Finn The Wolfhound Part 4

The lady from Yorkshire paused. For one thing she was not quite sure whether the Master meant that he wished her to buy one of the puppies, or whether he wanted to give one of them to her. She was a wealthy lady, so that the monetary aspect of it did not exercise her mind much, but she would not for the world have hurt the Master's feelings.

"But I am quite sure you will not deny me the real pleasure of giving you one of Tara's children," said the Master. "That is a small return for your gift of Tara herself; but I should like to think of your having one of this family, and it would make me unhappy if you were to deny me the opportunity of giving you your real choice. That was why I asked you to come to-day. It is Tara's thank-offering, and I can a.s.sure you she has excelled herself in the making of it."

The three were seated now, so that they might observe and admire the family at leisure.

"Yes, she really has excelled herself. That grey dog there is Finn.

When he was weighed yesterday he scaled nine pounds more than the biggest of the other three, and they are as big as any whelps of their age I have seen. That grey dog is going to be the biggest Irish Wolfhound bred in our time, in my opinion; and if you choose him he will do you credit. He should be a great champion one day.

You will always know, if you take Finn, that Tara was not ungrateful to you. As for me, I know very well you will never suspect me of ingrat.i.tude."

"It is very, very good of you, and I shall be delighted, delighted to have one of Tara's children."

And then the visitor stopped, gazing thoughtfully at the puppies.

Her kind heart was a good deal moved in this matter, and she guessed more than the Master gave her credit for guessing, in the matter of how much hope and pride he had centred on the rearing of Finn. When the visitor spoke again, it was to say, slowly--

"Finn is quite splendid, there is not a doubt of that, and I can easily believe he will do all that you expect of him. But, if I may be quite frank, what I should really most like would be to have a female if I might. I should then feel that I not only had one of Tara's children of this family, but also that I had a possible future mother of heroes. But--perhaps you want to keep both females, or to dispose of them otherwise?"

One would not like to suggest of this good lady that she was anything but strictly truthful; but it is a fact that she never had done any breeding of hounds, and that, up till that day at all events, she had never thought to. But the Master did not know this, and it was with an undeniable thrill of pleasure that he hailed the unexpected chance of being able to keep Finn. He had made up his mind that Finn would be chosen, and was quite prepared and glad to make the sacrifice; but it was a notable sacrifice, and if the same end could be served without losing Finn, why that was blithe news.

He was not sure of his intention to keep either of the b.i.t.c.h pups, and in any case he would not have thought of keeping both of them.

But honesty and real grat.i.tude made him, impelled him, to point out to the visitor that she might never again have the opportunity of obtaining the kind of hound that Finn would make. However, she stuck to her preference for a daughter, and so it was decided.

Three days afterwards a large dog-box on little wheels, with grated windows and a properly ventilated roof, arrived from Yorkshire, and was placed outside the back-kitchen door. After a very light breakfast next morning--it is bad for whelps, or grown dogs either, to have a full meal before a journey, because the stress and excitements of railway travelling, which are at least as great for a dog as those of air-ship travelling would be for a man, arrest the process of digestion--the fawn b.i.t.c.h puppy was coaxed into this box, while Tara looked on with a good deal of interest; and that was the last she saw of the cottage by the Downs. When the fawn whelp left that travelling-box again, some nine hours later, she was in the paved stable courtyard of a great house in Yorkshire.

A week later another visitor came, this time from Somerset, and his choice fell upon a fawn dog, after half an hour spent in trying to tempt the Master to part with Finn. When this visitor, who was a famous breeder of Irish Wolfhounds, was leaving, with the fawn dog whelp in a travelling hamper, he said--

"But, really, I think you are mistaken, you know, about the grey whelp. He's a beauty, of course, or I shouldn't want him; but I fancy you made a mistake not to accept that offer. Fifty guineas is a longish figure for a three months' pup, with distemper to face and all that. I'm not sure that I wasn't over rash to make such an offer."

The Master laughed. "Well," he said, "be thankful that there's no likelihood of my taking advantage of your rashness. As for distemper, we don't deal in it at all; don't believe in it. If pups are consistently nourished, and get no chills and no damp and no infection, there's no earthly reason why they should ever have distemper. At least, that's how we've found it."

