toward the house. A big blue coupe with
gleaming chromium work was gliding to a halt op-
posite the porch. As the terrier circled up on the

lawn for a closer view, a remembered voice thrilled

him. *'Look, Dad — there he is now! The darling!"

Bat quivered like a tuning-fork. He could see
the flash of her blond hair now, and catch her scent.

Not the familiar, horsy reek of riding-boots, this

morning, but a softer fragrance like a flower-garden.

Before her feet touched the ground he sprang for-
ward to greet her.

Ben Avery came down from the house and good-

mornings were said. Then they strolled in a group

toward the porch.
''Thought I'd come and settle for the broken

fence," Ramsdell Faulkner explained. "You farm-

ers have a lot to put up with during the hunting
season and it's only fair that damages should be

23
BAT
paid promptly. I see you've got it fixed."

''Oh, sure," Avery laughed. " 'Twasn't much of a

job. Bat and me found a couple o' rails right after

you left. The posts were solid enough. Too bad you
took the trouble to drive way up here just for that."
June Faulkner looked at her father, smiling.

"There was another reason, besides," she said. "Tell

him, Dad."
The gray-haired gentleman hemmed and hawed
for a moment. "Well," he began, "the fact is, my
daughter's sort of — fallen in love with your dog.

We wanted to ask —
if if you'd consider selling him."
"Sell Bat?" The farmer's bushy brows went up.
"Why no, I don't aim to. You see, I think quite a
bit of him myself. Now he's beginning to get some
sense, I find him mighty good company."
The girl took a quick step forward and laid her
hand impulsively on Avery's arm. "Oh, I under-
stand," she said in an earnest voice. "Of course you

feel that way about him. Anybody would."

Mr. Faulkner cleared his throat. "Yes, of course,"

he smiled. "But the point is. Bat was born to be a

show-dog. He's got the blood and the build to win
ribbons. Don't you think he deserves his chance?"

24
 BAT
The farmer looked whimsically from the terrier

to the girl and back again. "I reckon the pup would
be just as happy here as he would in the show-ring,"
he remarked. ''But, shucks! I got along without him
for sixty years. And if Miss June sets such store by
him, I don't want to stand in her way."
"You mean you'd really be willing to let him
go?" She was breathless.

"To you, I would. Not to anybody else. I can see

you and him'll get along."
"That's splendid!" said Mr. Faulkner. "Suppose
you name the price."

"Hmm," Ben Avery frowned. "I don't rightly

know what such a dog is worth. His mother's owner
was up here the other day and seemed kind of put
out that he'd given me Bat instead of one of the

other pups. He offered a hundred and fifty dollars

to buy him back, but I told him I wasn't interested.

Still — that may be too much. Sounded to me like

a crazy price for a dog. Last cow I bought only cost

half of that."
"Let's call it two hundred," Faulkner suggested.
"I wouldn't pay it if I didn't really think he was
worth that much."

25
BAT
He took a check-book and fountain pen from his
pocket and the farmer turned slowly toward the
door. "Won't you folks come in?" he said. 'Til go
get the pedigree and registration papers." He sighed
once as he climbed the stairs.

• • •

Bat had never ridden in an automobile before.

He sat on June Faulkner's lap in the big blue
coupe and drank in new sensations. He wasn't
afraid. There wasn't a shred of fear anywhere in
his make-up. At first, the swift motion had made
him a little giddy, but in a mile or two his eyes
accustomed themselves to watching the landscape
slide by. It was fun, he decided —almost as much
fun as racing over the country on his own legs.

He hadn't understood why the boss acted so

tired and sounded so gruff when he spoke to him

that last time. Or why the yellow-haired girl whose

arm was around him now had used her handker-

chief so often. Everything seemed to be all right

now. She was laughing and talking to him in a tone

that would have made him her slave for life if he

hadn't already surrendered to her charms.

After half an hour's riding they stopped at a

26
 BAT
traffic light and saw more cars shoot past than Bat
had known there were in the world. Then in a little

while they were rolling between stone gate-posts

and up a well-kept drive. The terrier pricked up his

ears. From somewhere behind the big gray-stone

house he could hear dogs barking. Not very big

dogs, from their voices, but there must be a lot
of them.
*'June," said Mr. Faulkner, as the car pulled to

a stop, 'Svhy don't you show Bat around the place

— let him get the hang of things so he'll feel at

home? Better take him on the leash till he's a bit

acquainted."
The girl snapped the leather thong to Bat's col-

lar and stepped out on the smooth gravel beside him.

"Come on, Snowboy of Battersby," she laughed.

"We've got a lot to look at before lunch."

The Faulkner estate covered only perhaps a

quarter of the acreage that Bat had roamed at Wil-

lowbridge Farm, but it was new and mysterious and
packed with thrills. Behind the big, rambling house,
the driveway curved to the six-car garage. Beyond
that again were the stables, then a beautifully kept

grove of trees, and on a southerly slope, below the

27
BAT
grove, they came to a row of kennels and wire-
enclosed exercise yards. The clamor that went up
when the bull terrier appeared was high-pitched and
deafening.
At least a score of small black dogs were yelping
their excitement from inside the wire netting. Bat
stared at them full of curiosity, for these were dif-
ferent from beagles, or foxhounds, or the old collie

that had lived on the next farm. They had long,

silky, jet-black hair and low-drooping ears. Their

eyes were big and brown and melting — quite unlike

his own sharp little black ones.

"Don't mind what they say about you," June
Faulkner smiled down at him. "Cockers are always
excited over something."

Bat held no resentment toward the spaniels. He

pulled closer to the fence, his tail waving peace-
fully. A short, wiry man in cap and riding-puttees
came out of the kennel building.

"This the new chap. Miss?" he grinned. "Hand-

some, all right. Here, lad, let's have a glimpse at
ye."

He squatted on his heels and held out a hand,

but Bat ignored it, looking up inquiringly at his new
28
 BAT
mistress.

"Fm surprised at you, McGill," she laughed.

"Don't you know that gentlemen like Bat prefer to

be introduced before they make friends?"

She came a few steps nearer the kennel-man and
the terrier trotted at her side. "Bat," she said, with

mock seriousness, "may I present Mr. McGill? A

very good person to know if you have worms, or
distemper, or want to win any ribbons."
Bat sniffed at the man's corduroy knee. A strong
doggy smell, and rather pleasant. A hard, sure hand
felt of his ribs and the muscles of his back and eyes,

gripped him under the jowl and tilted his head up.
Friendly eyes of Scotch blue looked keenly into his.

"Ye picked a good 'un. Miss," said the kennel-

man with respect. "Any show judge'd look at him
twice. He's bigger-boned than some of the old-coun-
try champs, but they're showin' them bigger these

days. Filled out, he'll weigh close to fifty-five

pounds. A verra good weight."

He rose and walked admiringly around the young
"Would you
bull terrier. be wantin' me to take care

of him now?" he asked.

The girl laughed. "I knew you'd like him," said

29
BAT
she. ''But Bat's going to be my dog. He'll live at
the house and I'll see that he's properly fed and
exercised. When it's time to ready him for the shows
I'll let you take over, McGill. Where's Candy? I

want them to get acquainted."

"Right ye are, Miss. I'll bring him out."

They waited while the kennel-man went inside

the long, low building. In a moment he returned

with a sleek little black cocker frisking at his heels.
At the sight of his mistress the spaniel made a de-
lighted dash forward, then skidded to a stop, all

four of his short, feathered legs braced. Bat w^aited

calmly while the surprised dog recovered his balance
and approached with more caution.
"Come on. Candy," June Faulkner urged. "Here's
a nice new playmate for you."

The two dogs sniffed at each other, politely on

guard. Bat's tail resumed its gentle waving. He liked

this small, comical, black fellow. Candy too ap-

peared satisfied. Tossing aside restraint, he bounded

eagerly upward to lick the girl's hand. Bat wasn't
jealous by nature, but he had a momentary pang
at this evidence of an old intimacy. He edged closer,

rubbing his shoulder softly against the skirt of his

30
 BAT
divinity.

Her hand came down to stroke his head. "It's all

right, honey," she laughed. "Candy's just one of the

family. You're my real boy-friend. Now come along,
both of you, and we'll take a nice walk around the
place!"
With Bat pulling on the leash and the spaniel
racing in dizzy circles, they went down across the

springy turf. There were enticing clumps of shrub-

bery and a few large trees, but most of the lower
end of the estate was in close-clipped grass. A brook
meandered across one corner of it, and along the
eastern boundary a low stone wall separated the

lawn from the highway.

They passed no groundhog burrows, but Bat was
blithely certain he would be able to find some later

on, when he could hunt in freedom. A northward

swing brought them up the hill to the gates again,

and so back to the house. There another new ex-

perience awaited the young terrier.

June Faulkner ushered her two charges into a

wide, paneled hall with a curving staircase opposite

the entrance door. Bat slipped at first on the gleam-

ing, dark wood of the floor. Then he found his feet

31
 —

BAT
sinking into a new kind of grass, warm and soft

the deep pile of an Oriental rug. There was a man

standing beside the door dressed in black clothes
and a shiny white shirt-front, but Bat ignored him.
The instinctive knowledge that belongs to animals
told the terrier that this man neither liked nor

understood dogs.
Candy was dancing on ahead, anxious to show
off the wonders of his domain. They went through
a big room where there were easy chairs and pic-
tures and a grand piano. Next came a smaller room,
its walls lined with books and a bright wood fire

burning cheerfully on the hearth. There was a pleas-

ant smell of pipe-tobacco and of Mr. Faulkner
about the big leather chairs, but they didn't stop
there. Passing through still another door, they en-
tered a place full of sun and wicker furniture.

"Bat, my boy," said his mistress, with a sweeping

!"
gesture, "this is going to be all yours
The white dog understood her better when she

unsnapped the leash from his collar. That meant

he could make himself at home. Walking sedately
he made a tour of the big sun-porch. He liked all of

it, but most of all the inviting gray blanket in a

32
 BAT
southerly corner. He sniffed its clean, woolly surface
and looked up at the girl with polite inquiry in his

eyes.

"That's right/' she nodded. "Your very own bed,

Bat."
He would have lain down then and there, not
because he was tired but for the sheer luxury of it.

However, Candy had other ideas. The cocker had

spied a gray squirrel outside on the lawn and burst
into a fury of barking. He bounced up and down,
his ridiculous stump of a tail jerking with every
jump. The excitement was contagious. When Bat's
gruff bass joined the spaniel's outcry, the squirrel

whisked out of sight behind the nearest tree.

After a few minutes the black-clad butler came to

announce that luncheon was served, and the dogs
were left to amuse themselves in the sun-porch.

Candy found a magazine on the floor and proceeded

to demolish it, in spite of Bat's disapproval. The

white dog had been taught to respect such things,
and Candy's vandalism struck him as being silly.

He stretched himself soberly on his blanket, staring

out at the leafless trees. With his lovely mistress out

of sight he felt a strange, unhappy emptiness in his

33
BAT
insides. For the first time he was homesick.
June Faulkner's return chased away his blues. He
sprang up joyfully at the sound of her step and was
waiting for her at the door. As the girl stooped to
pat him, she caught sight of the magazine and
frowned. Candy by this time was curled up in a
comfortable chair, the picture of innocence, and it

was only the fact that a shred of white paper still

clung to the corner of his mouth that saved Bat

from an undeserved rebuke. June laughed and
shoved the spaniel out of his cushioned rest.

"Come on, you black imp," she said. "Bat and I

are going for another run. See if you can behave

half as well as he does!"
The hated leash was put back on Bat's collar.

He took what comfort he could from thrusting his

nose into his lady's slim hand and followed her
wistfully through the big, richly furnished rooms.

Outside, in the haze of the autumn afternoon, he

drew a breath of the sharp air deep into his barrel

chest and pulled forward till the strap tightened.

There was a smell of burning leaves on the breeze,

keen and pungent. Candy led the way, scurrying
hither and thither, as free as a butterfly. Just to

34
 BAT
watch him made the young terrier's muscles cry for
action. He whimpered once or twice, but June
Faulkner shook her head. "Not yet, old dear," she

told him. "You've got to learn first that this place

is home, and that good dogs don't go beyond the

fences."

They had nearly reached the low wall down by

the road when the girl called suddenly to Candy.

The little fellow had run a long way ahead and

Bat didn't realize for a second what was happening.
Then he saw two big gray-brown dogs jump the

wall and bear down silently on the startled spaniel.

The next instant June was running and he was
running with her.

^- ^* 683944

35
CHAPTER III

GIVEN any warning of the attack, Candy

"
might have fled. But the two German shep-
herd dogs were almost on top of him before he
heard them. He whirled on his short legs, faced
his enemies and gasped out a valiant growl. Then
he was Mown, smothered under the weight of their
charge. For a second or two his long, curly hair

protected his throat from slashing teeth. And in

that brief moment Bat had jerked the leash from

the hand of his frightened mistress.

There was no thinking back of the terrier's action

36
 BAT
—no deliberate heroism. An instinct for battle that

had come to him from a thousand fighting ancestors

thrilled through his whipcord body. He dove into

the fray like a bolt of white lightning.

Smaller than either of the marauding shepherds,

he struck with the impact of a bursting shell. The
dog nearest to him was knocked clear of the melee,
rolling on the grass, breathless and scared. Bat re-

gained his feet in a flash and closed with the other.

Above him he could hear his opponent's menacing
snarl and the chop of savage fangs, but he crowded
in, driving with his shoulder, his long, strong jaws
hunting for the death-hold. Once he nearly had it.

Against his wrinkled muzzle was the hot, throbbing

throat, but it shifted a fraction of an inch out of

reach before he could clamp his teeth on it.

There was an angry shout, then, and a heavy

boot caught Bat in the ribs, driving the wind out
of him. When he spun to his feet, dizzy and pant-
ing, June Faulkner's fingers were gripping his collar.

A big man in tweed knickerbockers was standing in

front of the two police dogs, breathing hard and

glowering down at Bat. And Candy was barking
furiously from his place of safety under the arm

37
BAT
of his mistress.
"It's a confounded outrage!" the man puffed.

''Bringin' a killer like that into the neighborhood.

Bull terriers ought to be kept in cages!"

June's eyes blazed but her voice was icy-calm.
''May I remind you," she retorted, "that your dogs
are trespassing on our property? Also you saw for

yourself that they might have killed the spaniel if

Bat hadn't saved him."

"Huh! They wanted to play, that's all. It was
no fight till that dirty white feller got in it."
"No," the girl shot back. "It was no fight. It

was murder. Tell me —does this look as if they were

playing?"
She turned, so that Ae man could see the wide,
bleeding gash in Candy's side. "I think you had
better go now, Mr. Stengel, and take your dogs out-
side the wall, where they belong."
The man still blustered but he could not face the

cold flame of her anger. Uncertainly he moved to-

ward the wall and clajnbered over, the shepherds

slinking at his heels.

"I'll see my lawyer about this," he shouted as a

parting threat.

38
 BAT
June made no answer. She was kneeling on the
grass beside the terrier, her hands exploring his
quivering hide for hurts. ''Good old Bat!" she said,
with a choke in her voice. ''Good old brave Bat!"
Now that the crisis was over she was trembling and
on the point of tears.

"Miss June!" came a call from behind them. It

was McGill, the kennel-man.

"I saw it start," he panted, "and came as fast
as I could. Are they all right*? Is the white dog
cut up?"
"Not he!" she smiled. "But poor Candy — oh,

McGill, I'm so glad to see you! Look, is this

serious?"

She pointed to the spaniel's wound and the Scot

bent down to examine it. "It's not so bad," he an-
nounced finally. "We may have to take a stitch or

two, but it'll heal over and his coat'U cover it."

He took the spaniel gently in his arms and they

set out for the house. McGill shook his head and
grinned as he watched Bat trotting soberly along on
the leash. "I'm fair astonished," he said, "that a

pup his age could stand off the two o' them an'

come out without a scratch. You can't beat the

39
BAT
pit-dogs for courage, but a cut in that white skin o'

his would leave a bad scar. So no more fightin' for

you, Bat, me lad I''

Ramsdell Faulkner heard about the trouble that

evening. He was sitting before his fire in the library

when June came in to talk things over. Bat, lying

quietly in the sun-porch, heard his name spoken

and went to the closed French doors where he stood
listening. "If there's a lawsuit," the girl was saying,
"I don't suppose McGill's testimony would be
considered. There just weren't any unbiased wit-

nesses."

''Fiddlesticks !" her father snorted. "I know Sten-

gel and he'll back down as soon as he thinks it over.

In any court of law the first question would be

where the fight took place, and the second, which
side was the aggressor. He can't possibly get beyond
the fact that his dogs came on our property and at-

tacked Candy. As for Bat, he was only doing his

duty. I'm as proud of him as you are."

At the sound of his name. Bat uttered a small

whine and scratched gently at the door. June
laughed as she ran to let him in. "Come here and

be spoiled, you handsome thing!" she said. And for

40
 BAT
the next ten minutes the bull terrier had all the

petting any puppy could wish.

It was two weeks before Bat felt completely at

home in his new surroundings. Except for a few
forbidden places, he had the run of the big house.
June Faulkner often took him upstairs to her own
sunny suite in the south wing, and he was a wel-
come visitor in the drawing-room and dining-room
when there were guests. Most of the servants liked

him, though Forbes, the butler, still maintained his

reserve. Not until several days after his arrival was
the terrier introduced to June's mother.

Mrs. Faulkner was a frail-looking little lady, a

partial invalid, who spent most of her time in her

own rooms. She looked worried when Bat was
brought in. ''Isn't he pretty large for a house dog?"
she asked, putting out a timid hand to touch his

back. "No, of course, it's not his size so much, but

is he safe*? He looks terribly efficient and business-
like."

"Yes," June smiled. "He's all of that. Mother.

But he's a gentleman —much more dependable in

his way than those scatter-brained cockers. As a mat-

41
BAT
ter of fact we're safer with him in the house than
we would be with a couple of policemen around
under foot."
In the evenings and over week-ends, when Mr.
Faulkner was at home, Bat saw a good deal of the
master of the house. They liked and respected each
other. But it was to June that the dog had given
his undying loyalty. She took him for long runs
every day. Even when the first snowfall came, after
Thanksgiving, she donned warm ski clothes and they
spent hilarious hours on the cold white slope beyond
the grove.

Candy did not join them in their games. He was

still at the kennels, recovering from his injury. Mc-
Gill and the veterinary surgeon from Philadelphia
had treated the bite and carefully sewed the torn
skin back in place. Until the wound healed, the

spaniel was allowed only such exercise as he could

get in his wire run.

Several times Bat and his mistress went there to

visit him and to talk to McGill. The conversation,

not only at the kennels but at the house, was more

and more concerned with the winter shows. Bat had
no idea what McGill was talking about when he

42
 «^ v\N^^\>

.vxW^N

SPENT HILARIOUS HOURS ON THE COLD WHITE SLOPE

 BAT
mentioned Baltimore, and the Westminster, but he
knew the Scotchman was watching him with ap-
proval.

"It's Candy really bothers me. Miss," the kennel-

man said. "We've all thought him the likeliest pup

we've ever sent up, but it's a question if we can get
him in top shape before February."

"What about Bat?" the girl asked. "Do you want

to start working on him?"
"There's not much I can do for him, Miss. A bath
and a bit o' chalk to his coat, an' the white 'un

could walk in the ring this verra morning."

After that compliment June took the terrier into
the trophy-room where a score of ribbons of various

colors and half a dozen silver cups and platters were

ranged in a tall glass case.

"I want you to look at these things carefully,

my angel," she told him solemnly. "They don't

mean much to you at the moment, but there'll come
a day! Would you believe it? It was those funny
little black dogs that brought all these home Look
!

at this one —blue ribbon for best of breed at the

Westminster Kennel Club Show. That was won by
Candy's illustrious grandpa. Champion Faraway

45
 —

BAT
Licorice Drop. Are you going to let undersized
feather dusters with silly names like that beat you
in this show business? I think not, Mister!''

Bat was somewhat mystified by these remarks,

but he did his best to look intelligent. When she
finished he chased the sternness from her face by
jumping up and giving her fingers an apologetic
lick.

For a week after that his mistress spent most of

her time studying books about bull terriers and peri-
odicals of the English and American kennel clubs.

She would look up from a picture of old Champion

Tarquin or Gully the Great and half close her
eyes as she stared at Bat. Or she would roll old
stud-book names on her tongue, relishing their racy
British sound. "Bloomsbury Rex —Streatham Mon-
arch —Kitty Lillington —Hampstead Hell Fire
Lord Gladiator. Hear that, Snowboy of Battersby?

Lord Gladiator, your great-great-great-great-gran-

daddy. There was a dog! And you look very much
like him."
When she pointed to a photograph reproduced

on one of the pages, Bat sniffed politely at the book.

To him the portrait of his famous ancestor was just

46
 BAT
a shiny black and white spot on a sheet of paper,
smelling faintly of printer's ink. He knew she ex-

pected something more of him, so he wagged his

tail heartily and gave voice to a brief, questioning

bark. The girl tossed the book away and hugged

him.
"You priceless idiot!" she laughed. "Let's go for
a run!"

After a week of exercise on the leash. Bat was

now allowed his freedom. They had an understand-
ing about it, of course. He was to stay inside the

boundaries of the Faulkner property and within the

sound of his mistress' voice. With those restrictions

he could race and tear as hard as he liked. Usually

his excursions had no object but the thrill of stretch-
ing his muscles. There were occasions though, when
he chased squirrels back to their trees, and one
memorable day he came on a little brown rabbit

nosing for tidbits at the back of the vegetable gar-

den. That was a thrill. The cottontail put out for

the lower wall, two hundred yards away, and Bat

loosed every ounce of speed in his spring-steel body.

He started twenty feet behind and reduced the dis-

tance to ten before his quarry reached the wall.

AT
BAT
June, watching his headlong rush, had a moment of
doubt. If he went over in the heat of the chase she
could hardly blame him. But he stopped. Somehow,
skidding and slithering in the wet leaves, he brought
up a yard short of the barrier. He looked disconso-
lately after the fleeing bunny, then turned and came
grinning back to her.
The girl stroked his head with unqualified ap-
proval. "Snowboy," she told him feelingly, ''you're

a very good dog." And that night she laid the leash
away in a drawer and turned the key on it.

Several times, during those brisk days of mid-

December, Mr. Faulkner and his daughter put on
their riding clothes and went away in the car, while

a groom from the stables trotted their horses over

to the hunt. Bat watched their departure sadly on
these occasions for he knew his mistress would be
gone most of the day. The sight and smell of her
jodhpurs brought back a vague nostalgic memory
which he couldn't quite place. It was connected with
open fields and rail fences and the wild music of
running hounds.
On other days June went shopping in the city

and was gone for hours. On her return, Forbes would

48
 BAT
come in from the limousine with his arms full of

packages, and there would be mysterious rustlings of

tissue paper in her room in the evening. Bat felt an
atmosphere of gay excitement mounting all through
the house.

It came to a climax one snowy dusk, when the

gardener tramped in with a balsam fir tree and
armfuls of holly and trailing evergreen. Two of the
maids invaded the terrier's private domain in the

sun-porch and the tree was set up there to an accom-

paniment of giggles and exclamations. Next, long
strings of bright-colored lights made their appear-

ance. The white dog was puzzled and uneasy. In-

stead of the darkness and peace he was accustomed
to, the place was suddenly aglare with red and green
bulbs, tinsel and the shiny leaves of holly.

After dinner Miss June and the family came, fol-

lowed by the butler, the cook, the maids and grooms,
the gardener and the kennel-man, and carols were

sung for half an hour. Then presents were distrib-

uted to all the servants. At last, when goodnights

and holiday greetings had been spoken, the dog and
the girl were left alone in the glow of the Christmas
tree. She made room for him on the wicker couch

49
BAT
and patted the cushion invitingly.

"Come on, Bat," she smiled. "I've saved my last

Christmas gift for you."

He sprang up beside her and laid his head in
her lap, wrinkling his forehead to look up into her
face. She fondled his pink ears for a moment, then
picked up a daintily be-ribboned package which she
proceeded to open.
"Just look at this, my handsome blond friend,"
she said. From the crisp folds of tissue paper in

the box she drew the most beautiful collar Bat had
ever seen. It was of fine black leather, studded with
silver that glinted in the light. "And your name's
on it," she explained, pointing to the engraved let-

ters. "See? B-A-T, Bat. And my name and address,

too, just in case you should get lost, which of course

you won't."
Hampered by his frantic efforts to lick her cheek,

she unbuckled the old collar and put the new one
in its place. Then she kissed him on the top of his

cold black nose and stood up, fending off his caresses.
"Merry Christmas," she laughed, "and a happy,
happy New Year!"

50
 CHAPTER IV

THE first two weeks in January, Bat saw more

of McGill than of anyone else in the house-
hold. The kennel-man took over his training and
readying for the Baltimore Show. First of all the

young terrier was taken from his quarters at the

house and assigned a small, clean compartment in

the kennel building.

''Ye're not going to like this for a day or two,"

McGill told him. "But ye've got to get used to a

lot of other dogs or the show would drive ye crazy."

Bat paced up and down behind the wire of his

51
BAT
cell all morning, and finally lay down dolefully to
sulk in a corner. The cockers had gotten over their

resentment at having him for a neighbor, and de-

cided to ignore him after an hour or two of loud,
excited barking.
Candy, in the next box, did his best to show the
white dog that he was glad to see him. But not even
the eager friendliness of his old playfellow could
take away Bat's longing for his mistress.

Outside each kennel there was a long, enclosed

run, and when the sun warmed the south slope, all

the spaniels went out to frolic in the open air. Bat

tried it, too, but he found little room to stretch his

muscles in the narrow wire alleyway. The winter

wind chilled him through the short hairs of his coat

and he returned unhappily to the shelter of the

building.

At one-thirty McGill came in and gave him a

cheerful greeting. "Time ye got some exercise, me
lad," he remarked, as he snapped the lead to Bat's

collar. They walked briskly down to the lower end

of the grounds, climbed the wall and followed a
road that led back into open country. There the
Scotchman loosed him and let him race across the

52
 BAT
fields. An hour or two of this and the terrier was
glad to trot comfortably homeward.
Daily, in sunshine, rain or snow, McGill gave his
charge a good workout. As soon as they returned to
the kennel he rubbed the bull terrier down, massag-

ing his white hide with a specially-made rough glove

that made his skin tingle pleasantly.

His food also was carefully supervised. The

trainer mixed Bat's meal and meat-broth separately
from the rations served the cockers. Three times a
week he added a spoonful of cod-liver oil, and once
a week there was boiled fish to make the dog's coat

glossy. He was still lean and lithe with the clean

lines of puppyhood, but his muscles had grown
closer-knit, more solid. Every time McGill looked
at him he smiled and whistled softly to himself.

There came a morning when the station-wagon

was backed up to the kennels before daylight. Under
McGill's supervision the grooms carried in half a
dozen wooden boxes, with hinged wire fronts. Into

them, one by one, they put five of the spaniels.

