Chapter XVI Ambassador Bill
One who has been somewhat neglected in the few preceding pages is my old pal, my Bill. His soul, heart, instinct, call it what you will, was undergoing severe trials.
Mamie Rose was the cause of it.
With her coming into our lives, she sowed the seed of jealousy between me and Bill.
Bill found a new joy in trotting beside my teacher at times when he should have been at my side. He seemed the proudest dog in all the world and hardly deigned to notice me.
This I resented.
On the other hand, at times when Mamie Rose and I would sit close together, Bill could not rest until, with all his mighty prowess, he had squirmed himself between us.
For a long time he did not know whom of his two friends he should love the best. But, with coming weeks and months, he decided to share his affection evenly, and then we understood one another’s feelings and respected our relative positions.
Would that I could take a peep into Bill’s doggish brain and read the memory of those heavenly days!
A man who is born to coarseness and brutality will sometimes lose control of his acquired attainments. There came a day, long forgiven and forgotten by her, but not yet sufficiently atoned by me, when I permitted the subdued brute within me to assert itself for one brief moment. I saw immediately what I had done, and realized that my rowdyism could not be forgiven.
Then was a lapse in deepest shadows. Regrets, reproaches, self-accusations—what good were they? They could not lead me back to paradise. The room became a place of silent brooding, and not as regularly shared by Bill as formerly. Bill had taken no part in our estrangement. Emotional dog as he was, he never forgot to take care of the inner dog whenever an opportunity presented itself. From the very beginning he had industriously cultivated the acquaintance of my little girl’s mother. First, becomingly modest, he had, in the course of time, insisted on being a regular guest at the dinner-table. I meant to break him of this habit, but the mother told me in confidence that Bill had whispered to her, quite plainly: “I think you are the very best cook in the world.” Few women can resist such a compliment.
For two long days I had not seen her—had not heard her voice. She lived just around the corner, and, from the window of my tenement, I could see the walls that sheltered my treasure, that I thought forever lost. I sat and sat and stared at the cruel bricks that seemed to cry, “Halt!” Small wonder that the lesser things of life had lost their importance to me! Even Bill had, for the nonce, but little space in my thoughts; but he lost no time in bringing himself most forcibly to my notice.
I was at the window, and the door way slightly ajar. All was quiet, very quiet, until a slow patter on the stairs told of my partner’s home-coming. My most casual glance was his share on entering the room. He was very anxious to avail himself of this, and made quickly for the sheltering shadows under the bed. But my careless glance had quickly changed to one of concern on beholding him, and, after much coaxing, he crawled out to face me.
My valiant knight had met his conqueror. The hero of many a battle sat wounded and bandaged before me. His left eye was swathed in linen. He tried to pass over the matter lightly; he wagged his tail, but only once, for that, too, was bandaged. Then he threw himself on my mercy.
It behooved me, as his partner, to investigate the extent of the damage, and I carefully untied the bandage that covered his eye. It was only a trifling scratch, suspiciously like one made by a cat. I also noticed that his badge of honor—his collar—was missing. On the point of throwing aside the bandage, a handkerchief, my eye fell on a well-known monogram in its corner, and—I cannot exactly recall how it happened—but, in the very next minute, my Bill and I were descending the rickety stairs, two steps at a time.
Just as we turned the corner, a belligerent-looking tabby made herself exceedingly conspicuous. Somehow, Bill found the other side of the street preferable. At her door he joined me again, and my queen’s ambassador led the way upstairs.
There I stood before her, and stammered uncouth phrases of apology. I mentioned Bill’s collar. A dainty hand took it from the mantel and handed it to me; our fingers met and—all the world was singing again the sweet refrain which for days had been silent. The impudence of that dog beggars all description. He had the unblushing nerve to claim all the credit for having brought love’s jangle into tune again, and, in his excitement, rapped his damaged caudal appendage three times on the floor before he tried to bite it.
Then our happiness began once more.