Chapter XII.
An Extraordinary Mad Dog.
It is now in order to follow up giddy-headed Stephen, and see what mad plot had been hatched in his fertile brain.
By turning back a little way, the reader will find that that hero left the audience-chamber immediately after the professor had so vividly drawn the onslaught of an imaginary mad dog.
“It would serve the crazy old shouter right to test his courage,” he muttered. “What business have people to let such a man speak to chicken-hearted little young-muns, all full of weak nerves, and awful to bellow? He might scare some of ’em into fits! I know I’m fond of ‘boorish tricks,’ as George calls them; but if Charley can talk that way about hydrophobia and yellow dogs, I guess I can safely play this one nice little trick. Why, this would only be in the interests of common sense! And,” cheerfully, “how Jim would yell!!!”
Stephen’s mode of reasoning was exceedingly subtile—in fact, like the speech of the philosopher on whom he contemplated playing a trick, it is too subtile for our comprehension. But so long as it removed his scruples, he cared not a goose-quill what others might think.
“Now,” he said to himself, “let me strike out my plans. First is, to find my dog Tip; then, to white-wash him and paint him. But,” doubtfully, “I’m afraid I can’t get any white-wash or any paint. Anyway, it would be better and more natural if I could get him on the trail of some animal. Poor Tip! It’s too bad to treat him so; but then it won’t hurt him any, and if the professor keeps on working up their feelings, I guess there’ll be a stunning howl when Tip bounces into the room, the very picture of a ‘rabid canine’!”
If Steve had tarried a little longer in the school, and seen the professor as he flourished his murderous weapon, he would have thought better of having Tip play the mad dog.
Hurrying along through the school-grounds, he finally halted under a venerable and wide-spreading shade-tree, beloved by all the girls and boys of the school. There before him, rolled up in a ball, lay a vivacious-looking dog, sleeping soundly.
“Eh, Tip!” Steve said. “Good old boy! here you are, just as I hoped.”