At last he stood up and heaved a deep sigh. “I am very sorry,” he said, and stooped down and stroked the old champion’s head.
Poor Pep’s heart stood still. He felt as though the judge had struck him. He wanted to yelp with pain. He knew it would disappoint his master so, but the judge’s next words fairly stunned him.
“Take away the old champion,” he said. “He is outclassed. This,” and he laid his hand caressingly on Pep’s head, “is the better dog. I never dreamed that I would live to see Lord Lansdale dethroned.”
Then a great shouting went up around the ring.
“Hurrah for Pepsin. Congratulations, doctor. Let me stroke him. Let me get inside and feel him over. Bring him out, doctor, we want to take some photos of him for the press.”
Pepsin was so astonished at all this fuss that at first he thought he had done something bad and was to be punished, but when his master caught him up in his arms and hugged him joyously his happiness was complete.
From that time on, as long as they stayed at the show, he was a much petted and flattered dog.
If he had been a silly, vain dog, it would have turned his head, but he was a sensible fellow and he took it as a matter of course.
The following day, when Pep and the doctor were having a fine time, walking about the great hall, along the main street, looking at the dogs, a boy in uniform with a blue cap came up to his master and gave him an envelope.
Pep sat on his haunches and watched the doctor very closely while he looked at the piece of paper. Somehow he did not like these messengers with their pieces of paper. They always upset things. This one seemed to be even more disturbing than usual, for the doctor put the telegram hurriedly into his pocket and they started out of the building not stopping to speak to any one.