Then Bat's own door was opened.
"Look here, my lad," said the kennel-man. 'Tve
bought ye a brand new jacket." Proudly he held up

53
BAT
a strapped blanket of gay plaid. ''It goes on ye
like this," he continued, fastening the buckle at the
throat, "an' then back over the tail, an' under the
belly with a bit of a strap. Now into the box with
ye."
Bat had just room to lie down in the little trav-

eling cage. He was uneasy because he could not

understand what they were doing with him. The
boxes, carefully placed in the station-wagon, were

wrapped in blankets against the early cold. There

was little chance to watch the scenery as they rolled
along the smooth roads, but after a while the wintry
daylight came in through the bars. Hours went by
and Bat dozed fitfully. At last the car moved more
slowly. There were traffic stops and the clang of

trolley cars. They pulled up in a line of other

vehicles, unloading dogs by the score —dogs by the

^
hundred.
Inside the huge armory Bat and the cockers parted

company. McGill took him out of the box and

led him on the leash to a queer-looking row of
wooden bins, raised from the floor. On the way they

passed hundreds of other bins, all alike, and in

them Bat saw more dogs, of more sizes, shapes and

54
 BAT
colors, than he had ever thought existed.
"Let's see/' said McGill. "This ought to be the

bull terriers. Ah — that's it —number five-eighty-two.

Up ye go, lad."
In another moment the chain had been snapped
into a ring at the back of the bench, a small pan of
water was set beside the dog, and McGill was gone.
Bat followed him with worried eyes till he turned
the corner at the end of the row. Stretching as far

as he could, his head came barely to the edge of the

partition. From six inches away he heard a threat-

ening growl and saw a black-tipped white nose pro-

truding past the plywood barrier. The other dog.

Bat found, smelled remarkably like himself. His

growl gradually subsided and he lay down, grum-
bling.

The noise in the big building was nerve-shattering.

Barks, yelps and growls went echoing back and forth

from wall to wall. More dogs were coming in all the

time, and Bat, who had never seen another bull

terrier within his memory, was amazed to watch a
dozen sleek replicas of himself led to other benches
in the row.

After a long time the Scotchman returned. When

55
JtiAT

he came in sight Bat nearly broke the chain in the

exuberance of his greeting. McGill had a dog-biscuit
in his pocket and the pup chewed on it while his coat
was brushed down with the hound-glove. Then the
kennel-man took him out on the tanbark to let him
stretch his legs.

Up and down the center of the immense floor

folding chairs were being placed along the sides of

the judging rings which had already been roped off.

McGill stopped by an enclosure where there was a

big lettered sign overhead. "Ring Number Eight,"
he read. "Bull Terriers —Ten a.m."
"Ye'll know this place better before the day's

done," the Scotchman told his charge. "A verra good

thing it is that the white dogs are on in the mornin'.

rU be busy with the cockers, come afternoon."

When they returned to the benches the alley was
crowded with owners and admirers, trainers and
dogs. A pair of bitches from rival kennels were led

past on the leash, and suddenly flew at each other's

throats. Only frantic work by their handlers pre-

vented bloodshed. By the time McGill got Bat

safely on the bench, twenty-five bull terriers were

shouting their nervous challenges at a world that

56
 BAT
seemed full of tenseness and excitement.
An attendant in a white coat elbowed his way
through the press of people. "Ten minutes," he an-
nounced, cupping his hands to make his voice heard.
'Tuppy Class —Dogs—have your entries ready out-

side Ring Eight."

McGill rubbed a smooth block of chalk lightly

over Bat's coat. With a towel he wiped away the

surplus and looked critically at his work. "Ye'U do,

boy," he said. *T might ha' put the clippers on,

around the tail there, but ye're no so bad."
He sat down beside the quivering dog and soothed
him with calm hands. "All right," he remarked after
a while. "Time to go now." He slipped the light

buckskin show-lead over Bat's head and held it short

so that he could control his eager movements. Wait-

ing at the ropes outside the ring were two other
young bull terriers with their handlers. McGill
nodded to one of the men but did not smile. From
now on it was war.
The steward bustled over, checked the dogs' names
on his entry list and put a numbered sleeve-band
around the left arm of each handler. Bat sniffed in-

quiringly at the yellow cardboard. Then he was trot-

57
BAT
ting forward at the Scotchman's side, into the ring.

Nearly all the seats had been filled and standing

spectators made a shifting wall behind them. Bat

looked around nervously at the strange faces.

''Heads up, lad — ye' re showin' now," whispered
McGill, and a gentle tug at the leash brought the
pup's black nose to the front again. The three young-

sters were lined up on one side of the ring, Bat at

the left. The familiar, hard, sure hands stroked him

lightly and unceasingly; placed his forefeet; picked

up his rear so that the hind legs stood well back.

He felt his tail lifted gently and smoothed back in

a horizontal spike. And all the time the soft Scotch

brogue went on in a half -audible whisper.
The urgency of McGill's hopes passed through
his hands into the white dog's consciousness. Bat
tensed himself, alert, ears up and lovely neck arched.
In front of him now was a well-dressed man with a
rosette of ribbon in his lapel. He crouched before
one dog after another, looking at each intently. His
eyes were half closed in concentration, and his sen-
sitive, artist's mouth was drawn to a thin line.

In a moment the judge stepped quickly to the end

of the row and compared the dogs from the side. He

58
 BAT
walked behind them, then came close, to examine
each one in detail. It was Bat's turn now. A cool

hand gripped his jaw, pushed up his lips, ran back

over his rippling shoulder muscles. He felt his tail

pulled down to be measured against the hock. Then

the hand pressed on his hindquarters, testing their

resiliency, and the judge passed on.

One of the pups was being led up and down the

ring now. He moved at a sleepy jog in spite of jerks

and finger-snappings from his handler. In a moment

he came back to his place in line and the second
terrier was motioned out. Plenty of life in this one.

He pulled so hard on the leash that his fore-elbows

bowed out and his chest nearly scraped the ground.

McGill waited for the signal and took a quick step

forward with a little twitch at the lead. Bat moved
into a smooth, springy trot, ears up, tail straight,

body taut and vibrant as a banjo string.

The judge stroked his chin and seemed to look

past the three pups when they stood in line once
more. Without haste he turned to the table and
picked up three ribbons. Bat knew that McGill was
holding his breath. Suddenly there was a release of
sound —a patter of applause that ran around the

59
BAT
ring. The judge had put the blue winner's ribbon in
the Scotchman's hand.

Outside the enclosure Bat was hustled back to-

ward the benches. A few people turned to look at

him, and one or two smiled and offered McGill con-

gratulations. As they neared the bull terrier alley

there was a flurn^ in the crowd and a girl in a short

fur jacket burst through, her face flushed with eager-

ness. It was June Faulkner. She flung herself on her
knees in the tanbark, careless of her tweed skirt, and
gathered the white terrier in her arms.
"You darling I" she panted. "And I wasn't here to
see you win I"
She looked up at McGill with a rueful smile. "We
got off late," she explained. "You know Dad's hard
to hurr^\ How did it go*?"

The Scot nodded his satisfaction. "I told ye he'd

do, Miss," he grinned. "He was miles ahead o' the
other two. And show ? Why, he might ha' been bom
!"
in the ring

June scrambled to her feet. "You'll be terribly

busy with the cockers when the winners' class comes

up," she told McGill. "Don't you think I could
handle him*? I've been in the ring before, you know."

60
 —

BAT
"Well/' the kennel-man hesitated, "there's tricks

in this game, Miss. But I believe he'd show for ye

and it would be a help."

"Good!" the girl cried. "I'll start getting him
ready right now. Just point out where the bench is."

For three quarters of an hour Bat was in heaven.

His mistress sat beside him, talking in matter-of-fact

tones, keeping his mind off the nervous hullabaloo

outside. With deft hands she worked over his coat.
A pair of tiny manicure scissors out of her handbag
served to clip a few ragged hairs from around his
ears and the base of his tail. She chalked him till he
sneezed and then hugged him, reckless of the white
smears on her clothes. With her own handkerchief
she polished the ebony tip of his nose.

One by one the other classes were called to the

ring and returned. Novice Dogs. American-Bred

Dogs. Limit, Dogs under 35 pounds. Open, Dogs
over 35 pounds. McGill came past the bench once,
carrying a pail of water to his spaniels. "It's goin'
to be tough. Miss," he told the girl. "There's a dog
called 'Bonfire's John o' Gaunt' —number five-

seventy — that just took first in the American-breds.

They say he's headed for top o' the breed, an' he's

61
BAT
got a handler that'll bear watchin'. Still — ye've got
some thin' to show, yerself Good luck I"
.

It was eleven o'clock when the first call came for

the winners' class. June got up and gave her skirt a

casual dusting. "Let's take a walk, Snowboy," she

said.

Bat limbered his legs in a jaunt to the other end

of the armory and back. He could sense a growing
excitement in his mistress, and it was no surprise to

him when she led him into the same ring where he
had been before. This time there was a difference

in the atmosphere. The crowd, banked around the

ropes, was no longer casual in its interest. Four other

dogs, all older than Bat, were ranged like still, white
statues along one side.

The steward was a trifle impatient. ''Right here

on the end. Miss," he told the girl. "Don't keep the

judge waiting, please."
"Sorry," she smiled in some confusion. "Here,
Bat, honey — let's look our best, now." Hurriedly she
wheeled him into position and arranged his stance.

Her hands were fluttery. They lacked the sure pur-

pose of McGill's, but Bat remembered how the Scot

had always placed him in training. Unconsciously he

62
 BAT
took the same alert pose as before.
Next to them was a man in a loud checked coat,

handling a stockily built dog with a head that looked

huge below the erect spikes of his cropped ears.

"That's the one," breathed June Faulkner.

''That's the one to watch, Bat —but don't you watch

him!"
An enticing smell had pulled Bat's nose around
toward his neighbor. The man in the checked jacket

was passing his left hand slowly above his dog's

head, and with each gesture a scent of liver came

wafting by on the air.

"Oh, dear!" the girl whispered. "You looked so

lovely before. Now come back here and face the

front!"
Obediently Bat tried to keep his mind on the busi-
ness in hand. He was standing like an angel when
the judge passed on his second slow tour. It was
taking longer this time. The competition was close.

Bat's head was the subject of the judge's closest

inspection. He viewed it through half-shut eyes,

studying its lines from above and from both sides,

comparing it with some sharply defined pattern in

the back of his mind. June Faulkner hardly breathed

\ 63

I
BAT
during the ordeal. It was only when the man passed
on to the next dog that she heaved a sigh of relief

and resumed her stroking of Bat's sleek side. ''1 think

he likes you," she whispered in the puppy's ear.

All five dogs were shown in action, then lined up

again. The judge motioned two of them out of the
ranks and beckoned to the handlers who remained.
The man in the loud coat stepped forward with

assurance, placing his crop-eared dog on the low

platform in the center of the ring and moving him
well over to the right. June came next, her hands
trembling on the leash. And on Bat's left flank stood

the third dog —a big, rangy terrier with a handsome

downface and one ear that had a tendency to droop.

For several trying moments the judge looked them

over reflectively. Once more he felt of their heads
and bodies, checked on the angle and length of their

tails. He flicked out a handkerchief and touched it

to the third dog's nose. It showed a smear of black

and he waved the handler off the platform.

'Tut this dog ap," he said to June in a voice with-

out emotion.
The man in checks looked outraged, but he moved
his terrier .around to Bat's left while a murmur of

64

\
i
 BAT
excited whispering swept the crowd. The judge
frowned at the spectators and took his eyes off the

dogs for a moment.

Bat felt something electric in the air. The crop-

eared terrier had sidled close and was growling

under his breath. In a flash Bat whirled to face him,
instinctively on guard, and before June could pull
him back to his proper position the judge was star-

ing at them.
The face of the older dog's handler was a picture
of smug innocence, while June's cheeks reddened

with confusion. Silently she bent above her puppy,

patting his wide chest, straightening his tail. Before
she dared to lift her smarting eyes again there was a
quick burst of hand-clapping. She looked up to see
the judge standing in front of her, holding out a

ribbon. "Oh !" she gasped. "It's blue! Oh, thank you
so much !" And in another instant she was down in
the tanbark hugging Bat to her breast.

65
CHAPTER V

THAT night the young bull terrier rode home

in the limousine with June and her father. It

had been a good day for the Faulkner dogs. The

cockers had walked off with a first in the novice class

and two reserves in the open competition. Bat's

record was even more impressive. He had beaten the
winner among the bitches and was only eliminated
for best of breed by a special entry —an imported
champion with a name that was famous on three
continents.
'1 believe it was close at that," Mr. Faulkner
chuckled, as the big car purred up the hills above

66
 BAT
Conowingo. ''That judge is as fine a bull-terrier man
as there is in the country. Do you know what he
told me? He says Bat's the best-looking youngster

he's seen come up in five years."

"Of course he is/' June replied. "Didn't you know

it, Dad? But oh — to think how close I came to los-

ing for him! I'll never handle him again. I don't

know enough."
Her father laughed at her. "McGill couldn't have
done better, himself. And with some judges, you
know, it doesn't hurt to have a pretty girl holding

the leash. Anyhow, the pup's got his first three

points. I checked with the chief steward and made

sure of that. Give him half a dozen more shows and
he'll be in I Champion Snowboy of Battersby. How
do you like the sound of that, eh. Bat?"
The white dog's tail moved amiably and he cocked
one sleepy eye up at the master. With his head and
forepaws in June's lap he was too comfortable to
be more demonstrative.
They rolled up the drive in Devon long after

dark. Instead of being taken to the kennels Bat

found himself in his old quarters on the sun-porch.
"You've earned a break in training," June told him

67
 —

BAT
as she bade him goodnight. "Fm going to persuade
old Simon Legree McGill to let you live in here for
a while."
The Scot was at the house by breakfast-time next
morning anxiously inquiring for his favorite. He
shook his head when the girl proposed her plan. "Ye
see, Miss, we've got a green dog here," he objected.
''At the Westminster he'll be up against a lot o'

verra good terriers — the best in the country, maybe.

There's no too much time to get him ready. An' ye

want him to show his best, o' course?"

"Of course," she laughed. "But with you han-

dling him —and you are to handle him after this

how can he lose"? Please, McGill, let him stay just

this one week. Then you can have him right up to

show time. I promise I won't spoil him or feed him
candy, and I'll give him a run every day."
"Well," he agreed dourly, "for one week, then.
Only — ^ye'll bring him past the kennels once in a

while?"
"I will, McGill," she smiled. "But if you miss
him a little you'll know how I feel when you keep
him down there."

68
 BAT
If the big white terrier had not already formed a
good deal of character he would probably have been
hopelessly spoiled in the next few days. He had the
run of the house. June and her father showed him
off to admiring guests. The servants made much of
him, and the cook saved choice bits of meat to smug-
gle to him on the sly. Even Forbes, the butler, who
was an incorrigible snob, took notice of the dog's

increased importance and tried to be ingratiating.

The Faulkners entertained frequently. Bat soon

grew accustomed to seeing the big bright rooms filled

with strangers in evening dress. The men treated

him with an easy friendliness that recognized his

dignity and good manners. Some of the women were

more difficult. When they began to gush over him
and talk baby-talk, he usually contrived to slip away
to some retreat in another part of the house.

One evening toward the end of his week of grace,

there was an unusual stir of preparation. One after

another, half a dozen big cars drove up to the door

and laughing couples entered the hall. Bat stalked

soberly among the long black legs and sweeping
skirts. They smelled all right, these people. They
came from the hunting set and they were at home
69
BAT
with dogs and horses. The cocktail chatter went back
and forth over Bat's head, calm and pleasant. He
liked it, because he knew it made his mistress happy
to see her guests enjoying themselves.

He helped usher them all in to dinner, marching

ahead with the stately manners of a major-domo.
And when once they were seated he went quietly to
a corner behind the pantry door, where he could
keep out of the servants' way and still catch the de-
lightful aromas that came through from the kitchen.
The warmth and the constant, soothing sound of

talk and laughter, of tinkling glass and silver, made

him drowse off once or twice. But after half an hour
he found himself suddenly wide awake. His ears,

many times keener than those of any human, had

caught a different sound, very faint. He rose quickly

and trotted out of the room, unnoticed by the diners.

In the hall he listened again. This time it was

more distinct — a stealthy footfall somewhere above

in the big, quiet house. Bat was not alarmed. He

just wanted to know more about it. He went up the
broad stairway, his toes making a dry rustling on
the polished wood.

The noise had ceased, but now, as he moved si-

70
 BAT
lently along the thick carpet of the upper hall, the

terrier's nose telegraphed another signal to his alert

brain. The barest suggestion of a scent lay there,

along the lower edge of one of the closed doors. He

went closer, sniffing at the doorsill. It was a man-
scent, but strange to him. Not one of the guests. He
knew each of their clean, bath-soap and shoe-polish
odors by heart. This was a dirtier smell, and there
was fear in it. On the farther side of the door he

heard a sound of half-stifled breathing, and then the

quick, sharp click of the key turning in the lock.

The whisper of a growl in Bat's throat changed

to a ringing bark. He jumped at the door furiously,

as if he would break it down, and the clangor of

his warning went crashing through the house.
Hurried footsteps sounded below. Forbes spoke
in a tone of distress. ''Stop it!" he said, trying not

to shout. "Stop that noise. Bat!"

In the next moment June's voice came clearly up
the stairs. "There's something wrong up there,
Forbes," she urged the butler. "Go up at once,

please, and see what he's barking at."

Before Forbes had reached the turn at the land-

ing. Bat heard hasty movements inside the locked

71
BAT
room. The intruder was clambering over the window-
ledge. Like a white streak, the terrier raced to the

stairs and down, passing the astonished butler on the

way. Still barking breathlessly, he rushed to the
front door, then to his mistress, then back to the

door again.
June Faulkner's lovely face wore a frown of puz-
zlement. "Yes," she told him, "I'll let you out —but
what was the trouble? Wait ! I've got it — the dinner-

burglar I Father!"
At her cry the men came hurrying from the
dining-room followed by two or three frightened-
looking lady guests.
"Fetch my gun, Forbes!" Ramsdell Faulkner
ordered. "Have someone call the police." He
turned the knob of the door, and before it was
half open Bat slipped past, leaping out into the
winter dark.
At top speed the dog headed for the side of the

house where he had heard the man moving. The up-

stairs window stood open but there was no sign of
an intruder, above or below. Bat halted, quivering,
his nose to the snowy ground. The scent was there,

strong and fresh. He started to follow it. Then his

72
 BAT
sharp ears caught the crackle of twigs in a rhodo-
dendron thicket, off to the left in the direction of

the pike, and he was away like a flash.

The man had broken through the bushes and was

running on open ground again, trying to reach the
car that he had left parked just beyond the low wall.
He did not hear the white thunderbolt overtaking
him. Bat was not barking now. He was saving his

breath for what he had to do.

He came up with his quarry a bare stride from
the wall and leaped high, striking between the
shoulders. The shock of that fifty-pound avalanche,
wholly unexpected, knocked the fleeing burglar for-
ward on his hands and knees, and before he knew
what had hit him the dog was at his throat. Only
the thickly folded woolen muffler wrapped about his

neck saved him then from the tearing grip of the

terrier's mighty jaws.
The man fought and struggled, trying to reach the

pistol in his side pocket, but Bat caught his forearm

in his teeth, crunching so hard that he brought a
scream of agony.
While he held him there, help came from two
directions. Down the snowy lawn from the house

73
BAT
streamed the dinner party — the master, with his
shotgun, running in the lead. And almost at the same
moment a red police car roared up the pike and
slithered to a stop by the wall.

Ramsdell Faulkner pulled the terrier off his trem-

bling victim and the two officers disarmed the thief.
Then they led him over the wall into the circle of
light cast by a street lamp.
"It's him all right," announced one of the police-

men. "It's the dinner-burglar. We've had his de-

scription for a month but he's been too slick for us.

Only for that dog o' yours he might ha' got away
this time. Better take him with us to the house till

we can check up on your valuables."

They loaded the handcuffed burglar in the car and

drove around through the front gate, while the
guests went back the way they had come. Ramsdell
Faulkner had little to say to his dog, but his hand
fell appreciatively on Bat's head as they walked

toward the house.

A search of the upstairs rooms disclosed the fact

that no jewelry, furs or other valuables were miss-

ing. The man had made his entrance by climbing a

rainspout, and Bat had interrupted him before he

74
 BAT
had time to collect more than a handful of loot.

When the police had departed with their prisoner,

the excited company went back to the dinner table.

Bat found himself suddenly the center of their at-

tention. The thrilling interlude to the meal had

given a new zest to their conversation, and between
courses the terrier was passed from chair to chair,

the subject of so much petting and praise that he

was bewildered.
Late that evening, when the guests had gone and
Mrs. Faulkner had been helped up the stairs to her
room, June and her father sat together before a log
fire in the library. Bat's head lay across the girl's

knee and his eyes were blissfully closed as she fon-

dled his pink ears.
"Well, Dad," she said, "satisfied with your bar-
gain now?"
He chuckled between puffs at his pipe. "Yes," he
answered. "I'm beginning to think we bought our-

selves quite a dog, what with one thing and an-

other."
• • •

The change from Bat's week of easy-going free-

dom to the severe routine of the kennels was a sharp

75
BAT
break. Still, he was used to the company of the
cockers now and he had learned to trust McGill. The
experience was far less painful than it had been
when he first went into training.

The kennel-man roped off a ring in a sunny spot

south of the building, and put a regulation show
platform in the middle of it. Here, day after day,
he put the young terrier through the ritual of show-
ing before an imaginary judge. Bat remembered
Baltimore and understood that this was some sort
of interesting if patience-testing game. He learned
to stand with hind legs back, forefeet planted
straight and square, head up and tail stiff as a ram-
rod. He learned to emphasize that proud, free-
swinging trot of his, arching his powerful neck and
keeping the short lead tight without too much
pull. And when he was placed on the platform
he learned to hold himself like a block of white
marble, even when McGill took off the lead and
walked away.
Nearly every fair day he was rewarded by a visit

from his golden-haired owner. She would stand at

the ringside, behind him or on his flank, and it was
part of the game, Bat discovered, that he should not

76
 BAT
turn his head to look at her until McGill gave per-
mission. Then, when the lesson was ended and the
buckskin loop slipped off his neck, he would make a
running jump to throw himself into her arms.
"I don't see how you can make him any better,"

she told the stern- faced Scot. "He's so perfect now

that it takes my breath away just to watch him.
Here, you rascal —you jump !''
too high ! Now I'll have
to powder my nose again
"He's in good shape," McGill nodded. "I might
say verra good. But have ye seen the entry-list for
the New York Show^ I'm tellin' ye the best terriers
this side o' the water will be there. It's a bit o' luck
Bat'U still be in the puppy class —by three days. He
might get by in the first round."

"If I thought you meant that," she said, "I'd be

furious. But I know you don't, really. You're just

as sure as I am that he'll stand the judges on their
ears. Come on, Snowboy — I'll give you your run
today!"
Two days later Bat was given a bath and a half-
hour rubdown that left his coat like new-fallen
snow. When he saw the traveling-boxes being
stacked in the corridor he knew he was going to

77
BAT
another show. This time, however, there was no
early morning start. Late in the afternoon his
blanket was put on, and accompanied by four or five

of the cockers he and his box were loaded into the

station-wagon. At Paoli Station, McGill and the
chauffeur put them aboard the baggage-car of a
New York-bound train.

If the kennel-man had not ridden with them. Bat

would have been a very unhappy dog, for he found
train-riding a new and disturbing experience. The
muffled roar, the clicking of the rails, the jolts of

stopping and starting, the hoot of freight engines

and the breath-taking rush of passing trains kept his

nerves on edge. McGill sat among the boxes in the

dimly lit car and talked to the dogs. Occasionally

he would open the door of Bat's cage and give him

a soothing pat. At the end of two hours they were
taken off the train into the chill gloom of the laby-
rinth under the Pennsylvania Station.

An elevator carried them to the upper level and

in a few moments McGill had put them aboard a
truck. The glare and bellow of Manhattan's evening
traffic upset Bat far less than the train. He was used
to automobiles, and he rather enjoyed this ride. At

78
 BAT
the end of it he began to hear the far-away barking
of other dogs —untold myriads of dogs. The cockers

set up a nervous yapping but Bat held his peace. He

knew they had reached their destination.

79
CHAPTER VI

INSIDE the great looming pile of Madison Square

Garden only a few lights burned. Bat hardly
realized that it was a building, so vast were the dis-

tances — so far above in the spectral darkness was

the roof. Then he heard the clamor echoing around

him and saw the countless rows of seats reaching up

and up till they were lost in the gloom, and he knew
he must be in a house.
In the big space under the main floor were
benches by the thousands. Most of them were
already filled, but more dogs were still being

80
 BAT
brought in and the din they made was deafening.
It took McGill the best part of an hour to get
all his charges safely chained in their cubicles, to fill

their water pans and make them ready for the night.
Then he returned to Bat's bench. "Good lad," he

nodded to the terrier approvingly. "YeVe settled

down like a veteran. There's nothing to be 'feared

of, an' I'll see ye first thing in the mornin'."
The dog lay quietly on the floor of his section,

wide awake but no longer perturbed by the noise.

An old bull terrier in the box next to him snored

peacefully. The stream of fresh arrivals dwindled
gradually and ceased at last, and the Garden grew
quiet except for sporadic outbursts of barking among
the more nervous breeds. By midnight Bat was able
to get some sleep.

He dozed fitfully until dawn, rousing from time

to time when some worried handler prowled past or
a restless dog clattered against a water pan. At seven
the whole immense conclave of dogdom was awake
and barking. Gray-faced, sleepy-looking men came
stumbling by, with water buckets, sponges, towels,
brushes, boxes of dog-biscuits, bottles of dog medi-
cine. Bat got up and yawned, standing on his hind

81
 s

BAT
legs and stretching against the chain. Not because
he felt any anxiety but simply because it seemed to

be the thing to do, he added his gruff voice to the

general racket. And almost at once, as if he had
been heard, he saw the sober-faced Scotchman hurry-
ing toward him.
McGill looked him over with a critical eye. "It's

amazin'," he remarked at length. "Only a hair or

two out o' place, an' by the looks of ye, ye've slept

like a bairn. Eat a bit o' biscuit now, an' I'll show
ye the sights o' New York."
Ten minutes later they were out on the pavement,
tasting the brisk, sharp air of the winter morning.

Bat would have liked to run. Instead he had to be

content with a trot that kept pace with McGill'

rapid walk. But because he was in excellent condi-
tion he came back at the end of an hour feeling like

a canine king.
He was sorry to see the Scotchman leave, but he

settled down contentedly on his bench. The roar of

the Garden no longer bothered him. He even took a

brief nap before the crowds began to surge through

the enclosure.
The Faulkners, father and daughter, arrived a

82
 BAT
few minutes before show time and came at once to

the bull terrier section. They had with them a pro-

fessional handler who would take the spaniels into

the ring. After a moment's conversation Mr. Faulk-

ner went off with him to find McGill and the cock-
ers, and June sat down on the edge of the bench.

