And a great morning he had had of it—for already three humble and unsuspecting curs, following three humble and unsuspecting countrymen who had walked in to get their morning's dram, had fallen victims to his guile.
Each successful raid of Bonaparte brought forth shouts of laughter from within, in which Billy Buch, the Dutch proprietor, joined. It always ended in Bonaparte being invited in and treated to a cuspidor of beer—the drinking, with the cuspidor as his drinking horn, being part of his repertoire. After each one Billy Buch would proudly exclaim:
“Mine Gott, but dat Ponyparte ees one greet dog!”
Then Bonaparte would reel around in a half drunken swagger and go back to watch for other dogs.
“I tell you, Billy,” said Jud Carpenter—“Jes' watch that dog. They ain't no dog on earth his e'kal when it comes to brains. Them country dogs aflyin' up the road reminds me of old Uncle Billy Alexander who paid for his shoes in bacon, and paid every spring in advance for the shoes he was to get in the fall. But one fall when he rid over after his shoes, the neighbors said the shoemaker had gone—gone for good—to Texas to live—gone an' left his creditors behin'. Uncle Billy looked long an' earnestly t'wards the settin' sun, raised his han's to heaven an' said: 'Good-bye, my bacon!'”
Billy Buch laughed loudly.
“Dat ees goot—goot—goot-bye, mine bac'n! I dus remember dat.”
Bonaparte had partaken of his fourth cuspidor of beer and was in a delightful state of swagger and fight when he saw an unusual commotion up the street. What was it, thought Bonaparte—a crowd of boys and men surrounding another man with an organ and leading a little devil of a hairy thing, dressed up like a man.
His hair bristled with indignation. That little thing dividing honors with him in Cottontown? It was not to be endured for a moment!
Bonaparte stood gazing in indignant wonder. He slowly arose and shambled along half drunkenly to see what it all meant. A crowd had gathered around the thing—the insignificant thing which was attracting more attention in Cottontown than himself, the champion dog. Among them were some school boys, and one of them, a red-headed lad, was telling his brother all about it.