“Did you see that puppy I gave first to?” says the judge to the gentleman at the gate.
“I did. He was a bit out of his class,” says the gate gentleman.
“He certainly was!” says the judge, and they both laughed.
But I didn’t care. They couldn’t hurt me then, not with Nolan holding the blue ribbon and Miss Dorothy hugging my ears, and the kennel-men sneaking away, each looking like he’d been caught with his nose under the lid of the slop-can.
We sat down together, and we all three just talked as fast as we could. They was so pleased that I couldn’t help feeling proud myself, and I barked and leaped about so gay that all the bull-terriers in our street stretched on their chains and howled at me.
“Just look at him!” says one of those I had beat. “What’s he giving hisself airs about?”
“Because he’s got one blue ribbon!” says another of ’em. “Why, when I was a puppy I used to eat ’em, and if that judge could ever learn to know a toy from a mastiff, I’d have had this one.”
But Jimmy Jocks he leaned over from his bench and says, “Well done, Kid. Didn’t I tell you so?” What he ’ad told me was that I might get a “commended,” but I didn’t remind him.
“Didn’t I tell you,” says Jimmy Jocks, “that I saw your grandfather make his début at the Crystal–”
“Yes, sir, you did, sir,” says I, for I have no love for the men of my family.