So the fawn dog whelp went, and Finn stayed with the grey b.i.t.c.h pup, and Tara's family was thus reduced to two. The Master said that as he had sold only one puppy of the family so far, he really could not afford to keep Finn's sister; but, however that might be, he kept her for the present, and now that there were but two of the youngsters, they began to live more after the fashion of grown hounds. As autumn advanced the pair were gradually given more and more in the way of grown-up privileges. They learned to come into the den with Tara, and to behave themselves with discretion when there. They never saw such a thing as a whip, but the Master spoke to them with all the sharp emphasis of a growl when original canine sin tempted them to the chewing of newspapers, or attempting to tear rugs. Also, they learned very much from Tara in the matter of the deportment and dignity which becomes a Wolfhound. In the latter part of November their meals were reduced in number from four to three a day, and they were presented with green leather collars with the Master's name engraved in bra.s.s thereon. These were for outdoor wear only, outside the doors of the home premises that is, and with them came lessons in leading which required a good deal of patience on the part of the Mistress of the Kennels, for, after the first two lessons, which were given by the Master, much of teaching work fell to her.

Early in the morning, as a general thing, the Master took Tara and the two youngsters out on the Downs, and these were altogether delightful experiences for Finn and his sister. It was on one of these occasions, and just after entering his sixth month, that Finn tasted the joy and pride of his first kill. He had started with Tara after a rabbit which had scurried out from behind a little hillock no more than ten distant paces. The rabbit wheeled at a tangent from under Tara's nose, and, as it headed down the slope, was bound to cross Finn's course. The grey whelp's heart swelled within him; his jaws dripped hot desire as he galloped. The fateful moment came, and the whelp seized his prey precisely as Tara would have seized it, a little behind the shoulders. It was bad for the rabbit, because Finn was neither practised nor powerful enough to kill instantaneously as his mother would have done. But his vehemence in shaking was such that before Tara reached his side the quarry was dead. Tara sniffed at the dead rabbit with the air of an official inspector of such matters, and then sat up on her haunches to indicate that she had no wish to interfere with her son's prize.

As for Finn, he was uncertain what course to adopt. The rabbit was very thoroughly killed; killed with a thoroughness which would have sufficed for half a dozen rabbits. A number of obscure instincts were at work in Finn's mind as he jerkily licked, and withdrew from, and nosed again at his first kill. In the main his instincts said, "Tear and eat!" But, as against that, he was not hungry. The Master believed in giving the dogs a snack before the morning run, and breakfast after it, because this prevents a dog being anxious to pick up any more or less edible trifle of an undesirable kind that he may meet with, and, then, there were other instincts. It was long, very long, since Finn's kind had been killers for eating purposes. Finn was undecided in the matter. He certainly would have allowed no dog to take his quarry from him; but the matter was decided for him when the Master arrived on the scene and picked up the rabbit by its hind legs. Finn jumped to catch it in his jaws; but the Master spoke with unmistakable decision when he bade Finn drop it, and there the matter ended, except as a proud and inspiring memory, and a ground for added swagger on Finn's part.

In the quiet corner of Suss.e.x, where Finn was born, it was the rarest thing for the Wolfhounds to meet another dog; but it did occur at times, and then it was odd to see how strong the instincts of their race was in the whelps. They seemed to take it as a matter of course that other dogs must be lesser creatures, and that as such they were to be treated with every sort of courtesy, patience, and good humour. Finn and his sister never made advances, but they would stand politely still while the stranger sniffed all round them. For pups in their first half-year they were extraordinarily dignified. Much of this, of course, they learned from gracious Tara, one of the gentlest and sweetest-mannered hounds that ever lived. Also, they had that within, in the shape of truly aristocratic lineage, which gave them great self-respect, a tradition of courtesy, and a remarkable deal of _savoir-faire_. The notion of snapping or snarling at a stranger, human or brute, simply never occurred to either of them; never for an instant. That there were certain creatures whose part it was to be chased and killed seemed evident to Finn; but that there was any created thing in the world to be feared, mistrusted, hated, or snapped at, he did not believe. It may be that Finn was more of a gentleman and a sportsman than many who have borne those t.i.tles in the world without challenge or demur from any of their own kind.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER VI

THE ORDEAL OF THE RING

Finn's first winter was a mild one, and it pa.s.sed without his noticing anything remarkable in climatic conditions. But he was aware of change when spring came. The Downs round Finn's home never seemed to get really wet. The drainage of their chalky soil was such that their surface could not hold much moisture, and outside the Downs the world was as yet a closed book to Finn. But spring a.s.serted itself notably in his veins, and appeared to enter into a partnership with his l.u.s.ty youth, and wholesome, generous scale of living, to speed the young Wolfhound's growth in wonderful style.