Heedless of her mink coat she picked up a block

of chalk and proceeded to whiten the terrier's coat.
''Glad to see me, honey?" she crooned. ''I believe

you really are. And you're looking perfectly scrump-

tious this morning. The men-folks don't seem to
think you'll go very far today, but I do. I'll tell you
a secret, Snowboy. I've got a bet with Dad. If you
win in more than one class I rate a new car! You
and I'll go riding in it every day, Bat —think of

that ! So you'll act your very handsomest, won't you,

when the judge looks you over. Listen! There's the

first call for bull terrier puppies. Stand up now, and

let me look at you."
McGill appeared almost immediately and gave
his approval of the girl's handiwork. "Couldn't have
done it better myself. Miss," he grinned. ''You go

get a ringside chair while I trot him up and down a

bit."

83
BAT
The ring seemed to be full of young dogs when
Bat's handler wheeled him into position. It was a
big entry. But of the eleven pups that faced the
judge none was quite as big or as fully muscled as
the Faulkner terrier. And though some of them had
beautiful heads and bodies, not one could match

Bat's veteran coolness when it came to showing.

The judge was a small man in eyeglasses, fidgety

and nervous. He moved quickly, spoke sharply to

the handlers. The immature dogs fretted under his

inspection and refused to stand still. McGill steadied

Bat, letting him feel his own confidence through the

quiet touch of his hands.

He showed standing, then in motion, then back

in the line again. The judge waved all but four of

the dogs out of the ring. Before he placed those that

were left on the center platform he walked up to

McGill. "It's ridiculous I" he snapped. "No kind of
a contest. I thought this was a puppy class. What do
you mean — entering a grown dog like this?"

McGill remained calm. "He's eligible for puppy

class till he's a year old," the Scot replied. "This
lad's first birthday won't be till the fifteenth."

"I'll have to have proof of that," said the judge

84
 BAT
testily. "Let me see his birth record."

A steward hurried up to murmur something in

the judge's ear. "An unusual request —most un-

usual," he told him, but the little man was adamant.
McGill frowned and looked around the ring. At
last he located the Faulkners and beckoned. It was
June who came to the rescue.

"I thought you might think Bat was too good to

be true," she beamed on the judge. "So just to be
on the safe side I brought his papers," and she
whipped the records out of her handbag.
Even an iceberg would have thawed in the

warmth of her smile. The little judge looked hastily

at the date she showed him and bowed an apology.
"Hope you'll forgive me. Miss Faulkner," he stam-
mered. "He's so well developed — it's amazing."
As the girl went back to her chair he motioned
the dogs into position on the platform. Bat was
placed on the right. The judge walked past them
once, stooped for a closer examination of the other

three pups, then turned and went briskly to the

table. Bat had won without an argument.
With the ribbon and the handsome piece of plate
that accompanied it in one hand and Bat's leash in

85
BAT
the other, McGill walked grinning out of the ring.

Mr. Faulkner met him outside the ropes. ''What

about it?" fumed the winner's owner. "Is that little

fathead going to judge all the bull terrier classes?

!"
He's impossible
The Scot looked at him with a twinkle in his eye.
"The man's no so dumb," he replied. "Did ye see

how he acted with the dog? Like a thirsty hielander

smackin' his lips over good whisky ! Only he couldna
believe his eyes. I think, sir, ye might be losin' your
wager."
June came to the bench to give Bat a hasty caress.

"Sorry, darling," she said. "I'd love to sit with you,

but I've got to see what sort of competition you'll
run into, this afternoon," and away she raced to
keep her place at the ringside.
McGill let the terrier rest till noon, then took him
for another brief run outside. After his feet had
been washed and his hide brushed down with the

hound-glove, he was given a light feeding.

"They look better when they've had a bite," the

Scot explained to Mr. Faulkner, who had come to

stand by the bench. "Not enough to make 'em lazy,

but just to keep their sides from lookin' gaunted."

86
 BAT
Bat's owner nodded. "The puppy'll need all you
can do for him/' he answered gloomily. "I've seen
some of the other winners. Just came from the open
class. They're not finished yet but anybody with
half an eye can see the judge is just fussin' over a

reserve dog. The winner's sure to be that British

Empire Champion —Lancer's Dawn Patrol. Indian-

bred dog. He took best in show at Simla and best

terrier at Melbourne. On way to England now,
his

sweepin' all before him. Then there's the one that

took winner in American-breds. Biggest bull terrier
I ever saw. Looks like a white Great Dane. Maybe
you remember him from last year —Chicago dog.
Name of Wolverton Whitecap. By old Wolverton
Giant out of Sea Breeze."
He paused for breath and McGill winked at Bat.
"The bigger they are, sir," he remarked, "the harder
they fall."
"This isn't funny, McGill," said Mr. Faulkner
sternly. "And I haven't finished yet. You didn't

watch the novice class judging, did you*? Well, it

was won by a young dog called Battersby Coldsteel.

That name suggest anything to you?"
The Scotchman got up quickly. "Brother of our

87
 "

BAT
dog, sir*?" he asked with a frown.
''Half brother. He's a month older than Bat.
Mother was that little beauty that topped all the
bitches here a year ago. Creampuff Coldsteel —ever
see her?'
McGill fingered his jaw and nodded. "What
about the pup, sir*?" he inquired.
"That's just it. He's so much like Snowboy it's

uncanny. They might have been turned out of the

same mold."
"Who's showin' him?"
"Shenland — the chap that owns Bat's father. He's
retired Beauchamp to stud and probably won't show
him again before spring. But he's backing this

youngster across the board. Says he's the best ter-

rier he's ever bred."

"I think I'd like to take a look at him," mused

McGill. "If ye'd just watch the pup here, sir
—
When he returned from the next row of benches
the Scotchman's brows were puckered. "Ye're dead
right about the Shenland dog," he reported to his

employer. "I all but thought I was lookin' at Bat.

Same head —same size —same sporty way o' carryin'

himself. It'll be all in the showin', I'm thinkin'."

88
 BAT
"Well
— " Mr. Faulkner mopped his face anx-
iously
— "we'll soon know. Winners dog class is

called for two o'clock. It's quarter of two now."

Fifteen minutes of furious currying, chalking,

brushing. Then Bat was ready for the ring. At the
call McGill got up and squared his shoulders.

"They'll have to be good," he growled to himself.

"Come on, laddie. It's now or never."

The crowd was ten deep around the bull terrier

ring. White dog fanciers from a thousand miles

around had gathered to see the strongest entry in
years. One by one, as the five class winners were

led in, their names and honors were read aloud by

the steward. When the arrival of Snowboy of Bat-
tersby was announced there was a flutter of catalog
pages. Most of the spectators had missed the puppy
class judging. Then Bat marched over to take his

stand beside Battersby Coldsteel and an astonished

murmur ran through the crowd. "Why — they're

twins!" a girl cried aloud. And the little judge,

standing by the table, favored her with a scowl of
disapproval.

He fiddled with his watch-chain a moment, let-

89
BAT
ting the gallery know that this was a momentous
occasion. Then he went to work.

For all his nervous manner the little man knew

bull terriers. He was faced here with perhaps the
finest array of dogs in his experience but he did not
flinch. Though each contestant was already familiar

to him, he went over them painstakingly, point by

point.

It took him a long time to reach Bat. The puppy

had shown magnificently when he first came into

the ring, but as the minutes passed he grew restless.

He turned his head, questioningly, looking up at

his handler. It would be a lot more comfortable, he
thought, to sit down. But at the first forward shift

of his hind feet McGill's hand lifted him under the

crotch and brought him back into position.

"Easy boy," the Scotchman breathed. "We've got

a job to do here. Ah — that's better ! Hold it now."
He stroked the young terrier's back with his right
hand. His left he lifted tantalizingly above Bat's
nose, keeping the fingers closed as if he held some-

thing interesting. And Bat, forgetting all about the

ache in his neck, was instantly alert.

There was a restful interlude while the other

90
 BAT
dogs took their turn at showing on the move. Then
Bat was put through his paces. He stepped out
gaily, glad of the chance for action, and though he
heard the ripple of applause from the sidelines he
kept his eyes to the front as McGill had taught him.
The ringside crowd settled forward now, intent
on the climax of the drama. There was no uncer-
tainty in the little judge's movements. Quietly he

dismissed two of the contestants. One was the victor

in the limit class, a small and not particularly bril-

liant terrier. The other was the American-bred win-

ner. Wolverton Whitecap was a sixty-five pound

dog, big and lumbering. He was well-proportioned
for his size but not in a class with the three who
remained.
Thoughtfully, as if he were conducting an ex-
periment, the judge placed his dogs on the plat-
form. They were ranged according to age —Cham-
pion Lancer's Dawn Patrol first, then Battersby
Coldsteel, and finally Bat. The Indian dog was a
picture. Arrogant he stood there, his lovely, lithe

body poised ; his long, fine head tilted a little to one

side. Beside him the two sons of Beauchamp held
their pose like a matched team. They looked stur-

91
BAT
dier than the foreigner —broader chested, thicker in

the bone.

Still meditative, the little man in the middle of

the ring gestured again to the handlers. He moved
the Empire Champion one place to the left. Cold-

steel was at the top now, Bat still in the third

position. McGill was hardly breathing, but the

puppy could feel anguish in the slight tremor of
his hands.

The judge knelt and looked down the line of the

three white heads. "Leave them alone," he said in

a low voice. Shenland, who was handling his own

dog, hesitated a moment, then followed the other
two men to the side of the enclosure. There was a
hush over the crowd.
As the slow seconds passed, Battersby Coldsteel

turned his head uncertainly, sniffed at the dog next

him and sat down, scratching at an imaginary flea.

At the laugh that burst uncontrollably from the

spectators, the Indian terrier shivered and stepped

down off the platform. And suddenly the laughter
subsided. In the tense hush that followed Bat could

hear the ecstatic whisper of his mistress

—*'He hasn't

moved a muscle! Oh, the lambT

92
 —

BAT
He wanted to run to her side but McGill's les-

sons in self-control had been well learned. A faint

quiver of his tail was the only sign he gave.

Shenland spoke coldly from his place by the ropes.

'1 didn't know this was an obedience test," he said.

''I thought it was a show class."

The judge paid no attention to the remark but

beckoned all three handlers back to their dogs. Bat

relaxed for a moment and greeted McGilFs return

with a wriggle of welcome. Then he steadied under

the Scotchman's hands as the point-for-point com-

parisons began again.

Under his breath McGill was checking them off,

one by one. ''Head — as good as Coldsteel's. Better

than the other — he's a shade too fine. . . . Body

no trouble there. . . . An' forelegs — all about even.
. . . Hind legs^ Hmm— that Lancer's a wee bit
cow-hocked, if you ask me. . . . Tails— all good.
Set on low. Right length. Wait, now — he's found
somethin' I"

The judge was kneeling beside the Shenland dog.

He pulled the tail down to measure it and held the

tip in his hand. It was a strangely blunt tip, with
the hair carefully brushed over it to form a point.

93
BAT
He rose with the look of a man whose mind is

made up. His finger pointed at Bat and he motioned

to McGill to bring the young dog to the top. An

instant later he was being cheered to the echo, as

he put the winner's ribbon in the Scotchman's hand.

Beyond the ropes, radiant with happiness, June
was waiting to embrace them both. "Of course I

knew he deserved to win," she told the kennel-man.

"But what was it that settled it— there at the end?"

McGill grinned. "That Coldsteel dog," he said,

"was so close to Bat he couldn't choose, except on

the showin'. Then he got a near look at his tail.

They'd cropped oil a bit to make it short enough.

So ye might say we'd won by the tip of a tail I"

94
 ^^v^

CHAPTER VII

THE noon
female classes took the
to run off, and it
rest of the after-
was under the blazing
lights that evening that Bat met and conquered
the winning bitch, to emerge as best of his breed.

He might have gone still farther in the terrier group

showing, next day, if he had not faced a judge

who was himself a Bedlington fancier. So it was
that he suffered the ignominy of being defeated by
a dog that had all the earmarks of a woolly baa-
lamb.
Still, June and McGill didn't seem to mind. The
95
BAT
girl petted him outrageously on the way home, and
gave her father a number of hints as to the size and
horsepower of the sports-model roadster she wanted.
Bat was shown five more times that winter and
spring. The fame of his conquest in the Westminster
had gone far and wide through the dog world, and
show committees greeted his entry with respect. At
Boston and Atlanta he earned enough more points
to put the "Champion" prefix in front of his name.
And at Richmond and Washington he marched
through the ranks of the white dogs in a manner
worthy of his new title. Only once did he fail to

take best of breed. That was in Richmond, where

he ran into a judge with a mania for the short-
legged, big-headed type, and Bat's symmetrical pro-
portions brought him no more than a red ribbon.

But at Washington he advanced to the top of the

terrier class, beating some of the finest wire-hairs

and Scotties in the country. And at Bryn Mawr he

reached the heights — ^judged best dog of any breed,
age or sex in the show.
Champion Snowboy of Battersby had become a
name to conjure with. Bat posed for dozens of
photographs and was written up in all the impor-

96
 BAT
tant dog journals. At first the strain of standing

for long minutes while the cameramen adjusted their

lenses and lights, was hard for him to take. Only

McGill's firmness and patience kept him up to pitch
until the sudden blinding glare came and the dog's
nerves were released from their tension in a rush
of excited barking.

The photographs he really liked to have taken

were the informal shots used by the newspapers.
In these, more often than not, he was in June Faulk-
ner's arms or on the ground looking up at her with
adoring eyes.
Now that the rigid training of the show season
was over, he saw a lot more of his mistress. She not
only took him for walks, as of old, but let him ride

with her in the new roadster when she drove about

the countryside. That was fun. He liked to sit erect

on the russet leather cushion so that the stream of

air coming over the windshield blew his ears back.

With eyes half closed and his mouth open in a

contented grin, he would watch the green lawns and

hedges, the pink and white dogwood and the apple-
blossoms of a Pennsylvania spring go streaming by.
When June parked on a busy street to do a bit

97
BAT
of shopping, Bat stood guard over the steering
wheel. Passers-by stared curiously at the statuesque
dog with the snow-white coat, but they were care-
ful to keep their distance. Bat didn't look ugly. He
never barked and rarely moved on the seat. But if

anyone laid a hand on the car or so much as brushed

against the fender a hard gleam came into his black

eyes and a low mutter of warning rumbled in his

throat.

There were some flattering offers made for Bat

that spring. It was a few days after the Bryn Mawr
show that Mr. Faulkner called his daughter into the

library and told her about one of them. She sat in

the big chair opposite him, with Bat's head on her

knee and smiled a little as she listened.

"Just as a matter of hard-headed business," her

father was saying, "I want you to think this over

carefully. Shenland talked to me today —you re-

member — the chap that owns Bat's father. Ever

since we beat him in the Westminster he's wanted
this dog, and you can't much blame him. The Bat-
tersby name got a real boost when Snowboy won,
and he's been cleaning up on Beauchamp's stud-fees,
but naturally he'd like to have them both in the

98
 "

BAT
same kennel. Anyhow, he mentioned a price that
can't just be laughed off. He's prepared to give you
thirty-five hundred dollars cash for Bat."
June patted the dog's head. "Well, Dad," she
asked with a twinkle in her eyes, ''are we that hard

upr
Ramsdell Faulkner snorted. ''With taxes and
business what they are, we're none of us as rich as
we used to be," he replied. "But I guess the wolf
is still a long way from our door, so don't ask silly

questions. I said this was a matter of straight profit

and loss. Thirty-five hundred is

—
"Yes — thirty-five hundred," she interrupted spir-

itedly. "Just so much money in the bank. I hope

you told him we didn't think of Bat in terms of

money. Or did you encourage him?"

"Well," her father grinned, reddening a little, "I
told him the dog wasn't for sale."

"Good old Dad !" She jumped up and kissed him.

"You're just as foolish about Bat as I am! I knew
it all the time."
• • •

It was the last week-end in May when the Faulk-

ner family moved to the seashore. The pilgrimage

99
BAT
to their palatial summer home in Ventnor was a
matter of yearly routine, carried out by the well-
trained servants with a minimum of fuss. To Bat,
however, it seemed an unprecedented upheaval. He
was worried when the shades began to be drawn in

rooms upstairs and down, and the dust-covers care-

fully draped over the furniture. The packing of a
dozen trunks disturbed him, and when they were
carried downstairs to a waiting truck he was frantic.

Early that last morning McGill came to say good-

by to him.
"I'm going to be lonesome without the white fel-

ler. Miss June," he told the girl, who was fastening

the leash to Bat's collar. "That sea air ought to be

good for him, though. Back in the old country the

bull terriers was always great ones to hang around

the docks. I mind there was a fighting dog belonged
to a tugboat cap'n in Glasgow — as pretty a white

dog as ever I saw — an' he could swim like a seal.

He'd fetch sticks you tossed in the water all day

long. Beat the Brindle Slasher from Liverpool for
twenty guineas a side, he did.
"Well, I won't tire ye with stories, but I know
ye'll be watchin' out for Bat. Don't let him get in

loo
 BAT
any fights, an' keep him off the bones. We don't

want to have him cheeky when next year's shows

come along."
He looked fondly down at the dog for a moment,
then stooped and gave his head a pat. "Well — so

long, boy," he said abruptly, and hurried out.

A few minutes later the cars were at the door.

Mrs. Faulkner came slowly downstairs on her hus-
band's arm and was helped into the limousine.
Candy, the only one of the spaniels to make the trip,

was already gaily ensconced beside the chauffeur.

June and Bat took their places in the roadster, the

servants climbed into a station-wagon, and the

cavalcade started.
For the first few miles the white terrier was still

perturbed. However, there couldn't be anything to

worry about if the blond goddess beside him was
taking him with her. He sighed and settled down
to enjoy the ride. They rolled through Fairmount
Park, crossed Girard Avenue Bridge and swung
down along the river drive to the Parkway.

For a few blocks they threaded through the

strange sights and scents of Philadelphia's China-

town. Then they were climbing the long slant of

loi
BAT
the bridge, with ferries and freighters churning the

Delaware far below. Bat sniffed the keen spring

wind blowing up off the bay and wriggled with

excitement.
Shortly they were swinging with traffic around
the big circle at Camden Airport. A huge silver trans-
port plane taxied up the field, turned into the wind,
and picked up speed for the take-off. As it drew
nearer it left the ground with a terrifying roar and
came swooping past, right over their heads. It was
such an enemy as Bat had never faced before, but
he was up, both forefeet on the top of the wind-
shield, barking an undaunted challenge into the
teeth of the bellowing motors. The monstrous thing

seemed to change its mind. Instead of plunging to

destroy them it lifted its mighty nose and fled away
to the west. And with a final warning growl or two,
the terrier settled back on the seat. June Faulkner's
laugh was understanding.
''Brave old Bat!" she said. ''Nothing's going to

hurt me while you're around!"

The rest of the ride was uneventful. The broad,
straight road with its lines of hurrying cars cut
through a flat, sandy country of vineyards and dis-

102
 BAT
couraged-looking truck patches, of burned-over pine
woods and scrub-oak thickets. But at its end the
scent of the sea came strong. They crossed a shim-

mering belt of salt marsh and winding inlet and

came into a city that was different from any Bat
had seen. The long street they followed was lined
with busy shops, but beyond them loomed the towers
of many-colored hotels. Even the faces of the people

were different —gay with holiday excitement. And

under the shrilling of and
voices of
the noise traffic

there was a constant, muffled murmur — sound the

of surf on the beach.

The three Faulkner cars rolled down Pacific Ave-
nue in an unending stream of private automobiles
and jitneys, stopping for an occasional red light.

After several miles the big hotels were left behind.

At the ends of streets to the left Bat began to catch
glimpses of blue water, and the booming of the surf
became more distinct. The shops disappeared. In
their places were pleasant houses with bright roofs
and striped awnings, set in plots of carefully tended
lawn.
It was in the driveway of one of the most impos-
ing of these homes that the procession finally

103
BAT
stopped. A rambling house of white stucco and
gleaming green tile, with hydrangea borders and
shell paths flanking its grass plots. From its wide
porches the ocean was in full view.
June gathered the white dog to her. "Like it,

Bat?" she asked. "This is where we'll live for the

next four months."

• • •

That afternoon Bat had his first experience of

the sea. His mistress put him on the lead and they
went for a walk along the broad, white beach. From
the first he found it an enchanting place. The sun
and the wind and the clean sand appealed to his

restless energy. He learned that the salt water was

not good to drink and that jelly-fish should be let

alone. But otherwise his enjoyment was complete.

There were enticing fishy smells everywhere. Big
white herring gulls and scampering sandpipers in-

vited him to the chase. Fiddler crabs dove into their

holes at his approach and burrowed swiftly, just

beyond reach of his scratching paws. Best of all

there were children —plump, brown little people

who dug soberly with tin shovels under the watch-

ful eyes of their nursemaids. Bat liked children in=

104
 BAT
stinctively, and they in turn liked him. He was
friendly and gentle and understood their digging

operations. It was only the grown-ups who some-

times regarded his presence with disapproval.
Later in the day June went for a swim, and the
white dog discovered a new thrill. He went into
the water gingerly at first, feeling the chill of it in

his toes. But at a word of encouragement from his

mistress he plunged into the receding swirl of a

breaker and began to swim. Something green and

hissing loomed above him and he was rolled over
in a smother of spray. His fighting blood was
aroused. Fiercely he clawed his way back to the

grateful air, ready to snap at the throat of his ad-

versary. When the next wave came he plunged into

it headlong and came out at once on the other

side. This was fun. He paddled on till he reached
June Faulkner and followed her when she rode in,

arrow-like, on the crest of a roller. From that time

on he enjoyed every minute of the swim. For him

it was a rough-and-tumble fight with an opponent
who never gave up. What greater bliss could a

bull terrier ask-^

He slept like a log that night, tired with the

105
BAT
healthy weariness of well-used muscles. In the morn-
ing he was eager to start all over again. And so

began a summer of pure delight.

As the lazy weeks went by, Bat made dozens of
friends in the exclusive Ventnor Colony. There were

tanned young men who came for week-ends and

shared the morning and afternoon swims with him
and his golden-haired mistress. Friendly youngsters

called him by his name and threw beach balls for

him to chase. Big, brown life-guards admired his

prowess in the surf and offered to make him a mem-

ber of the beach-patrol.
He had little contact with other dogs and so
found it easy to keep out of trouble. Except for
himself and Candy, the canine population at their
end of the beach consisted chiefly of Pekes and
Pomeranians —nasty little dogs that Bat ignored
even when they came yapping after him.
Once, when June was riding horseback on the
beach and Bat was ranging the sands behind her,
he encountered a shaggy yellow mongrel nosing
along at the edge of the water. He was an old dog,
lean, dirty, hungry. He looked up from his scaveng-
ing and cringed a little at the sight of the sturdy

106
 BAT
white terrier. Then his tail wagged placatingly.

They sniffed at each other with stiff politeness. Bat

felt no rancor toward the tramp. If anything he was
sorry for him. He crouched and whisked his white
whip of a tail in an invitation to play, but the older
dog backed apologetically away. He had an empty
belly to fill and little strength to waste.

The girl on the horse called Bat then and he hur-

ried after her, temporarily forgetting the gaunt yel-
low waif. When he returned half an hour later, the

mongrel was gone. Bat smelled at the stripped bones

of an old fish-head and knew his acquaintance must
have found a meal of sorts.

Ever since coming to the seashore he had known

in a vague way that fish came from that salty ex-

panse of water, but it was August before he had the

fun of seeing them caught. Mr. Faulkner announced
one evening that he had rented a cabin cruiser for
his month's vacation.
"So get that fishing-tackle oiled up, June," he

told his daughter. "We're going outside after blues

in the morning."

"Oh, I'll be ready. Dad," she laughed. "And so

will Bat. You'll let him come, won't you? He's

107
BAT
crazy about the water."
*'Humph !" Mr. Faulkner sounded dubious. "That

doesn't prove he's a sailor. Did you ever see a sea-

sick dog?"

108
 DEEP SEA
rillSHfflNG

•^ <^ t^

CHAPTER VIII

of dawn they drove to a dock back

INonthethe chill

bay and boarded the boat. She was a

slim, fast thirty-five-footer with a crew of two. Bat,
perched on the narrow deck astern of the cock-pit,
felt the planking quiver under him as the big en-
gines began to throb. He would have jumped ashore
if June hadn't been there to steady him. In a mo-
ment the moorings were cast off and they backed
out into the low, silvery mist.
There was a cross-chop at the mouth of the inlet,

where an outgoing tide met the morning's southeast

109
BAT
wind. For a minute or two the cruiser pitched like
a bronco, and Bat had a hard time keeping his feet.

His mistress urged him to come inside the combing,

but he preferred to stay where he could see all that

happened. By the time they were a mile from land

he was enjoying the ride as much as anybody aboard.

They ran east and north, slanting across the sun-

rise, till they saw two or three other boats bobbing

on the waves ahead.
"We're on the ridge," called the man at the
wheel. "And those bank-skiffs ahead are pullin' 'em

in. Might run into a school any time now."

The Faulkners reeled out line and let the bright

spinners flicker along, fifty feet astern. The cruiser

was moving gently now, cut down to half speed.

"Look!" June cried. "Aren't those whiting —over

there?"
The nose of the boat turned toward a patch of

ruffled water where the little iish leaped frantically

to escape some hidden terror below the surface. In
a moment they were in the edge of the school of
whiting, moving with it at an even pace. Then both
rods jerked at once as the hungry bluefish struck.

Those next few seconds made a fisherman of Bat.

no
 BAT
He caught the excitement of the whirring reels and
crouched, tense and quivering, to watch the fighting
blues pulled alongside. It took a stern word from
his mistress to keep him from pouncing on the fish

when they were in the boat, but as the furious sport

went on he soon forgot everything else. For half a

dozen breathless minutes the blues kept on biting.

Then they stopped as suddenly as they had begun.

Mr. Faulkner leaned back and mopped his forehead

as he surveyed the heap of squirming, steel-colored

bodies in the cockpit. ''Nineteen —twenty—twenty-
one, unless Tm seeing double," he panted. "I lost

count of mine after the first five or six."

"Where do you suppose they went to?" the girl

asked. "Or did they just lose their appetites?"

The mechanic left his engine and strolled aft to

admire the catch. "Mebbe somethin' come along they

liked better," he grinned. "Blues are always hungry.

Then again there might be bigger fish chasin' the

blues. I remember a couple o' seasons ago —hey!

Your rod. Miss I"
June made a desperate grab for the rod and man-
aged to get both hands on it before it could be
pulled over the side. Her spinner had been trolling

111
 "

BAT
astern. Now something had taken the hook —some-
thing so powerful that the slim line fairly smoked
as it ran out.
Mr. Faulkner leaped to his feet. "Tuna!" he
yelled. ''You've got a tuna on there, girl! Use your
brake or he'll take it all I Here— me—let

"No, Dad!" June gasped. "It's my fish. I'll han-

dle him."

She reeled in madly as the monster changed direc-

tion. Bat knew she was fighting something, and it

was more than he could stand. When the big fish

broke water a hundred feet astern he stopped bark-

ing and went into action. He took off in a long leap
and hit the water swimming.
There was a noise of shouting from the boat be-
hind him. But it wasn't his mistress who called, so

he kept right on. He could no longer see the enemy.

