My Doggie and I by Robert Michael Ballantyne (young adult books to read .TXT) 📖

get up, John, and put a light beside him; perhaps he's afraid of the dark."

"Very well, mum," said John, obedient but savage.

He arose, upset the poker and pistol with a hideous clatter, which was luckily too remote to smite horror into the heart of Mrs McTougall, and groped his way into the servants' hall. Lighting a paraffin lamp, he went to the scullery, using very unfair and harsh language towards my innocent dog.

"Pompey, you brute!"--the footman had already learned his name--"hold your noise. There!"

He set the lamp on the head of the beer cask and returned to bed.

It is believed that poor perplexed Dumps viewed the midnight apparition with silent surprise, and wagged his tail, being friendly; then gazed at the lamp after the apparition had retired, until obliged to give the subject up, like a difficult conundrum, and finally went to sleep-- perchance to dream--of dogs, or me!

It was while Dumps was thus engaged that Brassey and the Slogger walked up to the front of the house and surveyed it in silence for a few minutes. They also took particular observations of both ends of the street.

"All serene," said Brassey; "now, you go round to the back and use your key quietly. Give 'im the bit o' meat quick. He won't give tongue arter 'e smells it, and one or two barks won't alarm the 'ouse. So, get along, Slogger. W'en you've got him snug, with a rope round 'is neck an' 'is head in the flannel bag, just caterwaul an' I'll come round. Bless the cats! they're a great help to gentlemen in our procession."

Thus admonished, the Slogger chuckled and melted into the darkness, while Brassey mingled himself with the shadow of a pillar.

The key--lost by the care-taker and found by the burglar--fitted into the empty lock even more perfectly than that which Mrs McTougall had conveyed to her mantelpiece some hours before. It was well oiled too, and went round in the wards of the lock without giving a chirp, so that the bolt flew back with one solitary shot. The report, however, was loud. It caused Dumps to return from Dogland and raise his head with a decided growl.

Nobody heard the growl except the Slogger, who stood perfectly still for nearly a minute, with his hand on the door-handle. Then he opened the door slowly and softly--so slowly and softly that an alarm-bell attached to it did not ring.

A sharp bow! wow! wow! however, greeted him as he entered, but he was prompt. A small piece of meat fell directly under the nose of Dumps, as he stood bristling in front of his box; and, let me add, when Dumps bristled it was a sight to behold!

"Good dog--good do-o-og," said the Slogger, in his softest and most insinuating tone.

Dumps reduced his bark to a growl.

The footman heard both bark and growl, but, attributing them to the influence of cats, turned on his other side and listened--not for burglars, innocent man, but for the tube.

It was silent! Evidently "tired nature" was, in Mrs McTougall's case, lulled by the "sweet restorer." Forthwith John betook himself again to the land of Nod.

"Have another bit?" said the Slogger in quite a friendly way, after the first bit had been devoured.

My too trusting favourite wagged his tail and innocently accepted the bribe.

It was good cat's meat. Dumps liked it. The enormous supper with which he had lain down was by that time nearly assimilated, and appetite had begun to revive. Going down on his knee the young burglar held out a third morsel of temptation in his hand. Dumps meekly advanced and took the meat. It was a sad illustration of the ease with which even a dog descends from bad to worse.

While he was engaged with it the Slogger gently patted his head.

Suddenly Dumps found his muzzle grasped and held tight in a powerful hand. He tried to bark and yell, but could produce nothing better than a scarcely audible whine. His sides were at the same instant grasped by a pair of powerful knees, while a rope was twisted round his neck, and the process of strangulation began.

But strangulation was not the Slogger's intention. He had been carefully warned not to kill.

"Mind, now, you don't screw 'im up too tight," Brassey had said, when giving the boy his instructions before starting. "Dogs is vurth munny. Just 'old 'im tight and quiet till you get the flannel bag on 'is head, and then stand by till I've sacked the swag."

Accordingly, having effected the bagging of the dog's head, the young burglar went to the door, holding Dumps tight in his arms, and uttered a pretty loud and life-like caterwaul. Brassey heard it, emerged from the shade of his pillar, and was soon beside his comrade.

When Dumps smelt and heard the new-comer, he redoubled his efforts to free his head and yell, but the Slogger was too much for him.

Few words were wasted on this occasion. The couple understood their work. Brassey took up the lamp.