Long, slow trots along the Suss.e.x highways and by-ways, behind the bicycle of the Master or the Mistress, hardened Finn's round feet without overstraining his young legs, for the reason that the pace was always set with special reference to his capabilities in this direction. Even in the winter nine-tenths of his waking hours were spent in the open; yet so wise and constant was the supervision of his life that he never knew what chill meant, and never lay on damp ground, never missed a meal, and never suffered from the penalties which attend overtaxed canine digestion, as surely as they attend the same state in human beings.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

On the morning of his first birthday, Finn, with his sister Kathleen and Tara and the Master, walked down to the little local railway station and was weighed. He weighed 119 lbs., exactly 26 1/2 lbs. more than his sister, and thirteen pounds less than his mother. With the standard pressed down upon his shoulder-bones he stood within an eighth of an inch of thirty-five inches in height.

(The height of Wolfhounds is measured from the shoulder to the ground, not from the head.) It must be remembered that although some dogs reach their full development in one year from birth, Irish Wolfhounds are not really fully developed before the end of the second year, though they may be said to attain their full height, and probably their full length, in about eighteen months.

After that, however, comes a good deal of what breeders call "furnishing," which means filling out, general development of flesh and muscle and coat, and an all-round hardening and "setting."

Chest and loin deepen and widen a good deal in the second year; ribs, legs, jaws, tail, and neck all develop and strengthen greatly during this period, under such favourable conditions as Finn enjoyed. But he was a n.o.ble-looking young hound, even on this day which, technically, saw the end of his whelphood.

And then came three more months of Suss.e.x downland summer, the hunting of innumerable rabbits, out-of-door days which were fifteen hours long, and a steadily increasing amount of slow-road exercise, for which Finn was still fortified by three good meals a day, and those of the best that care and science could devise. In early October the Master devised a new game, tolerably amusing in its way, but rather lacking in point and excitement, Finn thought. A ring was marked out in the orchard by means of a few f.a.ggots being stuck into the ground at intervals, and in the centre of this ring the Mistress of the Kennels would take up her stand as a sort of director of ceremonies. Then, sometimes with the a.s.sistance of the maidservant and the gardener, and sometimes a couple of village lads, Tara and Kathleen and Finn would be led gravely round and round, and to and fro, by the Master, while all their movements were closely watched from the centre of the ring. At first Finn found this a good deal of a nuisance, because he disliked having a lead attached to his collar; his inclination was to pull against it sideways. Before him always, however, he had the gracious example of his beautiful mother, who never did more than keep the lead nicely tight while she marched round, with her head well up, her tail hanging in a graceful sweeping curve, and her whole body radiantly expressive of alertness. Gradually it was borne in upon Finn that these were matters which touched his reputation, his pride, his belief in himself; that he, Finn, was being observed and judged with regard to his appearance and deportment. Once possessed of this idea, who so stately proud in all the Wolfhound world as Finn? At the end of a week he could march as sedately as Tara herself, or bound forward with the springy elasticity of a tiger-cat at a touch on his flank from the Master's hand; stand erect on his hind-feet, with one fore-paw on the Master's forefinger raised shoulder high; or fall to attention with hind-quarters well set out, fore-feet even and forward, head up, and tail correctly curved, in the position of a thoroughbred hackney at rest. It was great fun to find how easily commendation could be earned from the Master in this simple manner, for Finn never realized that quite a number of hours of patient instruction and practice had been devoted to the attainment of this end.

Then there came a mid-October morning when, in place of the early scamper on the Downs, Finn and Kathleen were given a light breakfast a little before daylight arrived, and after that were treated to an unusually elaborate grooming. Finn had an exciting sense of impending change and adventure, and even Tara seemed moved to a stately kind of restlessness which kept her pacing the den as though performing a minuet, instead of sitting or lying at her ease. Tara seemed to be a good deal moved and excited when two bright nickel chains, with queer little tin medals attached to them, were produced, and fitted on two new green collars for Finn and Kathleen. She nosed these chains with great interest, for they roused all kinds of vague memories in her, and antic.i.p.ations, too, which she could not define to herself. (Finn and Kathleen had never seen dog chains before, and paid very little heed to them now.