Each time he reached the top of one of those buffet-

ing waves, he stretched his neck as high as it would

reach and looked about. Suddenly something ex-
ploded in the water under him. A spinning loop of
line cut across his legs and turned him upside down
to snap and flounder in green seas. The great silvery

body of the tuna had brushed past him in that in-

112
HE TOOK OFF IN A LONG LEApj
AND HIT THE WATER SWIMMING
 BAT
stant, but it was moving too fast for his jaws to
find a hold. Half drowned, he struggled back to

the surface and gulped air into his choking lungs.

He paddled weakly with his fore paws and tried

to get his bearings. There was a dizzy singing in his

ears and the constant slap of the waves blurred his

vision, but he had no thought of returning to the

boat. He had to find that great slippery sea-beast

and get his teeth into its throat.

A moment later the cruiser churned up alongside

his bobbing head and he was hauled aboard. Mr.
Faulkner knelt by him where he lay gasping in the
scuppers. For a minute or two he was a very sick

dog, but as soon as he had gotten rid of some of

the salt water that was in him he staggered to his

feet, ready for battle once more.

It was nearly half an hour before the 150-pound
tuna was gaffed and pulled over the side. Through
all that time Bat had stood beside his mistress,

watching her tense face and straining arms, unhappy

until he realized that she was enjoying the fight.

At the end he paid no attention to the exhausted

fish. When the girl dropped the rod and lay back

in her chair, flushed and triumphant, the terrier put

117
BAT
his head in her lap and looked up with eyes full

of worship.
She hugged his damp body close. "Crazy old
Bat!" she scolded. "Think you're a seal or some-
thing?"
There were many more fishing excursions before

August ended and the white dog was always a

member of the crew. After that first lesson he stayed

in the boat and behaved himself. June said he

brought them luck.
Ashore, his life had settled into a pleasant rou-

tine. Swims in the mornings and races up and down

the beach when his mistress was riding, gave him
plenty of exercise. Often, of an afternoon, she would
take him on the lead and join the throngs strolling

on the boardwalk. Crowds no longer bothered Bat.

He marched ahead like a drum-major on parade,
oblivious of the hundreds of pleasure-seekers who
turned to stare at him. The breeze-swept promenade
stretched away, mile on mile. On one side were sand
and sea and flag-bedecked piers. On the other an

unbroken rampart of towering hotels, shops and eat-

ing places. And between them, day and night, flowed

a river* of humanity.

118
 BAT
People of every kind made up that slowly-moving
tide. Big, brown youngsters enjoying a brief holiday

before their return to school and college; dark-

skinned Latins and Hebrews off the excursion-trains;
tanned, stoop-shouldered country folk gaping at the
sights and sounds of the resort. The rolling-chairs

wheeled up and down their lanes in solemn pro-

cession. Some of them held solid-looking inland
burghers and their wives. Others were occupied by
fussy, near-sighted old ladies, wrapped snugly
against the mild sea air, or flashily dressed men and
women with hard faces, spending dubiously gotten
money at the shore. The colored men, who pushed
the chairs, grinned in admiration and momentarily
forgot their tired feet when the regal-looking white

dog went by.

Labor Day was past, and with it the week of

pageantry that wound up the vacation season. Pio
Carozzi and Mike Ciliano came out of a small
Italian restaurant back by the railroad and saun-
tered over to their parked sedan. Carozzi plied a

toothpick and eyed the golden September day with-

out enthusiasm. "Things are slowin' up, down here,*'

119
BAT
he remarked, as his companion started the car.

''Yeah. Well, we ain't gotta stay much longer,"

Ciliano grunted. ''What'll we do now? Go over an'
have a look at the walk?"
''Okay with me. Not much else goin' on."

They left the sedan in North Carolina Avenue

and climbed the ramp to the boardwalk. A few steps

south brought them to a pavilion with benches,

built out over the beach. They lighted cigarettes and
sat down there to watch the thinning crowds go past.

"I'm gettin' fed up wid this place," said Ciliano.

"How 'bout haulin' back to Philly tonight?"

"Maybe," Carozzi nodded. "Hm—looka the

dog."
"Dog nothin' !" his companion grinned. "Get an

eyeful o' the dame I"

"Yeah, she's okay," murmured Carozzi. "But the

dog —ever see a mutt like that?"

"What about him, outside o' bein' white, an' all

slicked up?"
"That's a dog worth a lotta dough, I shouldn't
wonder. Like they win prizes with in the dog-shows.
I was just thinkin' —you know old man Lucca?"
Ciliano swung slowly around on the bench and

120
 —

BAT
looked at him with increasing interest. "Yeah," he
said softly. "Yeah, I getcha. He's nuts about 'em
that's right. Maybe you think we could do a job,
huh?"
"It don't hurt to look things over, anyway. How
'bout takin' a little walk?"
They rose, stretched, and tossed away their ciga-

rettes. When the slim blond girl and her dog were

fifty yards up the boardwalk they sauntered casually

in the same direction. A block farther on they saw
her stop to speak to another girl, evidently an ac-
quaintance. The voices sounded happy and excited.

"Come on," muttered Carozzi, and he led the way

to the railing a dozen feet from the chattering pair.

There the two young men leaned, looking down on

the beach and listening.

"Yes, isn't he lovely?" the yellow-haired girl was

saying. "I'd forgotten you hadn't seen him before,
Annabelle. Bat —speak to the lady. Hasn't he nice
manners?"
The other girl was duly enthusiastic. "He's sim-
ply gorgeous, June!" she exclaimed. "I suppose
you've shown him, haven't you?"
"Shown him! Why, my dear, hadn't you heard?
121
BAT
He took best of breed in the Westminster. A cham-
pion in his puppy year!"
She lowered her voice but the listening men could
catch a few of the words. "... offered a perfectly

tremendous price . . . turned him down ... oh,

yes — Father's just as crazy about Bat as I am !"

Ciliano's elbow touched Carozzi's on the rail.

"Got a cigarette?" he asked huskily. "Sounds good,

huh?'
When the girls separated, a moment later, the

one with the dog turned southward again. She

walked with a brisk, athletic swing, and the men
trailing her had to quicken their pace to keep her

in sight. It seemed to be a long distance to her home.

Past the immense fagade of the Auditorium and on,
block after block. It was farther down the boards

than either of the men had ever walked before.

"Where's she goin'f Mike complained. "Ain't
she got a car, or why all this hikin' ?"

"Shut up," said Pio. "It's all jake. This is where

the real class stays, down here. See them swell joints,

with grass around 'em? We're gettin' near Ventnor."

At last the girl and the dog turned to the right,

and the pair who had been following half a block

122
 BAT
behind reached the street comer in time to see them
going up the gravel drive of an imposing house.
"Don't stop to rubber, sap," warned Carozzi out
of the side of his mouth. "Keep walkin'. We got the
lay-out now. Nex' time we come in the car."

His pal nodded. "Some dump, huh? Say —maybe

!"
that pup 2S worth big dough
They went on a few blocks before turning back.
Knowing where the dog lived was one thing. Put-
ting their plan into action was something else again.

"It don't look so hot," Carozzi admitted. "Not if

they lead him around all the time with that strap.
Prob'ly they keep him in the house nights, too."

"Yeah? Lookit, Pio — there on the beach!"

Trotting along the wet sand at the edge of the
tide, Carozzi saw the white dog — all alone.

"Wanna try it right now?" Ciliano whispered.

"Don't be crazy. There's people on the beach
could see us. Wait till we got the car handy."

They strolled on up the walk, stealing an occa-

sional glance behind them at the preoccupied bull

terrier. Then Carozzi urged his companion to a

quicker pace. "We'll go back an' pack up our stuff,"

he said. "I waa'ia try it tonight."

123
BAT
An hour later they stowed their luggage in the
car and drove to the restaurant where they had been
getting their meals. "Wait here a minute," Pio
ordered. "I been wonderin' if we can handle him.
He looks like he'd take a piece out of a guy he
didn't like. Maybe Jakey'll know what a pup goes
for."

He returned soon with a small brown paper par-

cel. "Liver," he explained. "All dogs an' cats is

nuts about it, Jakey says."

It was six-thirty when they rolled quietly into

Ventnor. Mike drove down a side street toward the

boardwalk, turned the car and parked by the curb.
They were partly screened from the house by shrub-
bery. A clink of crockery and a chatter of voices

came indistinctly from the servants' wing.

Pio lighted a cigarette. "Wait here," he said. "I'll

take a look an' see if he's still down on the beach."

He had the door half open when Mike seized his

arm. "Hold it!" he whispered. "The pup's comin'

now. I spotted him in the rear-view mirror."

Sure enough, Pio heard a brisk patter of feet on

the pavement and turned to see the white dog trot-

ting toward them. He reached behind him for the

124
 BAT
parcel of liver and unwrapped it hastily. When the

terrier was almost abreast of them he cleared his

throat and spoke, huskily. ''Here y'are, boy — here,

Bat! Get a smell o' this. Lookit — liver!"

He glanced warily up and down the empty street

and held out the bit of meat toward the dog.

Bat was occupied with his own affairs. The coax-

ing voice meant nothing to him, even when it spoke

his name. He would have gone on without paying
further attention to the strangers if that tantalizing

scent had not suddenly wafted past his nose. He was

hungry, and the smell of liver was more than he
could resist. It was only a second he hesitated. Then
his tail began to wag and he trotted over to the
sedan.

The man who had spoken to him was standing

by the open rear door now. As Bat came close he
climbed inside and snapped his fingers, holding up
the scrap of meat invitingly. Bat jumped in and the
door closed after him.
"Let's go!" said the man, in a nervous whisper.

There was only a bite of liver. Bat found. He

bolted it in one swallow and sniffed at the empty
brown paper for more. Meanwhile the man in the

125
BAT
rear seat had reached forward and taken a firm grip

on his collar.

"Cut over a couple o' streets, Mike, an' get

rollinV' he was saying. "I'll keep him down out
o' sight."

126
 CHAPTER IX
BATswarthy
had no
young
particular liking for these

men with
two
the heavy, nose-

filling scents. One of them smelled of garlic and

the other of hair-oil. However, most humans were
unsatisfactory that way. Only one smell really mat-

tered, and that was the dainty fragrance of his

golden-haired owner. He thought of her now and

wriggled on the floor of the car.

'*Sit still, you I" muttered Carozzi, and Bat sat

quiet.

The car had been zigzagging through Atlantic

i
City's back streets. Now it was running more

127

I
BAT
smoothly, picking up speed on a straight road. After
a while Pio turned his head cautiously and looked
behind them. The highway was empty. "Okay,
pup," he said. "You can come up here now."
The dog jumped up on the seat and looked eagerly
out at the flat Jersey landscape. Mike Ciliano, at

the wheel, spoke sullenly. "Gettin' brave, huh^

Somebody'll see him."
"There ain't nobody to see him. Besides, he didn't
like it down there. He acted like he was gettin' ready
to make trouble."
Bat had always liked to ride in cars. This one
was a poor substitute for the open roadster but at

least it was fun to watch the country shoot past.

Behind them now he saw that unbelievable sky-

line of fairy towers, gold and rose in the sunset,

rising mirage-like between desolate marsh and empty

sea.

The wide road bore to the right, then to the left

through a huddle of small houses. There were few
people in sight and none who showed any inter-

est in the little sedan. After that the concrete ran

straight, with sand and scrub pine thickets and lone-
some-looking filling-stations on either side.

128
 BAT
Carozzi reached over and unbuckled the bull ter-

rier's collar. ''Geez/' he murmured. "It's silver, an'

heavy, too. Here's the doll's name on it. 'June

Faulkner, Devon, Pa.' Hey, Mike, I bet I've seen
this dame's picture in the society page."
"Yeah?" growled Ciliano. "Well, you better get
rid of it. No cars comin', an' plenty o' woods along
here."

Pio rolled down the window and threw the collar

as far as he could into the brush. Puzzled, Bat

watched it glint in the twilight and fall out of
sight among the trees. He knew he had been over
this road before. There was something familiar about
the long parade of sand and woods, dusty hot-dog
stands and advertising signs.

They rode in silence for half an hour. "How's

he actin'?" Mike asked at last.

"Swell. He likes it," answered Pio. "Turn on your

lights. It's gettin' dark."
As they neared Camden and whirled along the
brightly-lit boulevard. Bat was coaxed down off the

seat to the floor. "Stay there now, feller," Carozzi

told him. "You're pretty easy to see."

The car was moving in a stream of traffic now.

129
BAT
There were a couple of stops for lights and finally

they crept forward in line while the driver fished in

his pocket for bridge-toll. At that moment Bat
caught a hostile dog smell through the gasoline
fumes. He was up at the window in a bound and
saw a chow growling at him from another car three

feet away. Before he could growl back, Carozzi's

quick hands jerked him down. A bell pinged as

Mike paid toll, and they shot ahead up the slope
of the bridge. "Think they saw him?" Mike asked
huskily.

"Not a chance! But you better lay off steppin'

on the gas. There's a bridge-cop in back of us, an'

he might get nosey."

Bat was allowed no more sight-seeing, but he felt

the car swerve to the left and grind along in traffic

after the rumble of the bridge was behind. Down

there in the dark on the swaying floor-boards he
began to grow uneasy. It was long past his supper

time, and his instinct told him they were no longer

on the route by which he had first traveled to the

shore. He decided he liked the dark young men less

than ever.

130
 BAT
Pio Carozzi breathed easier when they were in
the criss-cross of streets that made up South Phila-

delphia's Little Italy.

'In the alley, back o' my place," he told his com-

panion. "We gotta dig up another collar for this

mutt, 'fore we take him anywhere."

Mike guided the car up one dirty street and down
another, peered behind him cautiously and swung
into the blackness of a ten-foot gap between two old
brick houses. For a few yards they jolted over rough
cobbles, then came to a stop.

"You stay down here an' keep him quiet," Pio

said. "I gotta take a look around. If everything's

okay ril be back in five minutes."

Ciliano lighted a cigarette, crouching low behind

the dash so that the flare of the match would not
illuminate his face. He stared back at the white

shape on the rear seat and shifted nervously when

Bat'syawn ended in a steely click of teeth.
The minutes dragged by. Finally a door opened
close by and was shut again quietly. Carozzi's head
appeared beside the sedan. "It's all jake," he told
his friend. "Old Lucca's down at Morelli's. Soon
as I get this collar on the pup we'll go down an'
i3»
BAT
give him an eyeful."
He fumbled in the darkness and buckled a piece
of leather strap around the dog's neck. Tied to it

was a length of stout clothes-line cord. "Okay," he

said. "We'll leave the car here. Come on, Bat.
You're goin' for a walk."
They emerged into the glare of street-lights.
There were a few youngsters playing on the side-

walk and windows were open up and down the

block. From these came music —a wailing accordion
and a tenor voice, and somewhere farther away a
crowd harmonizing opera to the accompaniment of
a piano. It was with something of a swagger that
Pio led the terrier down the street. Mike lagged a
few steps behind, watching for blue-coats out of

the corner of his eye. He still wondered about that

moment at the bridge toll-house.

Morelli's garage was one of the gathering places

of local sportdom, as well as headquarters for the
truckers of the district. Sometimes a dozen big over-

the-road jobs in a single night would jam the con-

crete floor. That was because of Tim Eakins. Every-

body knew that the stubby little Englishman was the
best mechanic on heavy duty engines in town.

132
 BAT
In the evenings the garage was the place to find
Lucca. He was proud of his fleet of ice cream trucks
and liked to be around them while they were being
groomed. Sometimes he had one or two of his dogs
with him.
It was so tonight. Mike Ciliano sidled in ahead
and motioned for Pio to follow him. In a part of
the floor unoccupied by trucks there was the usual
crowd of loafers and hangers-on. Leaning against
the wall was old Lucca himself, a fat, dark Sicilian,

diamonds flashing on his pudgy hands. There was

a big dog beside him — a rangy, rough-coated aire-

dale.

"Hi, guys," said Carozzi. He grinned and

glanced down proudly at the white bull terrier. If

he had expected to make a sensation he was dis-

appointed. Lucca finished telling a joke and the

others laughed dutifully. Joe Ruffo, ex-pugilist and
political henchman of the rich Sicilian, flicked a

cigarette butt into a corner and took his time about

lighting another.

"What kind of a dog d'yuh call that"?" he finally

asked, with an intentional sneer in his heavy voice.

"How do you like him, huh?" Pio replied ami-

133
BAT
ably. "He's a real show dog, that one!"
"Bull terrier," remarked Morelli. "That ain't

much of a show breed. Them's fightin' dogs."

Lucca laughed. "Fight?" he asked. "That white
feller? He'd get himself dirty!"
Bat was standing quiet. His slim tail waved
slowly, peacefully.

Tim Eakins finished adjusting the front brake of

a iive-ton freight truck and inched the sleeper out
from under the cab. He switched off the trouble-
lamp and pushed his blond hair out of his eyes with
a none-too-clean wrist. There was a tension in the
air. He looked at the white dog and sat still, waiting.

Once, in his youth on the Limehouse docks, he had

seen such a dog as this in action, and the memory
!"
of it tingled pleasantly after many years. "Bli-me
!"
he whispered to himself. "This oughta be a show
The argument he listened to was largely one-sided.
Carozzi was trying to turn the discussion away from
fighting. "The feller I bought him off said he was
worth a grand," he whined. "He was hard up for

cash, so I got him cheap."

"How much?" grinned Ruffo.
Carozzi hesitated and looked at his confederate.

134
 BAT
"Three Cs," he said finally.

"Haw, haw!" The laughter was general.

"Why, this dog here" —Lucca indicated the aire-

dale, now growling belligerently — "this baby only

stood me a hundred an' fifty. An' fight? He'd eat

that pink-eared pup o' yours so quick he'd get a

belly-ache!"
Pio turned toward the door. "Mike," he mut-
tered, "we better be goin'."

At that moment Lucca unsnapped the leash from

the rough-haired dog's collar. "S-s-s-sI Get him,
boy!" he said.

There was a breathless snarl, and a black-and-tan

streak crossed the open space. Carozzi's legs were

knocked from under him — the cord twitched out of

his hand. He landed on the concrete and rose dizzy

and cursing. The nasty, throaty sound he had been
conscious of during his moment on the floor ended

abruptly. Everybody was staring toward the corner,

where a whirling mass of white and dark resolved

itself into the figure of a bull terrier with rigid legs
braced, and something limp and furry gripped in his

iron jaws. Bat's eyes were blissfully shut. He jerked

his powerful neck up, back and down again.

135
BAT
From Lucca came a squawk of fear. "He's killin'

him!"
Joe Ruffo tossed away his cigarette and crouched
over the dogs. "Naw," he said. "He's killed him."
"PuU'em apart !" . . . "Get that white devil off

him!" . . . "Where's Carozzi? Here —make your

dog let go!"
They took hold of Bat's hind legs and pulled.
They tried to pry his jaws open. One of the more
hysterical bystanders made a grab for Tim Eakins'
biggest monkey-wrench, but Tim was on his feet

by now.
"Drop that!" he said, and jerked the heavy
weapon out of his hands. He picked up an empty
quart oil tin and ran with it to the gas-pump. In a

moment he was back. "Look out," he told them

mildly, and poured the gasoline over the white dog's

nose. Bat sneezed, shivered and released his hold.

"Come 'ere, lad." The little mechanic hooked his

fingers into the bull terrier's collar and led him back
toward the truck. With clean water he sponged away
as much of the gasoline as he could. Finally the
choking fumes subsided, and Bat was able to breathe
again.

136
 BAT
"I 'ated to do it to yer, dearie," Eakins murmured,
"but they'd ha' brained yer if I didn't." His hands
explored the white hide gently. There were some
minor cuts but the blood on the neck was not Bat's.

There was an excited gleam in Lucca's eye as he

left the huddle of men around the dead airedale and

strode across the floor. Eakins tightened his grip on

the white dog's collar. But it was avarice, rather

than a desire for revenge, that animated the fat

Sicilian.

''Some dog!" he growled, staring down at Bat's

erect pink ears. "Some fightin' fool, huh"?" He

swung away with decision. "Hey, you —Carozzil"
he called.
Bat yawned and licked the blood off his jaws. It
was the second fight of his carefully-guarded life.

That instinct for combat, bred into his marrow

through scores of generations of pit-dogs, had found
fulfillment at last.

Gravely he blinked up at the tow-headed young

man in greasy clothes, whose fingers scratched so

pleasantly behind his ears. Now that the tension of

the battle was over he remembered that he was

hungry.

137
BAT
The other men were talking in loud voices. Wads
of dirty, greenbacked paper changed hands. And
now the stout man with the shiny rings on his fingers
was coming toward him again.

"This oughta be a quick clean-up," grinned the

ice cream maker. "Come on, you mugs. I want to

find old Gaetano. He'll put heavy dough on that

bow-legged bulldog he's so proud of."
Tim Eakins watched the crowd go out, taking the
white terrier with them. He knew better than to

meddle. He'd got along with these people for ten

years by keeping his mouth shut. But he felt a bitter
resentment as he crawled back under the truck.
There was a gallant British sportiness about the dog
that had made him half homesick, good American
though he was.
Hours later, when he had peeled off his coveralls
and was rubbing sand-soap on his hands at the sink,

Morelli and Ruffo ran in.

"Where's Joe's car?" snapped the garage-owner.

"No — I'll get it. You, Tim, put that dead dog in

the back room — ^under the pile of old tires. The

bulls are comin'."

Tim Eakins hid the airedale's body in the back

138
 BAT
room. As he was returning he heard Ruffo's car go
roaring out across the curb. Morelli had gone also.

Methodically he sloshed a bucket of water over the

blood stains in the corner and went back to scrub-
bing his hands.
The two men who entered before he finished using
the towel were City Hall detectives. The larger one

ambled over with a casual greeting. "Seen anything

of a white iightin' dog 'round here tonight?" he

boomed confidentially.

Tim shrugged. "I did 'ear some talk o' one," he

replied. "Wot's up now?"
*
'Stole," said the big Irishman. "We got word he
might be down this way. A patrolman kept findin'

dead dogs in the street. Three of 'em — an' they

weren't run over, either. But you know these folks

'round here. They won't talk."

"Gor!" murmured Tim. "Three dead ones, you

say? Wot a pup!"
The smaller detective had been wandering rest-
lessly around the garage floor. He stared sourly at

the wet place in the corner, then turned to inspect

a dirty pair of coveralls hanging on a nail.

"These yours?" he asked the mechanic.

139
BAT
Tim squirmed. There were short, stiff, white hairs
clinging to the cloth.

"All right," snapped the detective. "Start talk-

in'."
" 'Old on, now," the little cockney replied with
some dignity. "I didn't say anything about not seein'

'im, did I?"

"Okay. Who had him in here?"
"A couple o' young chaps. Strangers to me. I

didn't take notice of 'em partickler —only o' the dog.

'E was a bit of all right."

"What did they look like — these two mugs?" The

smaller detective had his note-book out.
"Both medium 'ight, I'd say. Thin. Dark. One 'ad

on a gray suit an' the other a blue serge. Don't re-

member the kind of 'ats they wore."

"You're a lot o' help," the sleuth grumbled.

"Might be any two of a thousand guys. If we pick

anybody up we may have to call you to identify

em.
When they had gone Tim Eakins looked at his

big silver watch. It was close to midnight. Too late

now for him to go and call on his girl, Marie. How-

ever, he wouldn't have to be back at work till noon

140
 BAT
next day so there was no reason to go home for a

while. He tied his necktie, put on his hat and locked

up the garage. Outside it was a hot night, close and
quiet. With his coat over his arm, Tim strolled up
the street to the soft-drink place on the corner.

The fat proprietor was drowsing alone at one of

the rear tables.

"Hi, Rocco," Tim greeted him. "Where's all the

customers?"
Rocco heaved himself out of his chair with a
yawn. "They all left here a while ago," he said.
"Guess they gone home now."
Tim nodded. "Sars'parilla," he said, and when the
glass and the straws were in front of him, he waited
for the Italian to go on. It was evident that Rocco
had something on his mind.
After a moment the fat fellow chuckled and
rubbed his hands. "By golly!" he said. "I seen some-
thing tonight like I never seen before!"
Eakins sipped a swallow or two of sarsaparilla.
"The dog, you mean?" he asked without too much
eagerness.

"Yeah —was you there too?"

"Just —
the start at the garage. Wot 'appened

141
 —

BAT
after that?"

"Geez!" Rocco breathed. ''What a dog! They

fought him four times — times— two iive in hours.

The ol'
—
man " he looked around and low-hastily

ered his voice, — ''

man cleaned up two grand
the ol'

in bets, they say!"

Tim's eyes widened. "You mean 'e won every

time?"
''All but the last time." Rocco picked up a wet
rag and wiped off the bar. "The white dog was tired,
maybe. What I hear, they give him a police dog
twice as big as him — an' the police dog finished him
off. Then they heard the cops was comin' an' every-

body scrammed."
Tim swigged down the last of his drink and laid

a dime on the counter. "So long, Rocco," he said,

and walked back to his little old car, parked in the

alley behind the garage. His heart was heavy on

that drive home to Camden, across the river. "Dirty

dagoes!" he growled once, aloud. Then he remem-

bered that Marie was Italian too. "Dirty 'umans!"
he corrected himself.

142
 CHAPTER X
TONY DONATO thrust his tousled shock of

brown hair around the corner of the alley and

looked warily up and down the street. The coast was
clear, as far as his enemy the truant officer was con-
cerned, and he ducked back again to get his wagon.
Anyone else would have had difficulty guiding this
vehicle, but Tony had built it and knew all its vaga-
ries. The body, an old orange crate, was mounted
somewhat unsteadily on four wheels, no two of
which matched. The rear pair were approximately
the same size, but one was a wire baby-carriage

143
BAT
wheel and the other, a wooden-spoked affair, must
originally have adorned an old-fashioned toy ex-

press-wagon. In front, Tony had built up an in-

genious tower of waste blocks of wood, resting on

an iron rod. And on this rod turned one roller-skate
wheel and one top from a paint can. He pulled or
steered his wagon, as the case might be, by means
of a rope attached to the outer ends of the front
axle.

Tony had no particular hate for the Philadelphia

public school system, but this was one of the days

when school would have to get along without him.

If he didn't collect a load of wood there would be

no cooking done by his grandmother. Towing the
creaky wagon he darted out and went quickly down
the street. In spite of the crippled leg that dragged
behind him, his agile little body moved with a good
deal of speed.
A block from home, the boy turned into a narrow

street that led behind a row of stores. If he was there

first he knew he would be fairly sure to find broken
boxes and crates, thrown out by the grocers. There
was plenty of refuse of assorted kinds but somebody
must have arrived before him. A couple of flimsy

144
 BAT
peach-baskets were the only burnable things in
sight.

Tony wandered on, following his own peculiar

paths through a maze of squalid courts and alley-

ways. At the rear of a dry-goods wholesaler's, half

a mile eastward, he had a stroke of luck. Part of a

big packing-case lay in the gutter. Heavy, inch-thick

boards that would really make a fire in the cook-

stove. He went to work at once, tugging with wiry

hands to loosen the nails and pull the slats free.

Three or four of them were in the wagon when he

heard quick, shuffling footsteps and looked up to see
a sour-visaged old man glaring down at him.

