On the other hand, Lumberlegs and Happy were both gluttons; the first because he was so big that it seemed impossible to give him enough, while the little beagle was perhaps prompted to overeat by a haunting memory of the single daily meal of her kennel life.
In this particular case the bone of contention belonged to a ham, a dainty especially kept for Waddles. He had taken a few gnaws from it and hidden it under the flap of the cellar door, his favourite cache, while he went for his daily walk to the village with Anne; for whatever his faults he had always preferred her companionship to food, never swerving even for liver and bacon.
Along sauntered Lumberlegs, searching for something to add relish to his ample breakfast of dog bread. He tried to investigate the swill pail, but it not only had a tight zinc cover, after the fashion of all well-bred scrap pails, but for double protection there was a stone on top which he playfully knocked off with one sweep of his paw.
Straws show which way the wind blows, and this stone showed where the ham bone was by rolling directly against it.
Lumberlegs seized upon the bone with delight and tossed it into the air gaily, preparing to have a good play before making a meal.
Happy, whose deafness seemed to sharpen her sense of smell, came from under a bush where she had been taking a nap in company with Jack and Jill, and sat where she could keep her eyes upon the bone, giving a little whine now and then, moistening her lips with the edge of her pink tongue, and casting appealing glances at Lumberlegs that only seemed to stimulate him to further antics.
It is almost always the soft-haired, mild-eyed, helpless looking sort of people like Happy that sit still and brew trouble, even in bigger places than Dogtown.
Waddles, coming home from market half an hour later, took in the situation at a glance. He had borne a great deal in silence, but this was too much. It was high time for his position as house fourfoot at Happy Hall to be upheld. He would try his authority as “oldest dog” first. So, going forward slowly with a contracted tiptoe gait and tail held erect, he made a series of noises that seemed graded between growls and real speech. Lumberlegs understood this language perfectly, and rolling on his back, he gave the bone a final, careless toss, as much as to say, “I was only playing, take your old bone.”
Waddles advanced to seize his property, and all would have been well, at least for that time, if Happy had not interfered.
It had happened several times that when the two dogs had been playing with or contending for a bone, Happy had ended the matter by running between them, giving each a caressing lick on the nose, and making off with the bone herself, leaving them looking sheepish, but too polite to remonstrate. She now tried the same tactics, but in reaching up to Lumberlegs, who was rolling in the grass, she received an entirely unintentional blow from one of his paws, and ran away squealing in terror out of all proportion to her hurt.