Their necks and shoulders had never tasted the irk of the state which is called being "tied up.") The Master drew the attention of the Mistress of the Kennels to Tara's interest in the chains, and then he stroked the great b.i.t.c.h's head as he said--

"Never any more, old lady. You have done your share, and shall never be hustled about at shows again; so just lie down and go to sleep. The Missis will be home to see you again this evening. Be a good girl, and wish your son and daughter luck!"

Tara watched them wistfully as they all filed out of the stable-yard gateway to the road, and then, with the philosophy born of honoured age and matronhood, returned to the den and lay down with her muzzle on the Master's slippers.

Finn was weighed on the station platform that morning, and turned the scale at 139 lbs., with nine months still before him for "furnishing."

"Of course, one has to remember that not a single chance has been missed with Finn," said the Master. "His development is probably some months ahead of the average hound of his age, but it is pretty good at that; yes, I think it is pretty good."

And then a train came roaring into the station, and Finn and Kathleen, who up till now had only occasionally seen trains from a distance, lowered their tails, and pulled back a little on their chains. The Master had a pleasant way with people like railway guards, and this particular train had not very many people in it.

Accordingly the two young hounds presently found themselves in a pa.s.senger compartment, the door of which was locked. So chains were removed, and while Finn stood with his nose against the gla.s.s of one window, Kathleen, facing the other way, had her nose against the opposite window. When the train started, with a jerk, Finn had his first abrupt sensation of travel, and he did not like it at all. It seemed to him that the ground was suddenly s.n.a.t.c.hed from under him, and then he saw trees and posts and houses flying bodily past him. He barked loudly at one little flying house, which seemed almost to brush the window against which his nose rested, and the Mistress of the Kennels laughed at him as she placed a hand caressingly on his neck. Now Finn detested being laughed at. He did not know what it meant, and when the Master laughed _with_ him, during a frolic of any kind, he liked the sound very much. But being laughed at always made the hair stir uncomfortably on his shoulder-blades. As the culprit in this case was the Mistress of the Kennels, he did not even look at her angrily; but when Tara laughed at him, as she often had done in the past, he always protested with a sort of throaty beginning of a growl, which was not so much really a growl as an equivalent for the sound humans make and describe as "Tut, tut!" or "Tsh, tsh!" Finn did not again bark at a flying house or tree; but, though the whole experience interested him very much, he was greatly puzzled by some of the phenomena connected with this railway journey.

In due course, but not before Finn had become comparatively blase as a traveller, and more than a little weary of the whole thing, the chains were put on again, and the hounds were led out from the train into the midst of a crowd of strange people. Finn had no idea that there were anything like so many people in the world as he found pressing about him now, and many of them were leading dogs on chains. Finn's att.i.tude towards these strange dogs was one of considerable reserve. He was very self-conscious; rather like a young man from the country who suddenly and unexpectedly found himself in the midst of some fashionable crush in London; an exceedingly well-bred young man, of remarkably fine figure; a sportsman of some prowess, too; but one who felt that he had not been introduced to any of the members of the noisy, bustling throng, and fancied that every one else was conscious of the fact.

New experiences were crowding thick and fast upon Finn and Kathleen just now. After rubbing shoulders with this astonishing crowd for some minutes, they found themselves face to face for the first time in their lives with a flight of steps. True, they each felt a soothing hand on their shoulders, a hand they knew and loved, but the thing was disconcerting none the less. At first glance these steps obviously called for small leaps and bounds as a mode of progression. And yet, when one took ever so small a leap, one's nose inevitably came into sharp contact with the legs of strange humans who climbed in front; a distinctly unpleasant experience, because undignified, and implying a desire for familiarity which Finn by no means felt.

However, an end came to the steps at length, and then, after walking some distance in the open road, and being allowed to run loose for a few minutes in a quiet street, full of strange, strong smells and a curious absence of air, Finn and Kathleen were led into a large building, bigger than the orchard at home, and containing, besides countless humans, all the dogs that ever were in all the world, all talking incoherently, and together. At least, that was how it struck Finn and Kathleen. As a matter of fact, there were some thousands of dogs in the Crystal Palace that day, for it was the opening day of the great annual Kennel Club Show; the biggest society event of the year among dogs. It was a more exclusive a.s.sembly than any of the purely human sort, because every dog, among all the thousands there a.s.sembled, was an aristocrat with a pedigree as long as his body. There was not a parvenu among them all; and there are no human a.s.semblies about which that may be said.