^'That's my box, kid," growled the new arrival.

"I seen it first, an' went to git my sack." He ex-

hibited a tattered old burlap bag as evidence. ''Chase

!"
yerself on outa here, now
Tony yanked another board away and dodged
nimbly out of reach as the man swung an angry paw
at him. "Yah I" the boy yelled derisively, and called
him a mouth-filling Italian name. He retreated to a

safe distance at the end of the alley and watched

with hot envy while the interloper smashed up the
rest of the case and stuck the boards away in his

H5
BAT
sack. Tony wished he was six feet tall and had two
good legs. He'd show some of these old bums!
There was one more place that he hadn't tried yet.

That was the furniture factory, half a dozen squares

south. He worked down that way, avoiding the trav-

eled streets as much as possible, and after a swift

reconnaissance, pulled his wagon through the narrow

gateway into the rear yard of the mill. There was a

pleasant smell of shavings and a cheerful whir of
saws and planers. But better still he saw some fine

chunks of oak and maple wood on the scrap pile

close to the building. In two minutes he had filled

the wagon to the brim. Just as he was laying the last

stick on top, a menacing figure appeared in the gate.

It was his nemesis, the ragged old man.
"I gotcha now," grinned the intruder. "Ya can't

git out till ya gimme some o' that wood."

Tony looked around desperately. Behind him, in

a corner of the yard, there was a broken board in
the high fence —a hole barely big enough to crawl

through. If he could make it with the wagon there

might be some exit beyond. He seized the pull-rope

and scrambled over to the hole like a scared cat. In

another second he was down on hands and knees,

146
 BAT
dragging the wagon through after him. One wheel
stuck momentarily, and he could hear the man pant-
ing close at hand. With a last frenzied tug, he pulled
the wagon free. Some of his precious wood fell off

in the process but he didn't stop to pick it up. He

turned and fled along a three-foot passage between
the fence and the blank wall of a building.
Ahead of him there was only a dead end, but at
his left he saw some sort of dark entrance, level with
the ground. There was no time to investigate. He
dove into it, jerking the wagon behind him. The
place was slimy with moisture and once or twice he
stumbled over piles of old rubbish, but a glimmer
of light at the farther end kept him going forward.
The covered passageway opened at last on a court,
lined by the high walls of warehouses.
Tony had no idea where he was now, but at least

he seemed to have shaken off his pursuer. He stopped

for a moment to catch his breath and looked around
for the most likely way out. It was while he was
standing there, staring up and down the dingy court,

that he caught sight of the dog.

At first he thought it was a dead dog, for its gray-

white coat was stained and splotched with blood,

147
BAT
and it lay in a recessed doorway with its head hang-
ing down over the step. Horrified but fascinated,
Tony had advanced two or three cautious yards

nearer when he saw it move. The bloody head lifted

feebly and one battered eye opened. Frightened,

Tony almost took his wagon and ran away. Instead
he stayed, for he saw that the animal was trying
pitifully to wag its tail.

The boy screwed up his courage and went closer.

He laid a timid hand on the dog's head. With a

struggle the poor beast raised itself on trembling

legs, swayed toward Tony and tried to lick his hand.

Then without knowing just why he did it, the boy

found himself picking up the limp body and stag-

gering with it to the wagon.

"I dunno who you belong to," he panted, "but I

know you're sick an' beat up an' thirsty. I'm gonna

take you home."
• • •

When Bat first returned to consciousness an hour

earlier his mind was a dark haze of pain. He could

see, through the slit of his less damaged eye, that

it was daylight. But when he tried to move, he was

helpless. All the whalebone strength had somehow

148
 BAT
run out of his body. Flies buzzed around his wounds
but he lacked the energy even to snap at them. His
tongue was dry and painful in his mouth, and from
nose to tail he was one ache of misery.
He made another heroic effort to get up, dragged
himself to the edge of the step and slumped there,
too weak to move. He had no idea where he was,
and only a vague, unhappy memory of how he got
there. There had been a dark, fat man, he remem-
bered —a man with shiny stones on his fingers and
a heavy, nauseating smell of pomade. After that first

fight in the garage Bat had felt pretty satisfied with

himself. Now, he had thought, they would give him
his supper and take him back to his own family.

But there had been no food —no water. Only a push-

ing crowd of men who breathed hard and talked in

excited whispers. They had taken him somewhere in

a car and there was another dog — a puffing, surly

brute with a prodigious breadth of chest and oddly

bowed forelegs.

Bat had no quarrel with this stranger. They

would have been glad to let each other alone,
but the men pushed the bulldog closer, plaguing

him till his hackles went up and he swaggered

149
BAT
forward, growling at Bat's slim white stillness.

There was no pleasure in that battle. The terrier

had every advantage of speed and science, but charg-

ing again and again he could not throw his sturdy
adversary off balance or get a throat hold that was
more than a mouthful of loose skin. A grueling quar-
ter of an hour went by before he gripped the bull-

dog over those absurdly narrow loins and paralyzed

his hind legs. Again the strangling fumes of gasoline
had made him let go, and there had been more ex-
cited talk and more passing of crumpled paper.
Bat was tired then, panting and shaky, more
weary from his own exertions than from the damage
inflicted by his opponent. But there was only a scant
five minutes' rest before he was hustled into another
fight. From then on it had been a nightmare. Flash-
lights blinking in hidden courtyards, and always the
circle of vicious-faced, leering men, and hostile dogs
coming at him one after another. Dimly he remem-
bered a slashing collie and a brindled mongrel that
was part bull terrier like himself and a veteran of
many wars.
Even that was not the end. Unless he had
dreamed it, there had been one last enemy, bigger

150
FLASHLIGHTS BLINKING IN COURTYARDS
 BAT
than all the rest — a snarling gray beast that had
knocked him off his feet in the first charge. Bat had
a hazy recollection of getting his teeth into the furry

throat and of being swung back and forth while he

held grimly on. Then his skull had struck something

hard and he remembered no more.
The second time Bat tried to move there was
someone else in the courtyard with him. A scared-

looking little boy, staring at him out of deep-fringed

dark eyes. In the terrier's experience, children were
friends. He summoned all the strength he had left

and staggered forward.

• • •

Riding on top of the wood in Tony's wagon. Bat

was hauled through a cobbled alley to the open

street. Here his small deliverer paused, looking

around to get his bearings. As soon as he saw a fa-

miliar landmark he took a fresh grip on the rope and

limped briskly along the cluttered sidewalk. At the

next corner there was a fire-hydrant.
The boy made sure there were no policemen in

sight, and unscrewed the plug with a skill born of

his experience of hot city summers. Carrying Bat in
his arms, he laid him in the gutter under the cool

153
BAT
gush of water, and rinsed the dirt and dried blood
out of his wounds. For an instant the dog writhed
with pain, but after the first shock he began to re-

vive. Eagerly he thrust out his swollen tongue and

lapped at the refreshing torrent. Nothing had ever
tasted so good, he thought, as that draught of cold

hydrant water.
Tony shut off the plug at last and stood looking
down at the dripping terrier. "You feelin' better,

huh?" he grinned. "Maybe you can walk now."

Bat got up on shaky legs and gratefully wagged
his tail. Without objection he submitted to having a

piece of string tied to the strap around his neck.

"You're my dog now," said the boy with finality.

"Nobody can take you offa me."

Pulling the wagon with one hand and leading Bat
with the other, he followed a devious track through
back alleys till he arrived at the narrow court in the
middle of his own block. There was a battered iron
barrel there, lying on its side behind an old shed.
Tony pulled an armful of weedy grass and laid it

in the barrel for bedding. Then he tied Bat's lead-

ing string to a hole in the rim and pushed the dog

inside. Weak and tired. Bat was only too glad to lie

154
 I

BAT
down. "You stay here outa sight," Tony whispered,

"ril bring you somep'n to eat pretty quick."

The terrier curled up in the dark recesses of the

barrel and slept. For two hours he scarcely moved.

When he woke he was stiff and hungry but his brain

was clear. He began gently to lick the open cuts on

his body and legs.

After a while the little Italian boy returned. He

tiptoed behind the shed, peered around the corner

to make sure he was not being watched, and pulled

a meat-ball out of his trousers pocket. "Here y'are,
dog," he murmured, "I sneaked it off the plate.

Let's see if you're hungry."

This question was immediately answered. Bat

!"
wolfed the meat cake in one ravenous gulp. "Geez
said the boy. "Hungry"? I'll say you was hungry!
I'll hafta get you some more some way. Wait —
know!"
He hopped away to the garbage-bucket that stood

in an angle of the dirty yard and lifted the board

that served for a top. After a moment of rummaging
he came hurrying back with two stale loaf-ends of
bread in his fist. He watched the terrier gobble them
and departed, this time to be gone for half an hour.

^55
BAT
When he reappeared he was grinning with triumph.
Somewhere he had picked up a leaky aluminum
stew-pan and patched the holes with chewing gum.
He went to the water-tap that served half the fam-
ilies in the block and filled the pan. ''There, dog,"
he said, setting it down in front of the improvised

kennel, "now you can drink, too."

Tony squatted with his back against the shed and

stared at Bat thoughtfully. "You gotta have a
name," he stated at last. "You b'long to me, an'
when a dog b' longs to a fella he's gotta have some
kind of a name. I'm gonna call you Beppo, like my
gran'pa's donkey he used to have in Italy. See? Your
name's Beppo, now. Come here, Beppo I"
Because it sounded a little like his real name, and
because the boy had been good to him, Bat got up
stiffly and moved as close as the string would let

him.

156
 CHAPTER XI
two days before the
ITthewascourtyard terrier's presence in
attracted the attention of the

neighbors. Grandma Donato, old and near-sighted,

had been suspicious of some of Tony's actions but
she still had no idea why the boy's appetite seemed
to be so much better. It was his older sister, Marie,
hanging out a pair of freshly washed stockings on
the line, who saw a cat prowl past the mouth of the

barrel and dash away spitting. Curious, she stepped

nearer and peered in. She saw a white head and a

pair of little black eyes that looked back at her

gravely. Marie was startled but she didn't scream

157
BAT
or jump back. "Hello, doggie," she said, in a voice

that Bat liked. He stirred appreciatively on his bed

of dry weeds and waved his pale whip of a tail.

"Hmm," said the girl. "I wonder."

She was small and graceful and had flashing dark

eyes like her brother's. Her hair sparkled with glints

of bronze when she turned her head in the sun. In

her high heels and her smart little business dress she

looked out of place against the drab background of

the courtyard.

"Tony!" she called peremptorily.

There was a sound of slow, limping steps inside

the house. At last the youngster appeared in the back

door. He was trying to look unconcerned. "Yeah"?"

he said. "Whatcha want, Marie?'

"Come here," she told him. "I want to know about
this dog. You brought him home, didn't you —and
hid him out here?"
Tony fidgeted guiltily and looked at the ground.

"He was all cut up," he mumbled. "Been run over

or somep'n', I guess. But he's an awful lot better

now. Look —come on out, Beppo."

The bull terrier stretched him.self and stepped out
into the morning sunlight. Kneeling quickly beside

158
 BAT
him, Tony clasped his thin arms around the dog's
neck. "Gee, Marie," he pleaded. "You know you
always said you'd get me a puppy —remember'?
Beppo ain't a little puppy but he's what I want. He
don't eat very much — honest. An' he can pull my
wagon when I go lookin' for wood. Please can't I

keep himT'
Marie hesitated. She knew she ought to be severe,

but the little orphaned brother meant a good deal

to her. And there was something undeniably appeal-
ing about the dog —something wistful in the scarred

body, the slowly waving tail, the questioning eyes.

"All right, Tony," she said finally. "If the old

people will have him in the house you can keep him.
I've got to go to work now. Give me a kiss. And be
sure you wash your hands and face before you start

for school."

She reached down a slim hand and gave Bat's

head an experimental pat. Then with a smile for
both of them she ran into the house.
Tony hugged the dog ecstatically. "It's okay,
Beppo !" he chuckled. "Anything Marie says'U be all

right with Gran'pa."

He refilled the drinking pan and left it in front

159
BAT
of the barrel before rushing off to school.
Bat's cuts and bruises had begun to heal. He
licked them faithfully between naps in his kennel

and was content to wait for his master's return. That

afternoon Tony brought him a fine big bone from
the butcher's. Not since his puppyhood on the farm
had Bat exercised his long jaws on anything so sat-

isfying. With an instinct long denied, he gnawed on

it till dusk and buried it carefully between the barrel

and the shed.

It was that same evening that he was introduced

to the rest of the Donato family. With Tony hold-
ing fast to his leading string and Marie walking
beside him, he was ushered up the single step and
in the back door. There was a smell of food in the
dark little kitchen —a pleasant smell, for Bat was
continually hungry, in spite of Tony's raids on the
neighborhood garbage cans. Close to the window an
erect little old woman sat knitting with energetic
fingers. And a man, older still, was hunched in an
armchair beyond the table.
Marie spoke quietly in Italian. "Grandfather,"
she said, "this is Beppo. He is a very good dog that

Tony found when he was hurt. He will make a fine

160
 BAT
watch-dog and a pet for Tony."
The white-haired old man leaned forward, staring
at the newcomer with watery, near-sighted eyes. He
nodded soberly. ''Si^'' he said. "We will take the

dog in. It is of a kind I have never seen, but it looks

strong and it is not noisy."
Grandma Donato sniffed and plied her needles
faster than ever. "But is it clean?" she inquired.
"We want no fleas biting us."

"Oh— " cried Tony, " —no fear of that. I will

wash him as often as I wash myself I"

Marie smiled. "Even that may not be very often,"
she teased. "But come now. It's time for you to go
to bed."

The Donatos' house was one of a solid row of old

"band-box" tenements that ran around three sides

of the narrow block. The buildings were of ancient,

mildewed brick. Each house contained three rooms,

but the rooms were piled one on top of the other,

and the upper chambers were reached by a steep,

twisting wooden staircase that rose out of a tiny

front hallway.

The room on the ground floor had a window in

the front and one in the back. It was crowded with

161
BAT
furniture because it served as kitchen, dining-room
and living-room for the family. In addition to the

old iron cook-stove and the deal table it held four

or five chairs, a cupboard for dishes and cooking
utensils, and another in which food was stored.

The second-story room was where the two old

people slept. And up under the eaves was a third
chamber, occupied by Tony and his sister. There was
barely space for their two small iron beds, a wash-
stand and a chair. A faded chintz curtain divided
the apartment down the middle, and Marie had ar-

ranged a little curtained closet for her dresses in one

comer.
Cramped as their quarters were, the Donatos lived
almost luxuriously in comparison with some of their
neighbors. There were houses in the block where

whole families, with as many as half a dozen chil-

dren, cooked, ate and slept in a single room.

When Tony was at home. Bat had the run of the

premises. He went upstairs when the boy did, each

evening, and curled up on the floor at the foot of

his bed. At first he found it hard to sleep, for the

nights were filled with unfamiliar noises. He might

be wakened at any moment by the wail of fretful

162
 BAT
—drunken singing and shouting
babies in the next

block— scream of
the a fire siren or the ominous
clang of a patrol-wagon.
On the days when Tony went to school he left

the bull terrier shut up in the house or tied in the

yard. Perhaps he had been warned by that wistful,

far-away look that could sometimes be seen in the

dog's eyes. It was true that Bat was homesick. Much
as he liked the queer little Italian boy, he would
always be a one-family dog. As his bites healed and
his strength gradually came back, he thought more
and more often of the yellow-haired girl and the
clean, white beach, and the cold, delicious tingle of

the pounding surf.

Grandfather and Grandmother Donato were not

used to dogs. They treated Bat with courtesy and
respect but they made no attempt to talk to him.

Neither of them had ever learned to speak more

than a few words of English and they seemed to feel
it would be impolite to address their dignified guest

in Italian. Silently the old woman would offer him a

plate of whatever food they had themselves, and
silently but gratefully the terrier would accept it.

Sometimes the family meal would be a big bowl

163
 —

BAT
of spaghetti, enriched on special occasions with meat
cakes or a meat sauce. More common was a panada

of diced potatoes, beans, celery and other vegetables

that happened to be cheap, stewed in oil along with

chunks of coarse Italian bread. In the old days Bat

might have turned up his nose at such strange fare,

but now he humbly took what he could get.

The terrier had not been in the household long
before he was put to work to earn his keep, like the
rest. Tony labored all one Saturday morning rigging
up a harness of old straps and string. When it was
finished he nailed a pair of wooden shafts to the

front axle of his wagon and persuaded Bat to stand

between them while he fastened the harness on him.

''Okay, Beppo," the boy said at last. "Come on
let's see you pull."
Bat started to trot forward obediently and found
his progress impeded by the contraption that was
tied to him. He shook himself in an effort to get

rid of it, then sat down and looked unhappy. Tony

was firm, however. He hooked his fingers in the dog's

collar and led him across the courtyard, step by un-

willing step.

The wagon rolled along easily enough, and the

164
 BAT
straps of the harness caused Bat no discomfort.
What bothered him was the unaccustomed feel of
being hampered in his movements. With every step
he walked he could feel the crazy vehicle dragging
behind him and hear the clatter of its complaining
wheels. He made one or two ineffectual efforts to

free himself and finally accepted the unpleasant

duty as unavoidable.
Tony was delighted with the success of his

scheme. After a few practice marches up and down

the court he led Bat out on a wood-gathering expedi-

tion.

This time there was no dodging through back

alleys. The boy limped proudly along the busy side-

walk, guiding the terrier by the leading string. When

people stopped to stare or to chuckle at the spec-
tacle, Tony grinned and urged his steed forward
with the pithy phrases he had heard teamsters use to
their horses.

Saturday afternoon was a poor time to look for

wood. Most of the good pieces had been picked up
by other seekers earlier in the day. Tony gathered
up such scraps as he could ffnd, but the wagon was
far from full when he turned Bat and started home-

165
BAT
ward. As they passed in front of a neighborhood
hardware store, a clerk opened the door and flung
an unwieldy bicycle crate into the gutter.
Tony gave a whoop of glee. "Hey, Mister," he
called, "are you thro win' it away? Kin I have the
wood?"
''Sure —help yourself, kid," said the man, as he

hurried back into the store. And before the door had
closed behind him Tony had gone to work on the
crate. He jumped on the side slats with his one good
foot and began breaking them up in pieces small

enough to load on the wagon.

So busy was he at his task that he did not notice

the arrival of a newcomer on the scene. It was only

when a gnarled hand reached past him to seize a

particularly good board that he looked up into the

face of his long-time enemy, the old wood-gatherer.

"I been lookin' fer you, kid," mumbled the old

man grimly. "Ever since you run off with my wood,

I been waitin' to ketch up with you."
Angry tear's came into Tony's eyes. "Aw, gee!"
he cried. "It's mine — the only wood I found !" And
with the energy of despair he tried to pull the board
away.

166
 BAT
There was a sound of scrambling claws on the
pavement behind him just then, and a hoarse, low
growl. The man glanced down in time to see formi-

dable teeth a few inches from his leg and gave a

yelp of dismay. As he jumped back the terrier fol-

lowed, walking with stiff legs, a roach of hair lift-

ing along his back. Even in his ridiculous harness,

and with the wagon trailing after him, there was

nothing comic about Bat's advance. The old man
turned and fled, his tattered clothes flapping in the
breeze, and Tony performed an Indian war-dance
on the sidewalk.
Until now the youngster's sentiments toward the

white waif he had picked up had been nothing more

than pity and a natural pride of ownership. Sud-
denly he discovered that in adopting Bat he had
provided himself with a powerful bodyguard. In his
excitement he dropped on his knees beside the dog
and twined thin brown arms around his neck. "By
golly, Beppo," he cried, "I bet you ain't scared of
!"
nobody
With the wagon piled high, they staged a tri-

umphal parade back to Tony's house. The boy could

hardly wait to tell Marie aboift his pet's exploit.

167
BAT
But the girl was out. She had gone, her grandmother
explained with some relish, to the movies with her
boy friend.

To Tony and the old people Marie was a source

of considerable pride. She was not only a good girl
and pretty, but she had made herself a real Ameri-

can. Instead of leaving school at the end of the

seventh or eighth grade, as most of her friends did,
she had gone on through high school. And now she

had a nice job, not working in a macaroni factory

but as a file clerk in the tall white building of the

Philadelphia Evening Globe,

All this and more Tony confided to Bat at one
time or another. How much of it the dog understood
was not important. He liked to see the proud gleam
in the boy's eyes, and to hear him talk. And as for

Marie, Bat knew without being told that she was

worth admiring. He liked her smile and her clean
daintiness. The faint perfume she wore reminded
him of his own mistress.

When the girl came home that evening she

brought someone with her. At the sound of their
voices, as they entered the tiny front hall, Bat's ears

lifted quickly. He lay in his accustomed place be-

168
 BAT
neath the kitchen table and watched the door with
alert eyes.

The handle turned, then, and Marie ushered

a young man into the room. ''Come in, Tim," she
was smiling. "You remember my grandmother and
grandfather. Tony seems to be out, somewhere, but

he can't have gone far because here's his dog. I don't

think you've met Beppo before."

The white terrier had risen and his nostrils were

working as he tried to catch the man's scent. There
was something familiar about it in spite of the new,
store smell of his clothes. He was a small man,
blond, with mild blue eyes that twinkled now, as he
stooped to greet the dog.
"So you're Beppo, huh?" he grinned. "I say,

Marie, 'es a bit of all right, this feller. Not as good-

lookin' as the dog they 'ad in the garage one night,

but the same breed. Fightin' dogs, they are —and

I'd say this 'un 'ad done a bit of it, too. Look 'ow
'is ears are torn! Bli-me! Now the other chap, 'is

ears stood up as straight as ramrods, but this poor

lad—"
He paused of necessity, for Bat, his recognition
of an old friend complete, had planted a pink, wet

169
 "

BAT
tongue joyfully in the middle of his face.
'"Gorl"
—
Tim spluttered. "Say —you don't suppose
'e could be
Marie looked puzzled. "Don't suppose he could
be what, Tim?"
"Nothin'," said the cockney, still staring at the

terrier. "For a minute," he grinned, "I 'ad a crazy

'unch about 'im — that was all."

170
 CHAPTER XII

TIM
—
EAKINS
a special
stayed to supper at the Donates'
supper, graced by ravioli and
Milanese rizotto. He told them, with modesty and
humor, some of the experiences that had packed his
earlier years. At fifteen he had shipped out of Lon-
don Pool in the black-gang of a freighter, headed
for the River Plate. Leaving the ship at Montevideo
docks, he had found his way to Buenos Aires and
eventually landed a job with a railroad construc-
tion crew. An accident to one of the truck drivers
gave him his first opportunity to handle a truck and
tinker with gasoline engines. He had taken to it like

171
 .

BAT
a duck to water. After a few months they raised his
wages and gave him full charge of the repair work.
"Then," he said comically, "they 'ad a change in

gov'ment. The money for buildin' the line was

stopped, an' I was on the beach. I 'ad a touch o'

fever, too, an' in no time at all my cash was gone.

Wen I got my strength back an' started lookin' for

a job it was the slack season. I could talk a bit o'

their lingo by then but 'twas no good. All the ga-

rages 'ad too many men by 'alf

"Finally, w'en I 'adn't eaten for two days, I saw

there was nothin' for it but back to the stoke-'ole
again. There was an American ship in port an' I

knew if I could get to the States I'd find plenty o'

trucks. After we landed in New York I knocked

about a bit, put in a winter breakin' up cars in a
junk-lot, an' drifted down to Philadelphia. That
was six years back. I was lucky to find a berth open
at Morelli's, an' there's always enough to keep me
busy on the big freight-' aulers."

Grandfather Donato nodded gravely, his dim old

eyes trying to picture those places in far-off South

America. The story— as much of it as he had under-

stood —made him a little homesick for his own days

172
 BAT
of adventure, fifty years ago, when he had set sail

from Genoa in the steerage.

Bat had taken his station beside the young me-

chanic's chair, and he too listened intelligently to

the conversation.
'1 think he likes you, Tim," Marie laughed.

"There's nothin' strange in that," Tim replied.

"If I know breedin', the pup's as English as I am.

'Twouldn't surprise me to 'ear 'e's a valuable dog.

Outside o' the welts in 'is 'ide an' the flop-ears 'e's

as 'andsome a bull terrier as you'd want to see.

Likely 'e was stole from some rich family before 'e

got beat up like that."

Tony slipped a hand under the table with a scrap

of ravioli, and gripped the dog's collar possessively.

"Maybe he was stole," he said, with a flash in
his black eyes. "But he's mine now, 'cause I found
him when he was 'most dead."
"That's the stuff, Tony," Tim grinned. "An' a
mighty good job you've done on 'im, it looks to me."
Monday afternoon when he came home from
school, the boy hitched Bat to the wagon again and
led him over past Morelli's garage. The terrier bris-

tled and hung back when he came within sniffing

173
BAT
distance of the wide doors. There were too many
unpleasant memories connected with this place. He
would have run away if he had not been in harness.
But Tony was firm. Shouting Italian expletives
he took a stout hold on Bat's leading string and
dragged him inside. Fortunately there was nobody
there but Eakins and a couple of strange truck-

drivers.

"Look, Tim I" the boy called proudly. "Look at

the harness I fixed for Beppo. He pulls all my wood

for me now."
The mechanic scrambled down from the cab of

the truck he was repairing and hurried toward them.

"Gor!" he said. "You've made a reg'lar work-

'orse out of 'im, eh? I'll bet 'e don't fancy it much,
either. But look at 'ere, kid, if I was you I'd not

bring 'im around the garage again. It ain't 'ealthy

for dogs w'en Morelli or old Lucca's in the neigh-
bor'ood. So next time you come to see me, better

leave the pup 'ome. 'Ere's a nickel to buy an ice

cream cone, an' give Marie my best, see?"

Tony was puzzled by the warning but he asked

no questions. He knew Tim liked the dog and must

have some good reason for not wanting him to be

174
 BAT
/
seen at the garage. Clutching his nickel he guided

Bat away down the street and out of the neighbor-

hood before he stopped to invest in a cone topped

with Lucca's pinkest ice cream.

When the pair got home at supper-time, Marie
met them at the back door. She looked pale and big-
eyed with excitement, but she kept silence until the
terrier was unhitched and Tony brought him inside.

Then she ran her hand through her brother's curls

and drew a quick breath.

"Tony," she said, 'Vou think a lot of Beppo,
don't you? You wouldn't sell him or trade him?"
"Huh!" the boy snorted. "Who wants to buy
him? No, sir, I wouldn't take
—" he paused, trying

to think of a sum big enough to express his scorn of

the idea
— "I wouldn't take five dollars for him
!"

Marie looked from the boy to the dog with com-

passion in her dark eyes. "No," she said. "I'm sure
you wouldn't. But suppose," she went on, "that
Beppo was stolen from you. How would you feel

then?"
"Gee!" The boy's voice dropped and he stared at
her. "Why — is somebody tryin' to steal him?"
"No, Tony, I don't believe so, only what I want

175
 :

BAT
you to think about is this. If you lost him, and some-
body found him, you'd want them to bring him back
to you, wouldn't you?"
"Sure. They'd be pretty mean if they knew he
was mine an' they didn't bring him back."
"That's right, Tony." She hesitated, trying to
break it to him without too great a wrench. "I'm

afraid he really was stolen —from someone who

thought a lot of him. What happened after that I

don't know, but the people who owned him have

been trying to find him for two weeks. This after-
noon I was filing some old want-ads at the office and
I came across this one that I copied. Here is what
it says

"'Lost, strayed or stolen: White English Bull

Terrier, last seen on beach at Ventnor, Sept. 7.

