rounds of drinks.
He had had his spree. He still had all his check money. And he had aflask of whisky. True, he had been roughly handled. And he had had aducking in the lake. But those were his sole liabilities. They wereinsignificant by comparison to his assets.
He grinned in smug self-gratulation. Then his eye fell on Chum,standing ten feet away, looking uncertainly at him.
Chum! To Chum he owed it all! He owed the dog his money, perhaps hisvery life. Yes--as he rehearsed the struggle to get out of the lake--heowed the collie his life as well as his victory over the holdup men. ToChum!
A great wave of love and gratitude surged up in Ferris. He had asloppily idiotic yearning to throw his arms about the dog's furry neckand kiss him. But he steadied himself and chirped to the collie tocome nearer. Slowly, with queer reluctance, Chum obeyed.
"Listen," mumbled Link incoherently, "I saved you from dying from abust leg and hunger the night I fust met you, Chummie. An' tonight yousquared the bill by saving me from drownin'. But I'm still a whole lotin your debt, friend. I owe you for all the cash in my pocket an'--an'for a pint of the Stuff that Killed Father--an'--an' maybe for abeatin' that might of killed me. Chum, I guess God did a real day'swork when He built you. I--I--Let it go at that. Only I ain'tforgettin'. Nor yet I ain't li'ble to forget. Come on home. I'ma-gittin' the chatters!"
He had been stroking the oddly unresponsive dog's head as he spoke.Now, for the first time, Link realized that the night was cool, thathis drenched clothes were like ice on him, and that the cold and theshock reaction were giving him a sharp congestive chill. Walking fastto restore circulation to his numbed body he made off for his distantfarmhouse, Chum pattering along at his heels.
The rapid walk set him into a glow. But by the time he had reached homeand had stripped off his wet clothes and swathed himself in a roughblanket, his racked nerves reasserted themselves. He craved a drink--anumber of drinks--to restore his wonted poise. Lighting the kitchenlamp, he set the whisky bottle on the table and put a thick tumbleralongside it. Chum was lying at his master's feet. In front of Ferriswas a pint of good cheer. The lamplight made the kitchen bright andcozy. Link felt a sense of utter well-being pervade him.
This was home--this was the real thing. Three successive and man-sizedrinks of whisky presently made it seem more and more the real thing.They made all things seem possible, and most things highly desirable.Link wanted to sing. And after two additional drinks he gratified thistaste by lifting his voice in a hiccup-punctuated ditty addressed toone Jenny, whom the singer exhorted to wait till the clouds rolled by.
He was following this appeal by a rural lyric which recited in somewhatwearisome tonal monotony the adventures of a Little Black Bull thatcame Over the Mountain, when he observed that Chum was no longer lyingat his feet. Indeed, the dog was in a far corner of the room, pressedclose to the closed outer door, and with crest and ruff a-droop.
Puzzled by his pet's defection, Link imperiously commanded Chum toreturn to his former place. The collie, in most unwilling obedience,turned about and came slowly toward the drinker.
Every line of Chum's splendid body told of reluctance to approach hismaster. The deep-set, dark eyes were eloquent of a frightened disgust.He looked at Ferris as at some loathely stranger. The glad light ofloyalty, which always had transfigured his visage when Link called tohim, was woefully lacking. Drunk as he was Ferris could not helpnoticing the change. And he marveled at it.
"Whasser matter?" he demanded truculently. "What ails yer? C'm here,I'm tellin' you!"
He stretched out his hand in rough caress to the slowly approachingcollie. Chum shrank back from the touch as a child from a dose ofcastor oil. There was no fear now in his aspect. Only disgust and apoignant unhappiness.
And, all suddenly, Link Ferris understood.
He himself did not know how the knowledge came to him. A caninepsychologist might perhaps have told him that there is always an occulttelepathy between the mind of a thoroughbred dog and its master, apower which gives them a glimpse into each other's processes ofthought. But there was no such psychologist there to explain the thing.Nor did Link need it explained. It was enough for him that he knew.
He knew, as by revelation, that his adoring dog now shunned him becauseLink was drunk.
From the first, Chum's look of utter worship and his eagerly happyobedience had been a joy to Link. The subtly complete change in hisworshiper's demeanor jarred sharply on the man's raw nerves. He feltvaguely unclean--shamed.