It is difficult to conceive precisely how great an ordeal it was for Finn and Kathleen to face, when they were led down the length of this great building to their own particular bench among the other Irish Wolfhounds, of whom there were some thirty or forty present. For fifty yards or more they walked down an aisle between double rows of benches, every yard of which was occupied by terriers of one sort and another, all yapping and barking at the top of their respective registers. Be it remembered that Finn and Kathleen, up till that morning, had never been at close quarters with more than one dog at a time, and had never seen more than about a dozen dogs outside their own breed altogether. The noise of barking, the pungency and variety of smells, and the crowded multiplicity of doggy personalities were at first overpowering, and Finn and his sister walked with lowered tails, quick-shifting eyes, raised hackles, and twitching skin. But pride of race, and the self-confidence which goes with exceptional strength, soon came to Finn's aid, and by the time he reached his own bench, his tail was carried high and muzzle also, though he walked with unusual rigidity, and at heart was far from comfortable.

Though the benches were continuous, the s.p.a.ce allotted to each dog was divided from that of the next dog by a strong galvanized iron net-work, and each dog's chain was fastened to the back of his bench. When the Wolfhounds were benched, Finn had his sister upon his right, and (though he never suspected it) his redoubtable sire, the great Champion Dermot Asth.o.r.e, on his left. On Kathleen's right was a big rebel of a dog with an angry eye, named Wolf Tone. Facing them, on the other side of their aisle, was a long row of their cousins, the Deerhound family; while behind them, and out of sight, was an even longer row of their cousins on the other side: the Great Dane family. Farther on, beyond Champion Dermot Asth.o.r.e, who sat in the rear of his bench wrapped in a cloak of kingly isolation--he disliked shows very much, and now, late in his great career, was thoroughly weary of them--was a row of five and twenty distant connections of Finn's, belonging to the Russian Wolfhound or Borzois family. Finn had noticed these white and lemon coloured curled darlings as he was led along to his own bench, and his nostrils had wrinkled with scorn as he noted their "prettiness,"

the snipey sharpness of their long muzzles, the extraordinary slimness and delicacy of their legs, the effeminate narrowness of their chests, and the toyish blue ribbons that decorated some of their collars. Mentally, he granted these fashionable darlings fleetness, but absolutely withheld from them the killing powers they are credited with. "Bah!" one may imagine Finn muttering to himself. "Foxy tails, weasel's faces, terrier's legs--you are almost toys!"

Heavy-coated, ma.s.sive old Dermot Asth.o.r.e took no more notice of Finn than of the rest of the show. He was supremely bored, and, being perfectly aware that the show lasted three days, his immediate prospect disgusted him. One fancied that on the few occasions upon which he did open his mouth at all, his remark was always the same--"Tcha! And at my time of life, too!" But Finn was not otherwise neglected. The Mistress of the Kennels had a little camp-stool, and on this she sat mid-way between Finn and Kathleen.

Finn also had the Master's hand-bag in his section of the bench; and that was rather nice and companionable. Also, the Master himself seemed seldom to be far away. He flitted to and fro, generally in conversation with somebody, and always followed, for so long as he was in sight, by the eyes of Finn and Kathleen. In his hand he carried a yellow book which told him the names of every dog in all that vast a.s.semblage of canine princes and lordlings, with details, too, as to their exalted ancestry.

The Mistress of the Kennels was studying a similar book, and if Finn, whose muzzle at this time was just above her shoulder, could have read, he would have seen that she was busy with the Irish Wolfhound section of the catalogue. This showed her that there were three separate cla.s.ses for Irish Wolfhound dogs, and three for b.i.t.c.hes of the same breed--Open, Limit, and Novice; with first, second, and third prizes to be won in each cla.s.s. The Open cla.s.ses were for all and any Irish Wolfhounds of each s.e.x; the Limit cla.s.ses were for such as had not previously won more than six first prizes; and the Novice cla.s.ses were for hounds that had never won a first prize in any show. There was also a junior cla.s.s for hounds of both s.e.xes under the age of eighteen months. In the Open dog cla.s.s there appeared the names of no fewer than two fully-fledged champions, and two other fully developed hounds that were already within measurable reach of championship honours; besides several other Wolfhounds of high repute and proved prowess as prize-winners at shows. In the Open b.i.t.c.h cla.s.s there was one champion entered, and four or five others of whom great things had been predicted. In the other cla.s.ses it was evident that compet.i.tion would be brisk.