Well-grown dog, 20 months old, weight about ^^

lbs. Registered as Ch. Snowboy of Battersby. An-

swers to name of "Bat." A family pet, highly val-

ued by owners. $500 reward for return, no questions
asked. Address all communications to Ramsdell
"
Faulkner, Ventnor, N. J.'

Tony's lip trembled. "Aw," he said, "there's lots

o' white dogs. What makes you think Beppo's the

176
 BAT
one?'
"What day was it that you found him*?"

''It was —lemme see —two days after school

started."

"That would be the eighth. And he was lost on

the seventh. It's hard to believe that all those cuts

and bruises happened to him in one night, but maybe

he was hit by a car or something."
She turned toward the dog. "Bat!" she said.

"Come here, Bat."

There was no mistaking the terrier's quick re-

sponse. His pitifully tattered ears went up and he

sprang to his feet, trotting to the girl's side at once.

His tail whipped back and forth joyfully at the

familiar name.

"I guess there's no question about it," Marie said.

"I've called him before but that's the first time he's

ever come to me."

Tony could find no words to answer. His eyes
were desolate, staring at his pet. Quickly Marie put
her arm around him.
"Don't take it so hard, 'Tonio mio^'' she remon-

strated. "Remember — those folks love him too, and

he'll have a good home. Probably they give him

177
 —

BAT
meat every day and he has a fine collar to wear and
servants to wash him and everything. And, Tony
did you hear what it said about the reward? Five
hundred dollars! How'd you like to have your leg
all cured — so you could run and play football like

the other kids? That's what the doctor at the clinic

said —remember? And that's what makes me happy.

I've been saving all I could to pay for the operation

but it would take years before I got enough. And

five hundred dollars —why, we could have it done
right away!"
Tony nodded without looking up. 'Td like that,

all right," he said. "But gee —Beppo's the only dog

I ever had! We'll have to send him back, I guess.

Only—" he looked more cheerful, " —maybe he

isn't the one they lost, after all I"

Marie kissed him. "You take good care of him,

then," she smiled. 'Til type a letter at the office
tomorrow and send it to this Mr. Faulkner. Only
Fd like to talk to Tim about it first. Will you run
over to the garage and ask him to stop here on his
way home?"
Tony found the mechanic still at work. He was
hammering a huge truck tire off the rim and the

178
 "

BAT
boy had to shout to make himself heard. ''Marie
wants to see you tonight," he said. "It's about my
dog. She found somep'n about him in the paper an'
there's a five hundred dollar reward
—
Tim stopped suddenly, with the hammer lifted,

and shot a worried glance toward two men who were

lounging in a corner near the door. "Sorry, kid," he
muttered. "You shouldn't 'ave talked so loud. Beat
it now, an' tell Marie I'll be there, soon's I can get
away."
This brusqueness wasn't like Tim. Tony knew
there was something wrong and started off at once,

without saying any more. On the way he stole a

furtive look at the men in the corner. They were

young, snappily dressed, and they were watching
him with hard, expressionless eyes.

Tony ducked out and around the corner into an

alley. He waited there for a minute to make sure
he was not being followed. Then he sped for home
as fast as his limping gait would let him. He was
scared. Familiar as he was with the type of ne'er-

do-wells who hung around his part of town, it was

the first time their attention had ever been directed
toward himself. There had been something cold and

179
BAT
menacing in the eyes of that pair that made him
shiver.

It was nine o'clock that night when Tim Eakins'

little car came chugging over the cobbles and
stopped in front of the Donatos' house. Marie
opened the door at his knock.

"Come in, Tim," she said. "Did Tony tell you

what I wanted to talk to you about?"
"Yeah, 'e started to. Were was it — in the lost an'

found columns?"
"That's right. It was put in the paper two weeks
ago and must have run every day since. It's funny
none of us saw it. Here's the copy I made."
Eakins took the paper close to the lamp and
frowned over it. "The seventh," he said, when he
had finished. "That's the night they 'ad 'im at the

garage — an' Tony found 'im next day. Remember,

the first time I saw the pup, 'ere, I 'ad a sort o'

feelin' it was the same one. Didn't I, Bat, eh?"

At the name the terrier bounded out from under

the kitchen table and came to nose his hand. Tim
nodded. "Gor!" he breathed. " 'E must be worth a
mint if they're offerin' a cool five 'undred, no ques-
tions asked."

180
 "

BAT
"That's just it," said the girl. "You don't suppose
we could get into any trouble, do you? If we re-

ported finding the dog, I mean."

"Not that I can see," Tim told her. "The police

know 'e was brought to South Philadelphia. But

they thought 'e was dead after all the fightin' that

night. Tony found 'im an' saved 'is life. The story'll

be easy to check, an' there shouldn't be a bit o'

trouble about the reward. There's only one thing

—
he hesitated and stroked his chin thoughtfully.
"You write the letter tomorrow, Marie, an' 'ave the

kid keep a close watch on the dog till the answer

comes. Some o' these tough guys up the street might

'ave spotted the ad, too, you know. An' for 'alf a

grand they'd pick 'im up quick as kiss your 'and.

Speakin' o' which
— " he caught the girl's fingers and
brushed them with his lips.

"Good night, Marie," he laughed. "An' good luck.

Let me know, soon as you 'ear from 'is nibs that

owned the pup."

Tony, who had been listening to their conversa-

tion, came to the door to add his own farewell.

"Don't worry, Tim," he said. "I won't let him out

o' my sight. But listen —were those the guys you

181
BAT
meant — in the garage?"

"Yeah," said Tim briefly. "Those were the guys.

Good night, kid."
• • •

For two days they waited anxiously but no reply

came. Marie had told all the facts in her letter, and
had given her telephone number at the office, so

that Mr. Faulkner might call her at once if he

wished. When the second day passed without a word
from Bat's owners she was disheartened. She had not
realized how high her hopes for Tony's operation
had built themselves on the prospect of that five

hundred dollars. Now they came tumbling to earth

again. Perhaps it was a different dog. Perhaps the
real Bat had been recovered and they thought her
letter was merely the work of a chiseler. She blushed
with shame at the idea.
Tony guarded Bat jealously while this suspense
lasted. He left him shut up in the house during the

hours he was at school, and only let him run in the

yard when he himself was watching. But late in the

afternoon of the second day Grandma Donato
pointed to the empty wood-box, and suggested
mildly that Tony fill it.

182
^•nrrirfiit(ini'i><iii((iiTiiiiiiiiinuiii>iiiiiiMiiiiiiiiiifiiiiiiii'ii!

^.-.^^

HE PAUSED AT EACH CORNER

AND LOOKED UP AND DOWN THE STREETS
 BAT
The boy debated whether he should take the

wagon and go alone. There was the home-made har-

ness hanging invitingly on its peg. He could keep
hold of Bat's leading rope, he decided, and there
was no need to go anywhere near Morelli's. He tied

the various straps and strings around Bat's body and

led him out of the yard.
Prudently, Tony chose a course directly opposite
from the garage. He paused at each corner and
looked up and down the dusty streets before hurry-

ing across. Wood was scarce that evening. The boy

visited all his usual foraging-grounds without find-

ing more than a few scattered sticks. At six o'clock,

when the smells of cooking suppers filled the tene-

ment courtyards and the streets had emptied of traf-

fic, he found himself nearly a mile from home, in

territory he had never searched before.

There were a few shabby stores in the neighbor-

hood and one big furniture warehouse. That looked

promising, Tony thought, if he could get around
into the court behind it. He led Bat to the corner

and down a deserted side street. The entrance to a

gloomy little alley came into view after a few steps.

Tony peered in, saw that it led to a court behind

187
BAT
the warehouses, and urged the dog forward. A pile

of freshly opened packing-cases caught the boy's eye

and he ran toward it with a whoop of glee. In a
moment he was throwing broken pieces of board into
the wagon. Armfuls of good wood. He had come on
a wood-hunter's bonanza.
Bat was the first to hear the tread of tiptoeing

feet behind them. Tony, his vigilance relaxed, was

making so much noise with the wood that his first

warning was when the dog growled.

188
 CHAPTER XIII

WHY didn't ya foller the kid

sight'?" Mike Ciliano asked

when he was
his companion
in

as

they strolled away from Morelli's.

"Don't be a sap," Pio answered. "The grease-

monkey seen us, didn't he? An' you heard what he
said. We'll foller him. It's easier. Go get the car.
I'll watch from the corner here."
Carozzi's humor got no better as the evening

passed. They parked the sedan in the next block

where they could command a view of the garage

189
BAT
entrance and sat in it, waiting for Tim Eakins to
come out.

"A good thing we ate early," grumbled Ciliano.

''What do guys like that want to work overtime
for?'
"Guys like that don't know no better. But you're
goin' to work some overtime too, before you earn a
split o' that five C's. This snatch won't be as easy
as the last one."

"You still got the ad in your pocket?"

"Yeah. Why? You want to see it again? You
oughta know it by heart."
"You're sure it says 'no questions asked'?"

"That's what it says, but don't let 'em kid you.

The bulls are goin' to check up on anybody that

claims that dough. When we've picked up the dog

we've got to find a guy to front for us. I know a

feller up in Frankford — a goof that's weak in the

head. He'll do it for a hundred —^maybe less."

It was dark when Tim Eakins finally came out

and got into his old roadster. They followed his tail-

light half a dozen blocks and saw him stop and

knock on the door of a house. As he went in, they

drove slowly past. "Got it?" asked Mike, who was

190
 BAT
at the wheel.

"Sure —fourth house from the corner. Keep

drivin'. The Britisher'll tell 'em to keep the dog
locked up, so we can't do any more tonight. But
I'll get up at seven tomorrow."
They watched all the next day and the day
after. The middle of the second afternoon Ciliano
rebelled. He had been standing on a corner, his
eyes fixed on the Donatos' courtyard, for two hours.
When he came back to the car he was sick of it.

"You can have this job," he told his confederate.

"My feet are hurtin' an' the pup ain't showed his

nose outside all day."

"Okay, sap," said Carozzi coldly. "You want to
quit, eh? Know any easier ways to make half a
grand? The dog's still there. I seen him through the

window a little bit ago. An' they can't keep him

in the house all the time, can they? Here —you stay

in the car. I'll go back there."

He was watching from behind a street-light pole

when Tony came home from school, and still watch-

ing, half an hour later, when the boy and the dog
made their appearance. As they ducked into a side

alley, he turned and ran around the block to the

191
BAT
waiting sedan.
"Down the next street," he told Mike. "Cruise

along slow. The kid's got him hitched to a wagon

an' they're goin' after wood."
Pio Carozzi had grown up in the district and
knew the twists and turns of all its alleyways. The
car moved at a snail's pace. Occasionally they would
catch a glimpse of the white dog and the limping
youngster, or hear the tell-tale creak of the wagon.
Pio reached behind him and picked up a burlap
bag from the floor of the sedan. "I'm usin' it 'cause

I gotta hunch the liver trick won't work twice with

that baby," he said. "Keep followin' till they stop
to pick up some wood."
• • •

The wind was blowing the wrong way, so that

the man had approached within two or three

stealthy strides before Bat knew of his presence.

He whirled to face his remembered enemy, tipped

the wagon on its side and tangled his legs in the

shafts and harness. The man stepped forward

warily, holding the mouth of the sack open in his

hands. He had a handkerchief tied over the lower

part of his face.

192
 BAT
Tony screamed then. With a desperation that

shook his thin little body he seized the biggest piece

of board he could lay hands on and swung it wildly
at the gangster's head.

Carozzi ducked quickly, catching the blows on

his back and shoulders. His hands were too busy
with the sack for him to defend himself. He grunted
a curse under his breath and sprang back as the
terrier charged at him. If Bat had been free he
might have knocked the man down. As it was, all
he could do was drag the wreck of the wagon after
him and try to get his teeth into those hated legs.

He gathered his muscles for another spring and

suddenly a muffling blackness enveloped his head.
No matter how he snapped and squirmed, the thing
settled farther around him, caught at his forelegs,

gripped his loins. A moment later he was flung on

his side and a heavy weight was planted across his

body, holding him helpless on the ground. Tony

was still screaming in terrible, panting sobs, and the
sound of his feeble blows still came to the dog in

the sack. Both noises ended suddenly in a gasp and

something struck the ground.

"Scram outa here, ya little devil!" snarled Ca-

193
BAT
rozzi. "Next time I hit ya I'll knock ya simple."
There came the snicking sound of a knife cutting
leather, and Bat was caught up by the hind legs,

the bag still about him. Then he was being carried

at a jolting run. A car door slammed, close to his

ear, and an engine roared as the clutch was let in.

"Cut quick at the next corner," ordered Carozzi,

breathing hard. "I don't want that kid to spot our

number."
Half suffocated by the dusty folds of burlap. Bat
fought and twisted in vain. His hind legs were held
high in a vise-like grip and a ruthless foot pressed
his neck against the floor boards. He did not know
how far they took him in the car, but by the time
they jerked to a stop his strength was nearly spent.
His muscles quivered and he was gasping hoarsely.
"Sounds like he was smotherin'," said Mike
Ciliano's guarded voice. "There won't be no reward
paid if he's dead."
"Who's doin' this*?" Carozzi snapped back.

"Here's the key. Get that door open. We'll stick

him down cellar till the guy comes from Frank-
ford."

There was a brief wait, then more carrying and

194
 BAT
the sound of feet tramping over a squeaky floor.

Then Bat was shaken out of the sack to go tumbling

down a steep flight of stairs into darkness. Above
him a door closed quickly and a bolt shot home.
He lay on a damp, hard surface, gulping the grate-

ful air into his lungs.

When the terrier had regained enough strength

to stand up, he lifted his nose and tried to sort out

the various scents of his prison. Through the gen-

eral odor of musty staleness he caught hints of de-

caying wood —moldy rags —a vague suggestion of

rats or mice.

The place was not completely dark, for a glim-

mer of twilight struggled in through a single cob-

webby window, five feet above the cellar floor. As

his eyes became accustomed to the gloom he could
see a narrow coal-bin, nearly empty, slimy walls
that had once been whitewashed, and corners piled
with old refuse of many kinds. Limping a little from
the kicks and bumps he had received, he padded the
length of the cellar and back again on a tour of
exploration. It was unsatisfactory. No other dogs

had been there before him. There seemed to be no

way out except by the door from which he had been
BAT
thrown down the stairs. And when he climbed up
to push against it with his nose and paws he found
it tightly fastened.

He descended the steps once more and resumed

his restless prowling. Now that the first shock of his
capture was past he discovered that he was both
hungry and thirsty. The dampness of the cellar walls
and floor made him think he might find water, but
there was not even a puddle of seepage where he
could drink. Disappointed in this search he set out
to investigate the faint smell of rodents he had first

detected. It was stronger in one corner, near a heap

of waste. Digging methodically among the musty
rags and papers he at last unearthed a hole in the
masonry and sniffed at it with hopeful eagerness.
But if rats had used the opening it must have been
long ago. For want of something better to do he
crouched beside the hole, his nose on the alert and
one ear cocked.
Hours passed and Bat still kept his station. Then
he heard a door open and shut in the house above
him. Boards creaked under moving feet and men
began to talk. He recognized two of the voices.
They belonged to the pair who had brought him
196
 BAT
here, and the sound of them made him shiver. He
scrambled to his feet, the hair rising stiffly along
his back. The third voice was one he had not heard
before, thick and slurring, as if it came through
battered lips.

The words that were being spoken meant little

to the dog, but their gruff inflections told him all

he needed to know. Some sort of argument was in

progress, and he sensed intuitively that his own fate

was under discussion. He fidgeted nervously, trot-

ting Up and down the narrow space.

Night had fallen in the street outside, and the

only light that penetrated the cellar was a faint
beam from a street-lamp that shone through the
dusty window. Bat's eyes had become used to the
darkness of his dungeon, and each time he turned
at the end of his restless beat he looked up at that

window, measuring its height from the floor.

Overhead the voices subsided to ordinary tones.

"Okay, Spike," Carozzi was saying. "You're goin'

to keep him tonight an' call that number first thing
tomorrow mornin'. You picked him up on the street,

see? Way uptown somewhere. Mike'll drive you

home soon as you've got him in the sack."

197
BAT
Bat heard all three men tramping toward the
door at the head of the stairs. Then came a sound
of fingers fumbling at the bolt and he waited to
hear no more. He crossed the cellar in a whirlwind

rush and leaped upward with every ounce of power

in his spring-steel haunches. The glass of the window
crashed under the impact of his head. He hung there
for an instant clinging to the outer sill with desper-
ately clawing toenails, then somehow scrambled
through. A jagged sliver of glass raked his side but
he paid no attention to it. All that was in his mind
was to put distance between himself and his enemies.

So he ran — straight ahead —with a breathless

haste that heeded neither cars nor traffic-lights. Be-
hind him Carozzi had heard the noise of his exit and
jumped into the sedan to follow, but Bat knew
nothing of that. Tongue out and sides heaving, he
loped on, block after block. He was running north-
ward, guided by an impulse that seemed to spring
from his feet rather than his brain. Once a speeding
taxicab swerved at a crossing with a shriek of brakes
and the front fender grazed Bat's shoulder, knock-
ing him endwise into the gutter. He was up again
and on his way before the driver could find breath

198
 BAT
to curse him. Once a crowd of young loafers in front

of a pool hall sprinted after him whooping and yell-

ing, but the chase ended when he cut through a side

alley and doubled down the next street.

Bat did not stop to reason about the route he

was following. He galloped mechanically, driven
by the homesick urge that had been building up in

his heart for weeks. Through the push-carts of South

Street and the leafy shadows of Washington Square

he sped without faltering. The lights and noise con-
fused him when he reached the edge of Market
Street traffic and he turned down a block in the

direction of the river before he plunged northward

again.
• • •

Tim Eakins glowered at his reflection in the

blurry mirror that hung over the sink in the garage.

His heart, which had beaten so high when Marie

came through the wide doors an hour before, was
bumping along on bottom now. He couldn't forget

the tragedy in her eyes when she told him Tony's

story. How the kid had come home late for supper,

dazed and tearful, with a bruise on his head. And

how, when he was finally able to talk coherently,

199
BAT
he had described a masked man and a fight in a
strange alley and waking up to find his dog gone
and his wagon smashed.
Tim had seen red when he heard that. If Marie
hadn't restrained him he would have started out to
find Carozzi, single-handed. As it was, he was forced
to be content with giving her what information he
had and standing by while she called the police

from the drug-store 'phone-booth.

Now he slipped off his coveralls, gave his hair a
rake with the comb and locked up the garage. He
had promised to stop at the Donatos' on his way
home. He got into his roadster and drove the few
blocks to their door. Tony and the old people had
gone to bed but Marie was waiting up for him.
"'The detective was here half an hour ago," she

told him. "He didn't seem very much excited — ^just

another stolen dog, you know. He looked at Tony's

head and asked him a few questions, and before he
left he promised to check up on Carozzi. He was
one of the 'don't-worry-now-girlie' kind of men. He
might help us get the dog back, but I doubt it."

Tim gave her what comfort he could. "Remem-

ber," he said, "now that the cops 'ave got somethin'

200
 BAT
on Carozzi, 'e'll get 'imself in trouble if 'e tries to

claim the reward. So maybe it'll come out right yet,

Marie. All I 'ope is the kid'U be feelin' better in

the mornin'."

He said goodnight and climbed back into the car.

For a minute he sat there, filling and lighting his

pipe to solace his low spirits. Then he headed river-

ward, dodging the evening traffic, and chugged up

Fifth Street toward the bridge. Tim had a snug
little three-room flat in Camden where he did his
own housekeeping with sailorly neatness. He would
have a cup of tea when he got home, he promised
himself.

He swung into one of the middle traffic lanes and

began the ascent of the bridge. Red tail-lights

glowed ahead of him, and a big interstate bus rum-

bled up the outside lane like a moving Christmas
tree. As he was about to pass it, the leviathan blared

its air-horn and veered out suddenly, away from the

rail. Eakins was resentful. He'd pull up beside that
fool driver and give him a piece of his mind. But
just as he stepped on the gas he caught a glimpse of

something out of the corner of his eye. Something

white. A small, pale ghost, flitting eastward across

201
BAT
the spangled black bulk of the bridge.
He slowed and looked back. It was hard to see
now. Approaching car lights dazzled him and an
angry horn sounded close behind. You couldn't stop
in bridge traffic, even if you thought you had seen
—but it was impossible, of course. Who ever heard
of a dog crossing the big span? Some trick of the

lights, perhaps —a white spot reflected for an instant

on the gray steelwork.
Still unconvinced, Tim paid his toll and pulled
over to the side of the plaza. For five minutes he
sat staring into the continuous stream of headlights

that swept down the long incline, hesitated at the

toll booths and flowed on to be swallowed in the

dark streets. Cars and trucks and buses, but that was
all. He must have been wrong. With a sigh he

stepped on the starter and headed for home.

202
 CHAPTER XIV
BAT had
'
galloped five miles or more when he
reached Sixth and Race Streets. For the first

time he began to recognize his surroundings, and

tired as he was, he put on a new burst of speed as
he crossed the broad stretch of pavement toward the
"island" in the middle of the plaza.
There he waited, panting for a moment, and
sniffed the southeasterly breeze. It told him what
he wanted to know. That pungent fragrance from
the big chocolate factory was something he remem-
bered. And another scent, coming more faintly

203
BAT
across the housetops, reminded him of boats and
the sea. With an eagerness that made him forget
his tired muscles he plunged into the current of
traffic moving toward the long incline. Luck favored
him, for he was able to dodge between two cars just
as they passed the bridge-policeman. They soon left

him behind and he swung over into the lane nearest

the rail, running uphill, his tail down and his

tongue lolling. The rank, familiar odor of the river

came up to him out of the dark. Through the grill

on his right he could see the glint of lights on oily

water far below. Home was somewhere beyond and

he was on his way.
By some miracle Bat crossed the bridge without
being run down. Swearing drivers honked at the
white apparition, ground on their brakes and steered
around him. He was frightened but he kept on
going. After the long chase through the city he

was wary of humans now. When he came down the

Camden side and saw men stopping the cars under

the toll-house he hesitated, crossed over to the walk-

way and finally jumped the rail, dropping a dozen

feet to the street below. The landing shook him and
knocked his wind out momentarily. Then he picked

204
 BAT
himself up, limped a few paces and started running
again.

Trying to keep out of the thick of the traffic, Bat

went down a side street for a block before turn-

ing eastward again. The route took him out of

the brightly lighted plaza and he never noticed
the shabby roadster that was parked beyond the
shrubbery.
A few minutes later he was loping under the rail-

road bridge on the boulevard. The curve of the great

road swept southward, bordering Cooper River. Bat
paused long enough to run down the bank and gulp
a few swallows of brackish water. Then he raced
on. Miles of harsh concrete had worn his pads thin.

To ease their burning he took to the grass beside

the road wherever he could find it, but he never

stopped going.
The sulphurous smell of a chemical works across

the creek faded behind him and was succeeded by

a whiff of burning rags from the city dump. Around
the airport there was more traffic. A big plane roared
down the blue-lighted field from the west. Beer gar-
dens were emptying their midnight crowds along the
highway and a reek of bodies and stale liquor joined

205
BAT
the odor of gas fumes and oil smoke. Bat galloped

across the middle of traffic circles where a motorist

might have been confused, but always, unerringly

he chose the right road.
Once, when the smell of hot hamburger came out
to him from an all-night lunch-wagon, he stopped,

quivering with eagerness. It was many hours since

he had fed, and in those hours he had been caught
and beaten, and escaped to run a dozen miles. But
the homing instinct was still stronger in him than
hunger. He licked his lips with a dripping tongue

and went on.

Somewhere beyond Berlin the white dog found

a roadside hedge where he lay a few minutes in
the shadow to get his wind and wash the blood from
his lacerated paws. That must have been about three
in the morning, for when he reached the next ham-
let he heard the clop-clop of hooves and saw a milk-
man's sleepy horse making his rounds.

Bat could run no longer, but he kept moving at

a dogged trot. His tail brushed the weeds and his

heart pumped heavily. Sometimes he went on three
legs and sometimes he limped on four, but he was
still following the road when the sun rose over the

206
 BAT
pines.

After a while he passed a cluster of grape-growers'

shacks where two little boys were playing in the
yard.

r-—^Lookit! A stray dog I" one of them cried and

immediately a hail of pebbles pattered around the
terrier. Bat liked children. He couldn't understand.

One of the stones thudded painfully against his

flank, but he recovered his stride and trotted wearily
on.

A mongrel collie dashed out from a farm-house,

barking savagely. Bat neither stopped nor turned
aside. Something about his grim oncoming must have
changed the cur's temper, for he cringed and re-

treated into the yard, silent until the dust-gray ghost

had passed.
For a long time now, Bat had tasted no water.
His tongue hung dry and feverish. He might have
found a stream in the woods if he had left the road,
but the thought never entered his head. His one idea
was to reach the Ventnor cottage and his mistress

before his legs gave out. The sun rose higher and
blazed hotter on the roadside. Cars and trucks in
increasing numbers blared their horns to warn him
207
BAT
out of the way. He heard them only as a dim an-
tiphony to the roaring that filled his ears.

• • •

The stinging bite of flies that had settled on the

long cut in his side woke Bat from a sleep of sheer
exhaustion. Sometime before noon he had seen a

little lake nestling in the pines beside a broad-

porched roadhouse. It was only a few yards from

the edge of the pike and the dog had staggered down
to drink. He did not know that he had covered forty
miles since his flight from Carozzi's cellar. He only
knew that he was very tired. And as he lay there in

a grassy hollow by the water's edge sleep overtook

him.
While he slept the sun had swung overhead and
now it was afternoon. Bat snapped once or twice at

the offending flies, drank again, and licked his bloody

pads. It was torture to stand on them. He limped
up to the road again, swallowed the pain and set-

tled to a steady trot. Before dusk fell he was be-

yond Egg Harbor City, still moving down the White
Horse Pike. Hunger gnawed bitterly at his insides,

but the nap and the water had cleared his head,
and to some extent renewed his strength.

208
 BAT
Hours later, when he plodded through Absecon
and caught the strong salty smell on the air he al-
most broke into a run. The miles that still lay ahead

of him seemed no hardship as long as he was near

the ocean. He found his way into the back streets

of Atlantic City, crossed the railroad tracks and

headed seaward, following his eager nose. The
boardwalk was nearly deserted at that late hour, for

the end of September was coming close and the

throngs of pleasure-seekers had departed.
Cheered by every familiar scent and sight. Bat
hurried forward past lighted hotels and theatres and
dark shops, with the booming of the surf in his ears.

At every limping step he left a red mark on the

planks but he never stopped to rest.