"Wery considerate of 'em to 'ave a light all ready for us," he muttered, as he lowered the flame a little, and glided into the kitchen, leaving the Slogger on guard in the scullery. Here he found a variety of gins and snares carefully placed for him--and such as he--by strict orders of Mrs McTougall. Besides a swing-bell on the window shutter--similar to that which had done so little service on the scullery door--there was a coal-scuttle with the kitchen tongs balanced against it and a tin slop-pail in company with the kitchen shovel, and a watering-pan, which--the poker being already engaged to John--was balanced on its own rose and handle, all ready to fail with a touch. These outworks being echelloned along the floor rendered it impossible for an intruder to cross the kitchen in the dark without overturning one or more of them. Thanks to the lamp, Brassey steered his way carefully and with a grim smile.

At John Waters's door he paused and listened. John's nose revealed his condition.

Gliding up the stairs on shoeless feet the burglar entered the dining-room, picked the locks of the sideboard with marvellous celerity, unfolded a canvas bag, and placed therein whatever valuables he could lay hands on. Proceeding next to the drawing-room floor, he began to examine and appropriate the articles of _vertu_ that appeared to him most valuable.

Not being a perfect judge of such matters, Mr Brassey was naturally puzzled with some of them. One in particular caused him to regard it with frowning attention for nearly a minute before he came to the conclusion that it was "vurth munny." He placed the lamp on the small table near the window, from which he had lifted the ornament in question, and sat down on a crimson chair with gilded legs to examine it more critically.

Meanwhile the Slogger, left in the dark with the still fitfully struggling Dumps, employed his leisure in running over some of the salient events of his past career, and in trying to ascertain, by the very faint light that came from a distant street-lamp, what was the nature of his immediate surroundings. His nose told him that the cask at his elbow was beer. His exploring right hand told him that the tap was in it. His native intelligence suggested a tumbler on the head of the cask, and the exploring hand proved the idea to be correct.

"Brassey was wery 'ard on me to-night," he thought. "I'd like to have a swig."

But Dumps was sadly in the way. To remove his left hand even for an instant from the dog's muzzle was not to be thought of. In this dilemma he resolved to tie up the said muzzle, and the legs also, even at the risk of causing death. It would not take more than a minute to draw a tumblerful, and any dog worth a straw could hold his wind for a minute. He would try. He did try, and was yet in the act of drawing the beer when my doggie burst his bonds by a frantic effort to be free. Probably the hairy nature of his little body had rendered a firm bond impossible. At all events, he suddenly found his legs loose. Another effort, more frantic than before, set free the muzzle, and then there arose on the still night air a yell so shrill, so loud, so indescribably horrible, that its conception must be left entirely to the reader's imagination.

At the same instant Dumps scurried into the kitchen. The scuttle and tongs went down, the slop-pail and shovel followed suit, also the watering-pan, into which latter Dumps went head foremost as it fell, and from its interior another yell issued with such resonant power that the first yell was a mere chirp by contrast. The Slogger fled from the scene like an evil spirit, while John Waters sprang up and grasped the pistol and poker.

The effect on Brassey in the drawing-room cannot be conceived, much less described. He shot, as it were, out of the crimson-gilded chair and overturned the lamp, which burst on the floor. Being half full of paraffin oil it instantly set fire to the gauze window-curtains. The burglar made straight for the stairs. John Waters, observing the light, dashed up the same, and the two met face to face on the landing, breathing hate and glaring defiance!


CHAPTER SIX.


RELATES A STIRRING INNOCENT.

Now it was at this critical moment that I chanced to come upon the scene.

I had just ascertained from the brass plate on the door that Dr McTougall dwelt there, and was thinking what an ugly unromantic name that was for a pretty girl as I descended the steps, when Dumps's first yell broke upon my astonished ears. I recognised the voice at once, though I must confess that the second yell from the interior of the watering-pan perplexed me not a little, but the hideous clatter with which it was associated, and the sudden bursting out of flames in the drawing-room, drove all thoughts of Dumps instantly away.

My first impulse was to rush to the nearest fire-station; but a wild shouting in the lobby of the house arrested me. I rang the bell violently. At the same moment I heard the report of a pistol, and a savage curse, as a bullet came crashing through the door and went close past my head. Then I heard a blow, followed by a groan. This was succeeded by female shrieks overhead, and the violent undoing of the bolts, locks, and chains of the front door.

Thought is quick. Burglary flashed into my mind! A villainous-looking fellow leaped out as the door flew open. I recognised him instantly as the man who had sold Dumps to me. I put my foot in front of him. He went over it with a wild pitch, and descended the steps on his nose!

I was about to leap on him when a policeman came tearing round the corner, just in time to receive the stunned Brassey with open arms, as he rose and staggered forward.

"Just so. Don't give way too much to your feelings!