In the Limit cla.s.s, for example, were several hounds well past maturity who had already won at other shows as many as four and five first prizes. The Novice cla.s.ses included the names of some extremely promising hounds, several of whom had already won second and third prizes elsewhere. In the junior cla.s.s there were four other entries, besides those of Finn and Kathleen. But Finn and Kathleen had been boldly entered right through, in all cla.s.ses for which they were eligible. Old breeders who had not seen them smiled over the breeder's enthusiasm in entering fifteen months old youngsters in Open cla.s.ses, where they would meet old champions, whose very names carried great weight, both with the judges and the public.

A young Irish Wolfhound, lying down among the straw of his bench, is a very deceptive animal. When he is, say, three years old, his beard and brows, ma.s.sive shoulders, and set, a.s.sured expression give one fair warning of the commanding presence he will display when he rises. But when he is yet young he looks a much lesser creature than he is when seen on a show bench, particularly if, as so often happens, he makes a kind of nest for himself in the straw.

Most of the people specially interested in Wolfhounds paused opposite Finn's place, and made some pa.s.sing remark about: "Fine head, that!" "Good muzzle that youngster has!" or if they noticed one of his forelegs over the straw: "Wonderful heavy timbers, those!" But they paid no very particular heed really to the hounds from the cottage beside the Downs. Now and again, however, an old breeder, pa.s.sing leisurely along the benches, would pause when he had pa.s.sed Kathleen, and, after a quick glance back, return to Finn's place, looking up his number in the catalogue, and gazing at the young hound with a gravely calculating eye. "Fifteen months old!" muttered one of these, glancing to and fro between his catalogue and Finn. "H'm! By old Dermot--Tara. Yes. Finn. Ah!" And so on down the benches. Finn had a notion that these men knew a good deal; they had a knowledgeable way with them. Finn would have obeyed them readily. That was how their manner impressed him.

By the time Finn had to some extent exhausted the first novelty of his surroundings, and was contemplating the desirability of sleeping off some of its effects--the number of new impressions he had formed that morning was at least equal to those of a human's first visit to a great picture gallery--the Master came along with something of a rush, chains were unsnapped, and Finn and his sister were taken down from the bench. A number of other Wolfhounds were leaving the bench at the same time, and being led in the direction of a fenced-in judging ring (square in shape, by the way) at one end of the building. The dog cla.s.ses for Irish Wolfhounds were about to be judged, and the Mistress of the Kennels brought Kathleen along, though her s.e.x was not to be judged for some time, because she knew the youngster would be unhappy if left alone on the bench. The Master was leading Finn, and, before they entered the ring, he pa.s.sed his hand solicitously over the dog's immature brows and beard once or twice, even as a very young man may be noticed to tug at his moustache with a view, presumably, to making the very most of it. The Mistress found a place for herself beside the ring with Kathleen, which not only gave her a good view of the judging, but also showed her plainly to all in the ring. This was for Finn's especial benefit. And then the Master walked into the ring with Finn, and took up his place next to the lady who led the grand old hound who had sired Finn--Champion Dermot.

In the centre of the ring, accompanied by a busy steward with a sheaf of notes in his hand, stood the Judge of Irish Wolfhounds; a man grown grey, white-haired indeed, in the study of dog-folk, and one of whom it might be said that, by his own single-hearted efforts, he had saved the breed of Irish Wolfhounds from becoming extinct in the middle of last century, and accomplished a great deal of the spade work which has brought the modern breed to its present flourishing state. No man living could claim to know more of Irish Wolfhounds than this white-haired Judge, who stood in the centre of a ring formed by all the greatest aristocrats of the historic breed.

"Move them round, please," he said quietly. "Keep them moving as freely as possible."

Finn was the only hound in that ring under two and a half years of age, and Finn was just fifteen months old, a child among the acknowledged leaders and chieftains of his race. One noticed it in the comparative angularity and leggyness of his build. He carried less flesh than the others, was far less set; in a word, they had "furnished," and Finn had not. The Mistress of the Kennels, from her place beside the ring, noticed these things, and sighed for the soaring ambition which had led to the entering of this tyro in Open cla.s.s.