It was midnight when he dragged himself up the

steps of the Faulkner cottage in Ventnor. The house
was dark and silent. Everybody must have gone to

bed, he thought dully. But it was triumph enough

just to be there, near his kind and loving mistress.

He barked once or twice, gently, just to let them

know he had come home if any of the household
chanced to be awake. Then he curled up in a shel-
tered corner of the porch and dropped instantly

209
BAT
asleep.

The clink of milk bottles roused him again a

little before dawn. He sat up yawning and started

to shake himself. The agony in his stiff muscles

brought a whine of pain before he clicked his jaws

shut. The autumn morning was chilly.

The milkman left his bottles at a house a block

away and got back into the wagon. Next, Bat
thought contentedly, he would call at the place

across the street, then at the Faulkners'. That was

the way it had always been. But this time the man
clucked to his horse and jogged off up the island.
The ways of milkmen were not for Bat to reason
out. He flopped down on the porch and went to

sleep again.

Broad daylight had come when he woke the sec-

ond time. It couldn't be long, he thought, before

Forbes, the butler, threw open the dining-room
windows and the girl with yellow hair came out
in her bright beach cloak for the morning swim.
Patiently he sat in front of the door to wait.
Another half hour passed. Strangely there was no
sound of movement inside the cottage. He gave a
tentative bark and a queer little chill smote him

210
 BAT
when he heard the gruff note echo forlornly. For

the first time a doubt entered his heart. With ner-

vous haste he went to circle the house, sniffing at

the servants' entrance and the closed doors of the

garage. Either his nose was failing him or the scent

had grown stale. No human had been up or down

those steps for days. He looked up at the windows
and saw that all the shutters were fastened tight.

The conviction that the family was gone swept

him like a wave. He swallowed once, then squatted
on his haunches and tipped his nose to the sky.
Through the quiet seashore morning his long, quav-
ering howl echoed and re-echoed.
That one outburst of despair was the only com-
plaint Bat uttered. He was no quitter. If his mis-

tress had gone away he would settle down to wait

for her return. But meanwhile he could not starve

to death. With sober purpose he set about the busi-

ness of keeping alive.

Before his sojourn in the South Philadelphia

slums Bat might have been helpless to fend for
himself. As it was, he had already learned from
hard experience. He knew, for instance, that food of
a kind was to be found in garbage cans, for he had

211
BAT
watched Tony Donate foraging there for scraps.

Staying on the soft grass as much as possible, he

began a systematic tour of the neighborhood waste

receptacles.

The one at the Faulkners' was an elaborate affair

with a heavy hinged cover, sunk flush with the back

lawn. He tried to open it until his nose was sore

and then gave up. It smelled too clean to be very

promising in any case. At a smaller cottage, half a

block inland, he had better fortune. The owners had

departed leaving a galvanized iron can half full,

and it had been overlooked by the collectors.

The cover was too tight to pry off, but after a

little experimenting Bat put his forepaws against
the top and tipped it over. The clatter made him
jump back in alarm. Then he sprang forward again,

for the cover had flown off and the ground was
strewn with waste food. He wolfed down bread
crusts, bits of meat, odds and ends of vegetables.
In his present ravenous state he was not finicky about
their taste. There was even a big beef bone concealed
among the other garbage. This he sniffed at long-

ingly, then carried to a secluded corner of the

Faulkner garden and buried with care.

212
 BAT
By the time Bat had visited two or three other
back yards the edge was taken off his hunger. And
by a lucky discovery he found a way to quench his

thirst. An outside faucet at the rear of one of the

nearby cottages was not turned off tightly. It flowed

with a steady drip and filled a shallow depression
in the cement below. The terrier lapped the tiny
pool dry with half a dozen flicks of his parched
tongue, but he found that if he waited patiently it

filled up again within a fev/ moments. He stayed

there an hour and gradually satisfied his craving for
water.

With these immediate needs attended to, Bat

limped painfully back to the Faulkner house and
lay down in a comfortable spot behind the hy-

drangea bushes. He was still so tired that sleep came

instantly. When he roused again, some time after
mid-day, he began licking the raw flesh of his pads.
Food, water and a little rest had already helped his

vigorous body to throw off the exhaustion of the

night before. Now all that remained was to nurse

his throbbing feet back to health. He wanted to be

able to run and swim with his mistress when she

came home — as he never doubted she would. Per-

213
BAT
haps the family had gone for a cruise in the boat,
and he would see them tonight. He wagged his tail

ecstatically at the thought, then settled back dole-

fully as he realized he was only hoping.
When darkness fell he returned to his post by
the front door and dozed there fitfully, jumping up
every time he heard a car pass on the distant high-
way. At last even these noises were forgotten and
he dropped into a deep and troubled sleep.

214
 ^-J:i

<^^:

CHAPTER XV
THE days that followed were the saddest and
loneliest in Bat's life. As time passed he knew
he had been mistaken about the family's early re-

turn. But though he wandered far in search of food

he always came steadfastly back to sleep at the cot-

tage each night. Fortunately the garbage left by

summer people in the neighborhood lasted until his

paws had partially healed. After that he was able
to go farther afield in his foraging. As soon as he

could run without wincing he went down to the

215
BAT
beach and tried to recapture the remembered joy of
swimming in the surf. With only the screaming gulls
for company, he found it a lonely business. The
water was colder than it had been in the summer,
but its clean salty sting was welcome to his wounds.

With some of the collected grime washed out of

his white coat he felt almost happy when he trotted
up out of the waves and shook himself.
Before many days had passed Bat learned that a
living of sorts could be picked up along the beach.

At each ebb-tide he scavenged southward along the

deserted sands of Margate and Longport, and there

was nearly always a dead fish or a horse-shoe crab
to be found. At other times the dog made excursions
up the beach, nosing at the debris under the board-

walk. Even now, at the beginning of October, there

were crowds on the promenade and a few bathers in

the surf. Sometimes picnickers left scraps of sand-

wiches or cake that could be salvaged. Once he even

found a discarded hot-dog, complete with frank-
furter and roll and only slightly damaged by sand
and salt water.

In the course of these foraging trips Bat occa-

sionally ran across other dogs no better off than

216
 BAT
himself. Most of them were mongrels; slinking,

snarling brutes with mangy hides and shifty eyes.

They lived under the boardwalk and shunned the

daylight, coming out like jackals at nightfall. Un-
like Bat they had never had homes. Love and loyalty
were outside their experience. Their whole existence
had been a struggle to keep alive.

The lean yellow cur that he had encountered

earlier in the summer was not of this group. When
Bat saw him on the beach one morning, a week
after his return to Ventnor, it was almost like meet-
ing an old friend. The mongrel recognized him, and
as they circled each other both their tails wagged
eagerly. No words were necessary for Bat to tell his

story. The smell of his adventures was all over him.

And the newly healed scars in his hide, the torn ears,

the dingy color of his white coat were added evi-

dence that he had fallen on evil days.

They trotted together along the edge of the re-

ceding tide and such tidbits as they discovered were

shared without quarreling. After that they spent
many of their foraging hours in each other's com-
pany. The yellow dog never came home with Bat
at night. When dusk began to fall he would wag
217
BAT
a polite farewell and trot off up the sands alone. He
had some secret hideaway that served him for a den
and he kept it to himself. Bat never found out what
his background was, but somewhere, by inheritance
or training, he had acquired the instincts of a gentle-

man.
One gray afternoon when clouds were banking up
in the east and a cold wind blew off the sea, the

two dogs journeyed all the way to the lower end

of the island without finding anything edible. The

tide had not begun to ebb until nearly dusk, and
they stayed on the beach later than usual in the
hope that some kind of food would be left by the
waves.
They had returned as far as the Ventnor water-
front, nearly opposite the Faulkner house, when the
old tramp dog lifted his keen nose and pointed sea-
ward. Bat caught the scent then — —somewhere
fish

close at hand in the surf. They raced together into

the foam and almost tumbled over a bulky body

washing back in the wake of a wave. It was a good-
sized halibut, half eaten by a shark but still many
pounds in weight. In an instant they had seized the
fish in their jaws and were dragging it up the beach.

218
 BAT
There were no preliminaries to their meal. Each of
them tore out a chunk of the firm flesh and began
bolting it with a relish born of long denial.
They had hardly finished the first mouthful when
they heard a scurry of galloping feet in the sand.
Without warning half a dozen starved curs from
the north end of the island came charging in on the
feast. They must have been driven by desperate
hunger for something had overcome their usual lack

of courage. Banded together and running in a pack

they made a formidable array.

At their first onslaught the gaunt yellow mongrel

was knocked spinning and they fell upon the fish

like famished wolves. Bat's lips drew back in a

smile of satisfaction. He went in with such silent,

devastating fury that the pack tumbled out of the

way, yelping and snarling in terror. His great jaws
snapped and crunched. Two of the robber band were
crippled and out of the fight almost before it started.

Three others turned tail, scuttling away northward

like frightened shadows. Bat chased them a few
steps, then came back to find out what had hap-
pened to his friend.

In the deepening darkness he could see no move-

219
BAT
ment, but he heard a sound like a choked, gurgling

sigh. Just beyond the partly eaten halibut he came

upon a furry form that he recognized as the biggest

of the marauders. And beside it, his blunt old teeth

locked in a death grip on his enemy's throat, the

yellow tramp blinked up at Bat. His tail stirred

gently, almost apologetically. There was a look of

humble pride about him, as if he said: "I know,
old fellow —I'm not the fighter you are. You're prac-
tically a professional. But you see I can still hold
up my end when it's necessary.''

They left the dead mongrel where the tide would

wash over him and carried their fish to a place of

safety under the boardwalk. There, when they had

eaten their fill, the yellow dog lay down contentedly
and licked his wounds.
It was pitch dark now. Out of the northeast a
cold wind began to blow, whistling mournfully

through the cracks in the planking overhead. The

crash of the breaking seas was louder, angrier.

The old mongrel rose with an uneasy shiver. He

took a last longing sniff at what was left of the

halibut and hurried off toward home. Bat yawned

with the unwonted comfort of a full stomach. He
220
 .......^^..^:^-5.=^^-m^^?^54^^^^^

.^--^^^^

HALF A DOZEN STARVED CURS CAME Cp

 w=^=.-«-s53S??''**

CHARGING IN ON THE FEAST

 BAT
had lived too short a time on the beach to know
much about weather, and the rising howl of the gale
gave him no forebodings. After a while he got up
leisurely, stretched himself and trotted up the
wooden steps to the boardwalk. He was surprised,

when he reached the higher level, to feel how

roughly the wind buffeted him, but he braced his
sturdy legs and trundled on till he reached the shel-
ter of the cottage porch.

Bat woke an hour later to the driving roar of

rain. It blew past in level streaks, beating the

hydrangea bushes to the ground and crashing like

thrown gravel against the windows. The solid house

rocked under the gusty force of the wind.

There seemed to be no dry place left in the whole
world. Bat cowered back against the wall but icy
water flooded in across the porch, lapping around
his feet. He went down the steps and around the
cottage hunting for some sheltered spot, but the

rushing rain pursued him everywhere. He thought

of the warm, dry comfort of the rooms inside and
looked up with longing at the shuttered windows.
At last, in desperation, he began digging at the bot-

tom of the lattice-work that enclosed the area under

225
BAT
the porch. The wet sand came away easily under
his flying paws. In a few moments he had burrowed
out a shallow hole through which he could wriggle
if he lay flat on his stomach.

Fortunately the lattice was vine-covered on its

seaward side, and though it rattled as if it might

be carried away at any moment, it served to break
the force of the gale. Bat felt his way to a high spot

in the uneven ground beneath the porch and hud-

dled himself into a wet ball. There he alternately
napped and shivered through the rest of that miser-

able night.

Dawn brought only a faint graying of the dark-

ness in his improvised shelter. Outside, the welter

of wind and rain showed no sign of abating. The

dog got up stiffly. He did not want to go out, but
he felt restless and uncomfortable where he was.
Crawling through his tunnel he made a bolt for the
shore.

For a moment he was almost blown off his feet.

Then he leaned stubbornly into the wind and fought

his way forward. When he started he had had some
vague idea of carrying the remnants of last night's

supper from the beach to a safer hiding place. He

226
 BAT
had struggled nearly to the boardwalk before he
realized that there was no longer any beach. All he
could see, when he squinted ahead into the storm,

was a ragged wall of spray, tossed high above the

railing of the promenade. Solid seas like gray hills

were rolling in against the bulkhead with a thun-

derous roar that deafened and terrified him.
Bat turned and fled. He had come face to face

with an enemy he could not fight —an enemy that

was turning his world topsy-turvy. To his bewil-

dered mind it seemed that he was the only creature

left alive to struggle with this chaos of howling wind
and water.
Back in his retreat under the porch he crouched
forlornly and tried to dry his dripping hide. All
day he stayed there while the tumult continued with-
out slackening. Sometimes he thought it even in-

creased in fury. There were frightening moments

when the hurricane took the house and shook it as

Bat himself might shake a rat.

By evening he was hungry, but he knew there

was no chance of finding food in the drowned wil-

derness outside. Thirst did not trouble him, for pools

of rain-water eddied at his very feet. He curled up

227
BAT
miserably on his hummock to endure another night.

Perhaps if he had had the reassurance of human

company he would have suffered less. Never having
experienced a three-day northeaster in his brief life,

the dog could only feel that the established universe

was blowing to pieces about his ears in a catastrophe

that had no end. So he huddled without hope in

his muddy cave through two more interminable days

and nights. Only once in that wet, cold, starving

time did he leave his shelter. That was when a

spasm of hunger drove him to dig up the bone he
had buried weeks earlier. There was no meat left on
its bleached surface, but he took what comfort he
could from gnawing at it.

When the wind blew itself out, before dawn of

the fourth day, and a sickly sun appeared above

the mountainous seas, he staggered out blinking like

an owl in the unaccustomed light. Bat had never

beheld such a scene of desolation as greeted him on
the beach-front. For a moment he had to stare un-

happily before he could get his bearings.

Two of the smaller cottages nearest the ocean
were tilted at crazy angles, their supports washed
away. A sheet metal garage lay opened like a wet

228
 BAT
paper box in the middle of what had been a street.

Battering seas had destroyed the bulkhead in a

score of places, and long sections of the boardwalk
sagged dizzily outward toward the beach. Even now,
at what should have been low tide, there were ten-
foot breakers pounding up to within a few yards
of the normal high-water mark.
At the foot of the broken bulkhead Bat found the
sand strewn with flotsam. Every conceivable float-

ing thing had been spewed up by the sea in its three-

day orgy. Amid a tangle of wet driftwood the dog

found a staring-eyed china doll —dozens of rotten

oranges — a water-soaked traveling bag— deada sea-

gull.

His long fast was over. There were fish of all

sizes stranded above the tide, some of them still

alive and flopping. He gorged himself, then trotted

on up the beach to look at the havoc made by the
storm.

Early as it was, little groups of sightseers had

already appeared on the boardwalk. They stared and
pointed and chattered excitedly at each new evidence
of destruction left by the hurricane. Newspaper and
newsreel cameramen were making hasty shots of

229
BAT
battered bulkheads, tipsy piling and the weird ac-

cumulation of drift on the beach. As Bat trotted

past, one of the men nudged a companion and
pointed.

"Look!" he laughed. "Wonder if the storm

washed that in, too." He swung his big Graflex idly
in the direction of the bedraggled terrier, but Bat
was already racing away. He had no faith in strange
men and no desire to be noticed.

Half a mile farther on he caught up with his

yellow-furred friend and comrade-in-arms. The

tramp dog was hardly recognizable. He had fed on
fish till his gaunt midriff bulged, and he waddled
with the portly gait of an alderman. Bat enjoyed
having a companion, after the terrible loneliness he
had known for the past few days. But when in-

creasing crowds of curious people began coming

down on the sand he felt the urge to get away.

Leaving his friend he took his way southward once

more.
The sun climbed higher and blazed brighter,
warming the wet world. And Bat, scouting far down
the island toward Longport, found himself a com-
fortable spot by a clump of dune grass where he
230
 BAT
could bake the chill out of his body while he
snoozed. Because he was still there at noon, he did

not see the big roadster pull into the driveway of the
Faulkner cottage, miles away to the northward.

231
 -^itjk..

CHAPTER XVI
RAMSDELL FAULKNER stood inside the

^ broad windows of the sun-porch at Devon,

and looked out into the storm-drenched twilight. It

was the third day of the northeaster —a belated

equinoctial gale that had been whipping the coast
with more than customary fury —and it was getting
on his nerves. He could hear June at the piano in
the drawing-room. She was playing without notes,

shifting from one melancholy fragment to another,

always in low-pitched, mournful minor chords. At
last she broke off in the middle of a sobbing melody
and he heard her impatient fingers go up the key-
board in an abrupt run. Then silence fell.

He frowned, stroking his chin in thought. It was

232
 BAT
so unlike June — this moody restlessness that had
dropped like a pall over her gay spirits. Except for
that single day of half-hysterical joy when the let-

ter, forwarded from Ventnor, had come from the

Italian girl, his daughter had been like this for

nearly a month now. And after the bitter dis-

appointment of finding that the terrier had disap-

peared again, he was really frightened about her
health.

Something, he thought, would have to be done

to take June's mind off that dog.

He heard a scurry of feet behind him and Candy

bounced in the air to caress his fingers with a wet
tongue. The little black spaniel was doing his best
to fill the place Bat had held in their affections.

After a moment the girl's slow step sounded in the

library.

"Out here all alone in the dark, Daddy?" she

yawned. ''Ugh, what a night! Did the paper say
anything about its clearing?"
He turned and took her listless hand. "Yes, dear,"
he told her. "The barometer's rising. Ought to be

all over before morning." An idea struck him.

"How'd you like to drive me down to the shore, if

233
BAT
it's fair? They say this storm has played the devil
with property down there. We'd better go and see

if the cottage is still standing."

"All right," she replied without enthusiasm. "I'm
not crazy about going back to the shore, but a drive
anywhere would help, after being cooped up in the

house so long."
They got off by ten, riding through the new-
washed, sun-brightened morning with the top down
and Candy on the seat between them. There had
been dire reports of the storm's ravages in the early
editions of the papers.

"Half a million in property damage, they say,"

Mr. Faulkner was remarking. "Those things are

usually stretched a bit but I'm anxious just the

same. Wouldn't want anything to happen to the
Ventnor place —we've had too much fun there, eh,

June?"
The girl drove automatically, her eyes somber,
fixed on the road. For a moment she did not answer.
Then, "Let's not talk about that. Dad," she said.

"You know it won't ever be the same again."

Ramsdell Faulkner took the rebuff in silence, but

he was too fond of his daughter to see her making

234
 —

BAT
herself unhappy without putting up some sort of a

fight. He marshaled his thoughts before he spoke

again, and when he did there was gentleness in his

voice.
''1 know how you feel, June," he said, "but I

honestly think it's better for you if we do talk about

it. There isn't a thing on earth that we can blame

ourselves for. Bat lived a happy life. He wouldn't
have enjoyed it half so much if we'd kept him tied
up or watched him every minute."
He waited to see how she would take it, but her
face was still expressionless.

"When we missed him," he went on, "I did every-

thing that could be done. There was no time lost,

either. By that same evening the police had traced

him as far as that garage in South Philadelphia, but
all the evidence they could get seemed to point to
his having been killed. If he went down fighting,

June, it wasn't a bad end for a bull terrier. Maybe

it's the way he'd have liked it."

He paused, clearing his throat of a certain huski-

ness. "Well," he continued, "there's never been any
real proof of that, of course. I kept the advertise-
ment running in the papers on the chance that he
 " —

BAT
might still be alive. The Donate girl's letter sounded
genuine enough and it's possible — just possible

that the dog her brother found was Bat. If that story

of his could be believed, about the masked stranger

who stole his dog, it would lend some color to the

idea. But you know —a child's imagination

—
June shifted impatiently behind the wheel. Her
face was stormy. "They were telling the truth," she

said. "Both of them. Remember, I talked to them.

I'd trust that girl any time, and Tony —why, his

heart was broken I"

Her father tried to be tactful. "It's like you, my
dear, to believe in people," he smiled. "I'm glad you
feel that way. But you'll remember the police didn't
find a trace of any dog when they got that tip and
broke into the house a few hours afterward. Of
course, I've still had hopes that the thief— if there

is such a person —would try to collect the reward.

But now I'm afraid we'll have to face the facts.

Bat's gone. I'd like to — well," he fumbled for words,

knowing he was being clumsy, "if it would help,

June, I'd like to get you another dog —any kind you
want."
The girl's gloved hands gripped the wheel tighter.

236
'

s
 BAT
'Tatherl" she said sharply. ''Don't — please."

After that they rode in a troubled silence, broken

only when they spoke of inconsequential things.
The first glimpse of the resort city on its island

was reassuring. The sun, high over the sea, glinted

in golden flashes on each rain-washed tower. It was

all so brave and gay that June gave her father a
puzzled look.
"I expected to see crumbling walls and people

wading in the streets," she said. "Did they really

have a storm down here?"

As soon as they reached Pacific Avenue her ques-
tion was answered. From the boardwalk, a block
away, came a steady sound of hammering, and
through gaps at the end of each street they could see
the tremendous seas still breaking high on the beach.
The town had rolled up its sleeves and gone to work
repairing its glittering fagade.

Farther down the island evidences of the gale's

passage were more frequent and more striking.

Beach-front cottages had been undermined and

moved off their foundations. A graveled side street
was half washed away and there were scattered
pieces of driftwood as far inland as Ventnor Avenue.

^37
BAT
Dread of what they might find made the Faulk-
ners uneasy as they drove southward.

"There it is," said June with a sigh of relief.

''Seems to be standing up all right."

"By George!" her father smiled. "Not even a
shutter blown off I We're a lot luckier than some of
the others."

They parked the roadster in the driveway and

went toward the porch steps. Candy was trotting

busily around the house, sniffing here and there at

the battered hydrangeas. Suddenly he began to bark

and dance up and down in excitement.

"What is it now, half pint?" June asked indul-

gently.

The spaniel was nosing at the bottom of the porch

lattice. As soon as his mistress approached he
plunged through a hole that had been scraped there
in the sand and raced around the cavern under the
porch, still barking with obvious excitement.
"Look, Dad," June called. "What do you suppose
dug this hole?'
Her father stooped down, peering at the sand.

"The rain has washed away all the tracks except

Candy's," he said. "But I'd guess a dog had been

238
 BAT
under there. Maybe one of those stray curs we used
to see hanging around. Here, Candy —you rascal!

Come back here I"

The little black dog had dashed out and away
down the street toward the beach. They got him
back with difficulty but he continued to bark eagerly
as if he were trying to tell his owners some thrilling

secret.

They laughed at him, unlocked the front door

and went through the echoing rooms to make sure

no damage had been done. At the end of a quarter

of an hour they came out to the car again. The little

black dog was nowhere in sight.

June called once or twice, then got in and drove
toward the boardwalk. Candy was on the beach,
sniffing busily along the sand. A quarter of a mile
away to the northward the girl saw an old yellow
mongrel loping off at the edge of the surf. She col-

lected the reluctant cocker and carried him back to

the roadster.

"You must have been right, Dad, about the dog

under the porch," she said. "I just saw one running
off as if he'd been caught trespassing."
Thdy turned the car and set out once more for

239
BAT
Philadelphia. Candy whined mournfully once or
twice and stood up with his fore paws on the back
of the seat, watching the road behind them as if he
hoped to catch a glimpse of something.

"I believe he'd like to stay, the way he acts,"

Ramsdell Faulkner chuckled. "Come, you furmy

little beggar. Get down here where you belong."
Candy obeyed, but he gave his master a reproach-
ful look.
* • •

Bat opened one eye and saw that the sun had
swung westward. The bunch of grass under which

he had been lying now shadowed his body, and the

breeze off the sea felt cold. He got up stiffly and
stretched one leg after another.

The tide was coming in again. Bat wasn't actu-

ally hungry yet but he thought he could eat a little

more before the waves covered the abundant food

on the beach. Lazily he gnawed at a big crab, then

trotted homeward up the boardwalk. He had started

across the Faulkner driveway when he caught that

familiar scent. He stopped, quivering, and his eager

nose sought along the gravel. It was true ! Her feet

had trod here —and here. And Candy! And Mr.

240
 BAT
Faulkner —and the car I

Bat gave an ecstatic little whimper and raced to

the steps. The scent was still strong in front of the

door. They must have gone inside. He sat there wait-

ing and listening until his impatience got the better

of him. He barked — the two barks he always gave
when he wanted to be let in. His voice was polite

at first, then questioning. At last, when no answer

came, he bounced down off the porch and made a
worried circuit of the cottage. Candy had been there
all right. His smell was strong and reassuring. He
had been under the porch and must have known Bat
was close by.

Hastily the white dog returned to the steps, then

to the driveway. He picked up the pungent rubbery
odor of the tires, followed it out to the end of the
street near the boardwalk, then back past the house
to Ventnor Avenue. There he lost it, for scores of

other cars had passed, obliterating the scent. Baffled

and heavy of heart, he took his slow way to the

cottage once more. They had come back once. They

would come again if he waited long enough.
All the rest of that day Bat sat on the porch and
watched the traffic that whirled north and south

241
BAT
along the avenue. He slept fitfully through the night

and in the morning went sorrowfully back to his

foraging on the beach.

His lonely life settled into much the same groove

as before, but there was one difference. He never left

the cottage for more than an hour at a time, and
never traveled farther than a mile or two up or down
the sand. Missing the visit of the roadster had taught
him a lesson.

The days of plenty following the gale were soon

ended. Food became increasingly hard to get, but
Bat made the most of what he found. He ate spar-

ingly and carried every remnant that would keep

to the cottage. In a short time he had a cache of odds
and ends buried in the sand beneath the porch. On
days when his brief expeditions to the beach pro-
duced nothing that could be eaten he lived on these
stored-up scraps.
He no longer swam in the surf for there was a
bitter chill in the water now. His unkempt coat
turned from white to dingy gray, and his sides hol-
lowed till the ribs showed. He was as gaunt as a

wolf and almost as wild. But he still clung stub-

bornly to the belief that his mistress would come

242
 /
BAT
back for him some day/ And if you had passed him
as he crouched there at the top of the porch steps,

shivering in the October wind, you would have seen

an unquenchable spark of hope in his somber black
eyes.

243
CHAPTER XVII
TIM EAKINS
way home
bought an evening paper on
from work, the day after the north-
his

east storm had ended. He did not open it till he

reached his rooms. Then, when he had started the

kettle boiling on the gas burner, readied the little

teapot and filled his pipe, he sat back comfortably

to get a glimpse of the news.

The principal headlines were devoted to damage

done by the gale at the shore resorts. He read them
with perfunctory interest, and started turning back

244
 BAT
to the sports section. On the way a page of pictures

stopped him. They showed sagging lengths of board-

walk, tilted houses, poles blown down and big,

angry-looking waves breaking high on the sand.

Tucked away near the bottom of the page was one
small camera-shot captioned: "Dead fish and drift-

wood thrown up by waves.'' He would have given

it only a passing glance if his attention had not been
caught by a half-recognizable spot of white in the
upper corner. He looked more closely and carried
the paper over to the light. The white spot was a

dog, ^^alloping away as if in terror. Its head was

turned to look back over its shoulder, and one ear,

cocked upward, showed a blur that might be a tat-

tered fringe.

