XIII
JACK IN OFFICE
In the time of Landseer a familiar figure about the streets of London was the itinerant dealer in dog's meat. His outfit consisted of a square covered wheelbarrow in which he carried the meat, a basket, a pair of scales, knives, skewers, and similar tools of his trade. His assistant was a dog, whose duty was to guard the meat barrow while the butcher called for orders or delivered his goods. In this capacity a dog would serve even better than a boy, in keeping hungry animals from his master's property. There is a quaint old saying that "it takes a rogue to catch a rogue." The dog's wages were all the meat he could eat, and having satisfied himself to the point of gluttony, there would be no danger of any inroads on the meat from him.
In our picture a butcher has left his barrow standing on the cobble-stone pavement at the corner of the narrow entrance to a square. His dog Jack controls the situation in his absence, and rules with undisputed authority.
Such is the master's confidence in the dog's ability to manage, that he has taken no pains to put the meat away in the barrow. A large cut is left in the scale pan, and a basket on the pavement contains some choice bits. Naturally the tempting odor has drawn a number of stray street dogs to the place.
From his elevated position Jack surveys them as a monarch receiving a throng of obsequious courtiers. As a matter of fact he is himself a low mongrel cur, vastly inferior in origin to some of the surrounding dogs. Circumstances having raised him to a position of authority he regards them all with supercilious disdain. A miserable, half starved hound approaches the basket with eyes fixed hungrily on the contents, the tail drooping between the shaking legs, the attitude expressing the most abject wretchedness. He is a canine Uriah Heep professing himself "so 'umble." Behind is a retriever, uplifting a begging paw, and farther away are other eager dogs. A puppy in front has just finished eating, and, still gnawing the skewer, looks up to ask for more.
Not one of them all dares touch the meat, though Jack moves not a muscle to prevent them. It is a question whether an overfed, tight-skinned animal like this would prove a very redoubtable enemy in a fight. Jack's influence, however, is due in no small measure to his sagacious air of importance. Seated on his haunches, he holds between his fore legs the handle of the scales as the insignia of office. A broad collar and a small leather harness show he has to take his own turn in serving another. Ignoring the appeal of the puppy, he turns to the group of larger dogs, regarding them with a contemptuous expression of his half-closed eyes. He has been a keen observer of dog nature, and knows what value to place upon the professions of these fawning creatures.