The contempt of such of his pious human neighbors as had passed him inthe road during his sprees had affected Link not at all. Nor now couldhe understand the queer feeling of humiliation that swept over him atsight of the horrified repugnance in the eyes of this mere brute beast.It roused him to a gust of hot vexation.
"Shamed of me, are you?" he grunted fiercely. "A dirty four-leggedcritter's 'shamed of a he-man, hey? Well, we'll lick that out of you,dam' soon!"
Lurching to his feet, he snatched up a broom handle. He waved itmenacingly over the dog. Chum gave back not an inch. Under the threatof a beating he stood his ground, his brave eyes steadfast, and,lurking in their mystic depths, that same glint of sorrowful wonder anddisgust.
Up whirled the broomstick. But when it fell it did not smite athwartthe shoulders of the sorrowing dog. Instead, it clattered harmlessly tothe board floor. And to the floor also slumped Link Ferris, his nerveall gone, his heart soggy with sudden remorse.
To his knees thudded the man, close beside the collie. From Link'sthroat were bursting great strangled sobs which tortured his whole bodyand made his speech a tangled jumble that was not pretty to hear.
"Chum!" he wailed brokenly, clutching the dog's huge ruff in both shakyhands. "Chum, old friend! Gawd forgive me! You saved me from drowndin'an' from goin' broke, this night! You been the only friend that evercared a hang if I was alive or dead! An'--an' I was goin' to lick you!I was goin' to lambaste you. Because I was a beastlier beast than YOUbe. I was goin' to do it because you was so much better than me thatyou was made sick by my bein' a hawg. An' I was mad at you fer it.I'm--oh, I'm shameder than you are! Chum! Honest to Gawd, I am! Won'tyou make friends again? PLEASE, Chum!"
Now, of course, this was a most ridiculous and maudlin way to talk.Moreover, no man belongs on his knees beside a dog, even though the manbe a sot and the dog a thoroughbred. In his calmer moments Link Ferriswould have known this. A high-bred collie, too, has no use for sloppyemotion, but shuns its exhibition well-nigh as disgustedly as he shunsa drunkard.
Yet, for some illogical reason, Chum did not seek to withdraw hisaristocratic self from the shivering clutch of the repentant souse.Instead, the expression of misery and repugnance fled as if by magicfrom his brooding eyes. Into them in its place leaped a light of keensolicitude. He pressed closer to the swayingly kneeling man, and withupthrust muzzle sought to kiss the blubbering face.
The whisky reek was as strong as ever. But something in Chum's soul wasstronger. He seemed to know that the maudlin Unknown had vanished, andthat his dear master was back again--his dear master who was ingrievous trouble and who must be comforted.
Wherefore, the sickening liquor fumes no longer held him aloof fromLink. Just as the icy lake had not deterred him from springing into thewater after his drowning god, although, like most collies, Chum hatedto swim.
Link, through his own nervous collapse, recognized the instant changein Chum's demeanor, and read it aright. It strengthened the old bondbetween himself and the dog. It somehow gave him a less scornfulopinion of himself.
Presently he got to his feet, and with the collie at his side went backto the table, where stood the threeparts-empty flask. His face working,Link opened the window and poured what was left of the whisky out onthe ground. There was nothing dramatic about his action. Rather it wastinged by very visible regret. Turning back to Chum, he said sheepishly:
"There it goes. An' I ain't sayin' I'm tickled at wastin' such goodstuff. But--somehow I guess we've come to a showdown, Chum;
you an' me.If I stick to booze, I'm li'ble to see you looking at me that queer wayan' sidlin' away from me all the time; till maybe at last you'd getplumb sick of me for keeps, an' light out. An'--I'd rather have YOUthan the booze, since I can't have both of you. Bein' only a dawg andnever havin' tasted good red liquor, you can't know what a big bouquetI'm a-throwin' at you when I say that, neither. I--Oh, let's call it aday and go to sleep."
Next morning, in the course of nature, Link Ferris worked with asplitting headache. He carried it and a bad taste in his mouth, for thebest part of the day.
But it was the last drink headache which marred his labor, all thatlong and happy summer. His work showed the