The young Englishman stared at the picture in-

tently. It was too small and too indistinct for him

to be certain even of the dog's breed. But there was
something about it that reminded him of a half-

forgotten moment on the Delaware Bridge at night.

It tantalized him because it was so like the fleeting

glimpse of a running dog that he thought he had

caught in the darkness.
The tea kettle had begun to sing. Tim straight-

245
BAT
cned with a grin and a shrug. He poured the hot
water over his tea and turned back hesitantly to the
opened paper. "It could be, maybe," he said to him-
self. "Not enough to build any 'opes on, but it's

worth lookin' into." Methodically he took out his

pocket-knife and cut the picture out of the sheet,

folding it and slipping it into his coat pocket.

When he had drunk his tea he went into the bed-

room and studied his calendar. Next Saturday
would be October i2th —Columbus Day. He had
heard some of the Italians talking about it at the

garage and he knew it was a great holiday with

them. Morelli would probably close up Friday night
for the week-end. As he prepared for bed, Tim had
the pleasant feeling of anticipation that goes with

the working out of a plan.

Next morning he got up earlier than usual. By

eight o'clock he had driven across the bridge and
was on his way through South Philadelphia. He
knew Marie would soon be leaving for the office.

She was just coming out of the door when he

pulled up before her house.
"
"Morning, lady!" he called cheerfully. 'Ow
about a ride to work in this 'ere chariot o' mine^"

246
 BAT
The girl crossed the sidewalk and got in beside
him. She smiled, but Tim's heart smote him when
he saw how thin she had grown —how big and dark
her eyes looked in the pale face.
"Better'n a trolley car, w'at?" he asked, as they
got under way.
Marie nodded. "Much better," she replied. "But
what brought you out so early, Mr. Nightowl?"
"Oh, nothin' much. 'Twas a nice day an' I thought

I'd give you a sample o' w'at's in store for you Sat-
urday."
"Saturday?"
"Sure, it's an 'oliday, ain't it*? Columbus Day.
You an' Tony need a bit o' fresh air an' if you
don't 'ave to work we'll all go off somew'ere for a
picnic."

"Why, Tim!" the girl cried. "What a swell idea!

When did you think this up?" A little flush of pleas-

ure showed momentarily in her cheeks.

"That's better," said Tim, stealing a glance at

her. "I've been worried about you, Marie. I could
see you were feelin' low ever since those beggars

took the dog. Tough on you and Tony, too, that was
—with the reward right in your 'and, ajs you might

247
BAT
say—"
"Oh, Tim, it wasn't just the money," Marie said
quickly. "I can save enough, if I keep my job, so
that Tony'll get his operation anyway. What hurt
most was that they doubted my word. Those police-
men who came to the house when they couldn't find
Carozzi —you could tell they thought I'd made up
the whole story. Miss Faulkner was different — she

was lovely. But it upset her badly when she learned

we didn't have the dog after all. And her father

checked up on my character at the office — as if I was
under suspicion or something."
Tim clenched his teeth hard on the stem of his
pipe. 'Wish I could 'ave talked to 'im," he growled.
"Wat's 'e think 'e is— a bloomin' lord?"
He let the girl out in front of the big newspaper
building. She kept her hand on the door of the car

for a minute and smiled up at him. 'Til ask today

about Saturday morning," she said. "But I'm sure

they'll let me have the day off, so go ahead and make

!"
your plans. I can hardly wait to tell Tony
"That's right," Tim grinned back. "The kid'll
'ave the time of 'is life. You put up some lunch an'
I'll be 'round for you bright an' early. Only I'm not

248
 BAT
savin' w'ere we'll go. There might be a surprise at
the end o' the trip."

• • •

Tim was up at daybreak on Saturday, hurrying

to the window and casting an anxious eye at the

weather. If it was going to be cold or rainy half the

fun of the trip would be spoiled. Also he hated to

put the top up on the roadster because it was patched
and dilapidated.
Fortunately for his hopes the east was bright with
gold and the softer color overhead showed no sign
of clouds. It would be one of those fine, sunny, wind-
less days that October sometimes brings. He got
himself a hasty breakfast and went to get the car.
Its freshly washed paint gleamed satisfactorily, and
its sturdy old engine gave a reassuring roar when he
stepped on the starter.
As he turned the corner into the Donatos' street

he heard a high-pitched whoop and saw Tony w^ave

his arms. Dressed in his Sunday suit, the boy had

been waiting impatiently at the curb. Marie came
out, smiling, carrying a shoe-box filled with lunch.
She looked so pretty that Tim could hardly take his
eyes off her long enough to park the car.

249
BAT
"Right in 'ere, now, the pair of you," he com-
manded jovially. "An' don't try to tell me I've kept

you waitin' long. It's only eight o'clock this minute.

Tony, you can sit in the middle an' straddle the

gear-shift. Wat's in the box, Marie? Feels 'eavy

enough I"
"That's what we're goin' to eat," Tony burst out.
"Bread an' cheese an' boloney an' pickles. An' I

gotta dime to spend for pop an' ice cream!"

"Now see 'ere," Tim reproved him. "You put that
dime away an' forget it. This is my picnic. Any
extras come out o' my pocket. Besides 'ow do you
—
know we'll go w'ere they 'ave ice cream an' pop for
sale?"
He laughed at the youngster's sudden distress and
gave his knee a pat. "You wait an' see," he com-
forted him.

They crossed the bridge and spun along down the

boulevard. Tony caught sight of a signpost and
pointed suddenly. —
"Hey Marie !" he whispered ex-
citedly. "Is this the way you go to Atlantic City?

Oh, gee! Gosh! I'd rather go there'n anywhere in

!"
the whole world

Well ahead of such holiday traffic as might fill

250
 BAT
the roads later, they rolled along at an even gait.

Tony squirmed in his seat at the first glimpse of the

city of his dreams. Tim found a place to park the
car close to the boardwalk and before ten they were
strolling down the broad promenade.

Tony hopped agilely ahead, his bright eyes de-

vouring every new sight, as full of curiosity as a

squirrel. Marie's fingers squeezed Tim's muscular

arm. ''Look at that kid," she laughed. "He never
had such a good time in his life. I'm sort of happy,

myself. Was this the surprise you meant, Tim*?"

''Well —part of it. Maybe all of it." His blue
eyes twinkled as he looked up and down the wide
white beach. "Look," he said, "there are people in
the water already. W'at do you say we try a swim?"
The morning was mild and the sea almost sum-

mery in temperature. They hired suits at a public

bathhouse and stayed on the sand till noon. Tony
was enraptured. He had never felt the surging rush
of ocean waves before, or tasted their salty sting.
With Tim to keep him right side up he ventured
out to the place where the heaving green seas curled
and broke. And between dips he dug in the sand,

collected clam shells, and soaked his thin little body

251
 —

BAT
full of sunshine.

From where he sat by Marie's side, Tim's eyes

kept up a roving scrutiny of the beach. After a while
the girl teased him about it. "I believe you're ex-
pecting to see somebody," she said. 'Who is it

one of your other girl-friends?"

The Englishman reddened and reached out to

catch her hand. "I — I was lookin' for somethin',"

he stammered. "Can't tell you w'at it was, just yet,

but you know me, Marie. There'll never be any other
girl-friends. Come on —I'm 'ungry. Let's get dressed

an' 'ave our picnic."

He pulled the girl to her feet and they escorted

the protesting Tony to the bathhouse. In another

half hour they were opening the lunch box in one

of the pavilions built out from the boardwalk. Sea-
shore appetites made a royal feast out of the big

plain sandwiches, and Tim bought bottled soft

drinks and ice cream to top off the meal.

When it was over he paid Tony's way into the
Steel Pier. "There's enough sights 'ere to keep you
'appy all afternoon," he told the boy. "Marie and
I are goin' for a walk. We'll be back 'ere to pick
you up."
252
 " —

BAT
Arm in arm, the young couple headed southward
down the boards. Sometimes they talked and some-
times they simply walked, happy without the need

of words. Tim's shyness left him when he spoke of

his own ambitions and he talked well now. He knew
a man who owned a small service station in the out-
skirts of Camden, on one of the main trucking routes
from the south. It would be an ideal place for a

truck repair shop, Tim thought. As soon as he could

get together sufficient capital he wanted to give up
his job at Morelli's and strike out for himself in

partnership with his friend.

"You see," he concluded, stealing a look at the

girl's face, "it's out in the country, sort of. A pretty

place with trees, an' a bit of an 'ouse that's for rent
— just a bungalow, but tight and comfortable. An'
well — there's a school within 'alf a mile, that Tony
could go to
—
He paused, out of breath and flustered. Marie
looked up at him with dancing eyes. "Tim," she
said, in a small, choked voice, "do you mean to say
you've got around to asking me at last*?"

Fortunately they were a long way south of the

boardwalk's more frequented section, for in another

253
BAT
moment he had her fast in his arms, quite oblivious
of possible onlookers.
When the embrace ended they stood looking into

each other's eyes for a long time. At last Tim

laughed and drew a deep breath. *'Gor!" he mur-
mured. "I forgot everything there for a bit. Wat
was the name o' that street in Ventnor you sent the
letter to?"
She told him, wondering at his question.

"We're in Ventnor now," he explained. "I'd sort

o' like to see the place, if we can find it."

They wandered on, arm in arm, watching the

street signs along the landward side of the board-

walk. "This is it," Tim pointed. "The big 'ouse back
there must be pretty close to the right number."
It looked desolate enough when they walked past,

staring up at the shuttered windows. Tim stopped at

the driveway and looked around the withered lawn.

An old white bone lay bleaching in the sun and he

kicked at it thoughtfully. Then he led Marie toward
the porch steps. There were faint sandy traces on

the painted boards —old traces, because they had

been half obliterated by spots of rain. When the

young man stooped down for a closer scrutiny,

254
 "

BAT
Marie pulled at his arm. "Tim!" she whispered,

"somebody'll see us. We haven't any business on

their property I"

He straightened up slowly. "No," he sighed,

"that's true —we 'aven't. I was 'opin' we'd find some
sign o' the dog."

"The dog!" she exclaimed. "Way down here*?

Why, Tim, what in the world made you think that*?

How would he get here?"

Tim shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of de-
feat. "I don't know, unless it was on own legs.
'is

But 'e don't seem to be 'round the place now. Maybe

it was all a crazy notion
—
He reached in his pocket and brought forth a
rumpled newspaper clipping. "I saw this in the
paper," he said. "Right after the big storm. That's
w'y I kept watchin', all the way down the beach."
She looked at the picture when he had smoothed
it out. "Yes," she said doubtfully. "That white spot
does look like a dog —but couldn't it be almost any
dog*? White dogs aren't so uncommon, are they*?"

There was a look of chagrin in his eyes that made

her pat his arm tenderly. "Poor old Tim!" she
smiled. "Was that what you meant by the surprise?"

^S5
BAT
''Yeah. That was it. But as long as it didn't pan
out, we'd best not say anything to Tony."
Back on the boardwalk once more, Tim cupped
his hands and sent a piercing whistle echoing up and
down the beach. The only answer was the scream

of a gull sailing past overhead. Reluctantly the

couple turned their steps northward again.
They found Tony on the big pier, standing bliss-

fully before a cage full of monkeys. Marie put a

loving arm around him. "Been having a good time,

dear?" she asked. "If you've seen everything we'd

better get started. It's four o'clock now."
The youngster had not seen everything, but he
had seen so much that his eyes fairly bulged, and

once he began to describe the wonders of the pier his

ideas came tumbling out faster than he could find

words to express them.

Marie laughed as she led the way to the car. "You
don't have to tell it all at once, Tony," she said.

"Tim and I can hear the whole story on the way

home."
They got into the roadster and started west on
Virginia Avenue. At Atlantic the light had just
turned red and they pulled up behind another car to

256
 BAT
wait. Ahead of the car and nearest the intersection

was a small truck. The part that could be seen above

the car roof looked like an ordinary delivery truck,

except that the rear end was screened with heavy

wire netting. And from it came a chorus of yelps and
howls and gruff, hoarse barking.

Tony scrambled up on the seat and stood on tip-

toe looking over the top of the car ahead. Suddenly

he gave an excited cry and shook Tim's shoulder.
"Beppol" he screamed. "It's my Beppol"
Tim lifted himself behind the wheel and stared
forward where the boy was pointing. ''Are you
sure?" he asked breathlessly. ''Gor! It must be the
dog-catcher's got 'im I"

He made a grab at the door handle, to get out of

the car, but at that instant the traffic light turned

green. The truck jolted forward, turned sharply to

the right and rolled off up Atlantic Avenue. Tim
jerked into low gear and gassed the engine, his im-
patient foot still on the clutch. Then he pressed
viciously on the horn button. The car in front had
stalled.

257
CHAPTER XVIII
BAT had not seen his friend the old mongrel for
several days until that morning. Food had
been increasingly difficult to find and both dogs were
ranging farther than usual from their haunts. That
was how they happened to meet, a little before
noonday, on the beach at the northern end of
Ventnor.
It was warm there in the sun. If Bat's belly had
not been so empty he would have felt like romping
a bit in the surf. Instead he hunted diligently back

258
 BAT
and forth across the beach at his companion's side.

Noses to the sand, they quartered from the edge of

the tide to the shadows under the boardwalk. Bat
had found nothing more tempting than the sodden
tip of a discarded ice cream cone when he heard an
eager whimper from the yellow dog.
The cur was pawing away at the sand with both

forefeet. In a moment Bat had caught the scent and

was digging beside him. In some unaccountable way
a grocer's carton of sliced bacon had found its way
onto the beach and been covered by sand at high
tide. They pulled the soggy treasure free and ripped
away the cardboard and the clinging paper. Bat
seized a limp rasher and bolted it with one snap of
his jaws. It was salty and fat but his ravenous stom-

ach welcomed it and cried for more.

It was at that moment, when they were both gob-

bling bacon as fast as they could, that Bat saw some-
thing move close beside him. Out of the corner of

his eye he caught a glimpse of a pair of leather put-

tees and an outstretched arm. Even as he jumped
aside, the arm came down and a heavy net settled

over the yellow mongrel.

Bat's first impulse was to get away, but a yelp of

259
BAT
entreaty from his struggling comrade made him
change his mind. With a silent snarl he jumped at
the burly figure in the puttees. The man swore and
tried to beat him off with his free arm. Bat's teeth
slid off the thick leggings but he found a hold in
the loose cloth of the breeches above. Then the man's
gauntleted hand caught him by the strap that was
still around his neck and wrenched him loose, with
a three-cornered piece of stout worsted clamped in
his teeth.

The terrier found himself dangling in the air, half

choked by the grip on his collar. The man was
strong. He pulled the net tight around the mongrel
and dragged his two captives grimly across the sand.

There was another man waiting beyond the board-

walk, guarding a truck in which three or four other
dogs were already imprisoned.
Bat made one more frantic struggle to get away,

as he saw the heavy wire door being opened. It was

no use. The man swore and threw him into the truck.

The old yellow cur followed an instant later and

the door slammed shut.

The rest of the captured dogs lay apathetically

on the jolting floor or yapped and howled in a futile

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 BAT
chorus. As soon as Bat recovered his wind he nosed
up and down the length of the truck body, hunting

for a loose board —a broken wire —anything that

might offer a fighting chance of escape. Finally he

shouldered a path among his doleful fellow-passen-

gers and squatted as close to the wire grille as he

could get.
The truck rumbled on a few blocks and parked
in front of a hamburg-and-beer joint, where the dog-
catcher and his driver went in for refreshment. Time
went by. A hot sun burned down on the rear of the

van and its worried occupants panted thirstily. Boys

passing in the street stopped to stare and point.
When one of them tried an experimental whistle
the dogs barked and leaped eagerly against the wire.

After that they were tormented by whistles and calls

of "Here, boy I Here, Rover I" for the better part of

an hour.
At last the big man and his companion came out
wiping their mouths. They laughed at the urchins,
chased them away from the truck, started up the
engine and proceeded on their rounds. It was late
afternoon when they came chugging back up Pacific

Avenue. The load had been augmented by half a

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BAT
dozen more forlorn waifs, and those that still had
voices left were all yelping at once in a bedlam of
sound.
It was when they turned west on Virginia Avenue
that Bat caught sight of the shabby little roadster

just pulling out from the curb. He rose on his hind

legs, clawing at the wires, and forced a hoarse, des-
perate bark out of his dry gullet. They stopped at

an intersection and the little car came nearer. He

could see Tony standing up, pointing toward him,
calling. Then the truck jarred into motion and his

friends were gone.

Bat watched hopefully for half a dozen blocks

before he had another glimpse of the roadster. It

was flying up behind them, cutting in and out of

traffic. As the next light turned red it skidded to a

squealing stop beside the truck. Then a familiar

voice reached him —a voice thac dropped its h's in

excitement.
" 'Ere, you !" Tim was shouting. "That's our dog
!"
you've got in your blarsted wagon
"Yeah?" the driver answered coldly. "That's too

bad, Mister. If yer wanta git him now, yer'll hafta

come to the pound."

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 BAT
As if to end the argument he shifted gears and
rumbled forward with the changing light. The chase
went on for another mile, but Bat was happy now.
He couldn't understand why he hadn't been let out
at once, but he had faith in Tim and Tony and
Marie. As long as they followed he knew he would
be safe.
At the gate of the dog-pound the tv/o vehicles

stopped side by side. Tim was out of the car at a

bound, but the dog-catcher took his own time about
clambering down.
"In a hurry, ain't you?" he asked sourly, with a
glance at the roadster's license-plate. "You folks

from the city go off an' leave your dogs runnin' loose
down here, an' then expect me to stop in the middle

o' town an' let 'em outa the truck. It'll cost you two
dollars tax an' you'll have to sign for him in the

office there. Which dog is it?"

Tony, with his face already pressed against the

wire gate, pointed up at Bat. "That's Beppo — the

white one I" he cried.

"Oh —that baby, eh?" the dog-catcher glowered.
"Well, it'll be an extra two bucks to bail him out.
Look what the beggar done to my pants." And he

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BAT
turned to exhibit the triangular rent in his clothing.
Marie gave the man her prettiest smile. "We're
terribly sorry he did that," she said. ''But I've got

the four dollars right here. Can't you let him out
now?"
"Soon as I git 'em all in the pound," replied the
dog-catcher. His helper backed the truck up to a

narrow door in the high wire fence and they opened

the tail gate, letting an avalanche of dogs pour out

into the enclosure.

"What happens to the others," Tony asked, "if

nobody comes to take 'em home"?"

"Oh, they stay here a week maybe, an' then the

S.P.C.A. puts 'em out o' their misery."
The little cripple shivered. "Gee !" he murmured.
"S'posin' we hadn't seen him!"
The receipt was duly signed, the four dollars

handed over, and at last Tony was allowed to enter

the pound. Bat was waiting just inside the gate. He

looked up at the boy with sober gratitude, and his
tongue, rough and dry, tried to return Tony's caress.
"Look at 'im," Tim growled. " 'E's thirsty. Give
us a pan o' water, can't you. Bud?"
Bat lapped greedily at the proffered water, while

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 BAT
the dogs inside the fence watched him with panting
envy. The dog-catcher turned from Tim's accusing
eyes. "They'll all git some in a minute," he said.

"Don't worry —we treat 'em good enough. Better'n

what most of 'em are used to."

Tim got into the car, opening the rumble seat for
Tony and the terrier. As Marie took her place in

front she looked once more at the dejected group

beyond the wire. "That old yellow dog," she said.

"I feel sorrier for him, somehow, than for any of

the others. And yet he can't have had a very happy
life."

"No," said Tim. " 'E's old an' sick an' mangy.
'E'll be better off if they put 'im away."
But the rescued bull terrier was still looking back
when they turned the corner and left the pound
behind.
• • •

Bat's emotions were mixed as he saw the familiar

landmarks of the White Horse Pike appear one by

one. His memories of this road were no longer happy
ones, and yet he had an excited feeling that this time
something pleasant might lie at the end of it. He
was fond of Tony and his sister and deeply grateful

265
BAT
for his release. But the homesick yearning that lay

deepest in his heart was not for them.

''Wat time is it?" Tim asked, as they neared

Berlin.

"A few minutes before six," the girl replied.

"Why?" she teased. ''Have you got a date tonight?"
—
"No but I was thinkin' we might go right on
out to the Main Line. If you know the address, that
is."

"It's in Devon," she said. "I guess we can find

it."

Dusk had fallen before they reached Philadel-

phia, and out beyond, on Lancaster Pike, the Oc-

tober leaves threw a halo of gold around each street-

light. Tony stared wide-eyed at the big, shadowy

houses set back in their rolling lawns. "Gee," he
murmured to the dog, "did you live in one o' those

places, Beppo? I never knew there was anybody as

rich as that!"

A policeman in Wayne told them how to reach the

Faulkner estate. Bat knew where he was now. When
they turned in between the great stone gateposts it

was all Tony could do to keep him from leaping out

of the car and racing ahead.
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 "

BAT
Tim followed the curving drive in silence, but as
they chugged up to the door of the house Marie
spoke in a whisper. "I'm scared," she said. "It's all

so big — so grand."

He patted her arm. "Steady on, girl," he told her,

with a hearty assurance he did not feel. "You've met
'em. They're just people, I 'ope —not royalties. 'Ere,

I'll ring the bell myself. Come on. You an' Tony
bring the pup."
He marched up the steps and pushed the button
firmly. There was a pause during which they all lis-

tened so intently they could hear the blood pound-

ing in their ears. Then the latch clicked and the
heavy door swung open a few inches. Forbes, in

his butler's livery, looked down his long nose at

them.
Now that the moment had arrived,Tim stuttered,
unable to phrase a sentence. It was Marie who spoke.
"We were wondering," she said sweetly, "if Mr.
Faulkner was at home."
The butler gave a disdainful glance at the little

roadster. "You have some business to transact with

Mr. Faulkner"?" he asked coldly. "Perhaps the

tradesmen's entrance would be
—
267
BAT
''No," Tim broke in, recovering the use of his
tongue. "We'd like to see 'im in person. It's about
findin' 'is dog, 'ere."

"Ah, his dog." Forbes stared at the battered and

disreputable terrier and shook his head. "That," he
said with finality, "is not Mr. Faulkner's dog.
You've made a mistake, my man. And if I may
say so, Mr. Faulkner is in no mood for any more
mistakes of that sort. You'd best take yourselves

off."

He was about to shut the door in their faces when

Bat began to bark. There was a pleading, worried
note in his voice that was like a call for help. And
before the door could close they heard someone speak
inside.

"What is it, Forbes?" asked a clear, girlish voice.

"I thought I heard—"

Bat's charge was irresistible. He struck the heavy

oak like a battering-ram and drove the startled but-

ler back on his heels. The next instant he was

crouched at June Faulkner's feet, his tail beating a

muffled tattoo on the rug. He knew he was dirty

and dilapidated. He knew it would be wrong to put

his grimy paws on her dress, much as he wanted to.

268
 BAT
But with all the urgency of his adoring heart he was
trying to tell her that at long last he had come home.
The girl gave a little gasp and dropped on her
knees beside him. "Bat!" she sobbed as she caught
him to her,
!"
"Bat —you poor darling —youVe come
back to me
• • •

For the big white dog the rest of that eventful

evening passed like a rosy dream. Just being re-

united with his mistress made him too happy to give

his usual keen attention to all that was said and

done. But there were some high spots that lived in
his memory long afterward.
There was the moment when the master heard the
commotion and came hurrying into the hall. He
stared at Bat for long seconds and rubbed his hand
across his eyes.

"Are you sure'?" he said to his daughter dazedly.

And laughing through her tears she told him of
course she was sure. Then he sent Forbes to fetch

McGill and turned to the embarrassed trio who

stood just inside the door.
"Where did you find him?" he asked.

Haltingly and with some help from Marie and

269
 !

BAT
Tony, Tim told his story.

"Atlantic City!" Mr. Faulkner exclaimed. "Did

you hear that, June?"
"Yes, Dad. He must have gone back to Ventnor
to find us, poor lamb. Do you suppose — oh. Dad!
Remember — that place under the porch ! He was at

the shore all the time —even during the northeaster

And we missed him. But Candy knew — oh. Dad,

how could we be so stupid!"
They called Candy, then, and after seeing the

cocker's transports of joy at greeting his old friend,

nobody could doubt Bat's identity.

McGill arrived a moment later. He was breath-

less from hurrying and for once his dour Scotch fea-

tures were radiant with delight. "Aye," he panted,

holding the terrier's jaw in his hand and looking into

his eyes. "It's the dog, right enough. But what a

beatin' the poor lad must ha' taken! Look at his

ribs — fair starved he is. An' the scars on him

!"

Ramsdell Faulkner frowned and blew his nose

with vigor. He seemed to have a little trouble con-

trolling his voice. "I suppose," he said huskily,

"we'll never be able to show him again?"
The kennel-man shook his head. "It's verra doubt-

270
 BAT
ful. We might do somethin' for the ears by croppin'.

In a case like this we could get permission under the

law. But his hide's been cut up bad."
''Who cares about showing?" June laughed. "We
think you're still beautiful, don't we, Bat And what
I

a sire you'll make!"

She turned to Marie and put a friendly arm
about her. "Won't you come into the library, Miss
Donato?" she said. "You and Tony and your friend

— while Dad writes that check? If you're willing I'd

like to know you better. May I come to see you some

time soon?"
"Yes, indeed, Miss Faulkner," Marie blushed.
"I'd love to have you. You know — I didn't tell you
before —but we'd planned to use the money for
Tony. An operation to cure his lameness. It all seems
too good to be true I"
Bat watched the proceedings with a preoccupied
gladness. He nosed happily about the familiar rooms
with Candy trotting by his side. In the sun-porch he
found his own blanket bed still undisturbed. When
he returned, Mr. Faulkner was tearing a piece of
paper out of a book. He blew on it and handed it

to Marie Donato with a smile and some mumbled

271
BAT
words about owing her an apology.
Then the three who had brought the terrier home
rose to take their departure. At the door, Tony
turned back suddenly. He knelt beside Bat and
clutched him tight in a farewell embrace. "Oh, gosh,
Beppo," he whispered. "I know you're goin' to have
!"
fun here, but maybe I'll never see you again
June wiped the tears from the boy's face with her
own handkerchief.
"Yes, you will, Tony," she comforted him. "I'll

bring him with me when I come to call. And I'm

going to give you a puppy out of the very first litter

that Bat gets."

"Gee !" the youngster grinned. "You mean a little

white puppy that'll grow up just like him? Gosh,

!"
you're a swell lady
They got into the roadster and trundled away
down the drive, the lights making a golden tunnel
among the maples.
Bat rubbed his scarred head gently against June's
knee and felt her fingers caressing his neck. His eyes
closed in blissful contentment. The long weeks of

suffering and despair seemed to drop away in that

moment, and a new life began.

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 —

BAT
"Tomorrow," said June understandingly, ''you're

going to have the most tremendous bath in history.

But tonight
— " she kissed the crown of his head
''tonight you're just my dog!"

THE END

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