“And all this time Bull was being punished?” said Mrs. Wescott.
“Yes; he was simply down and out. He didn’t seem to have the power to move a muscle. When his master whistled, the big collie stood still, cocked one ear, and then trotted over, as if what he had done to poor Bull were just in the day’s work.
“‘You brute!’ Jim raged. ‘I don’t know which is worse, you or your dog!’
“The man only patted his dog, and said, ‘You’ve done a good day’s work, old man.’
“This last shot was lost on Jim, for he was already bending over Bull, patting his poor old mangled head and calling him all the endearing names he could think of. Finally, seeing that Bull was either too weak or too ashamed to get up and could only wag his stub of a tail, he picked him up very tenderly and started for home.
“That was anything but a triumphal journey. An army returning after overwhelming defeat could not have attracted more attention than those two old warriors. Heads popped out of every door and window, and before he was halfway home he had a train of small boys following him. I declare, when I saw the old man, he was almost crying. When I went up to him and patted the dog’s head, he said, brokenly, ‘He’s all I’ve got, and now they’ve even gone and done him up!’”
“Poor old Jim,” said Mrs. Wescott. “Everyone hated Bull, but you can’t help feeling sorry for him and his master when they’re down and out.”
“Oh, it was really pitiful,” said Lucile, “and it made me so desperate to see all those thoughtless cruel boys following him, hooting at him, and laughing at him and calling poor old battered Bull all sorts of names. So I turned around and looked at them. I saw that little Bob Fletcher was one of the crowd. 41
“‘Bob,’ I said, ‘suppose your Rover had been hurt—would you like to be laughed at?’
“‘I’d like to see anybody that’d try,’ said he, manfully.