“Barked fiercely at his small sister.”
CHAPTER III
THE COMING OF THE PRINCE
VANART VI. sat on the edge of his dish, with all of his four paws in the milk, and barked fiercely at his small sister, who hovered, shy and meek, on the farther edge of Elysium. He knew what all dogs (and some men) know, that Might is Right; and he reasoned, not uncleverly, that if his four-weeks-old voice could intimidate Sister Belle, he could certainly keep her off until he had feasted and made sure of his own share.
A ray of afternoon sunlight crept in through the skylight of the big New York studio, and lighted up this scene, just as Bob Grant opened the door, looked for the cause of the commotion, dropped his parcel of sketches on the floor, and laughed.
“You greedy little sinner! Is that the kind of a dog you are going to be? You’ll be needing some discipline, I’m thinking. Come here to me, you young nipper.”
The wee morsel looked up for an instant, beheld Bob Grant, and continued barking—at him. He held his head royally, too, as if he knew that he was the King of Hearts, bearing a noble name, and with a long pedigree behind him.
“Why, you’re a raving beauty, even now. And, if I am not mistaken, you’re mine. Who your young companion is I don’t know. I hope to Goshen Billy didn’t send me the two of you!”
No thought of a master entered Van’s mind at that time. His attention was on the milk, and so intent was he on asserting his rights, that he quite forgot to drink. The Dog in the Milk was evidently first cousin to the “Dog in the Manger.”
Bob opened the letter that was tied to the basket in which the puppies had arrived. Uppermost lay the register of birth and ancestry. It read like this: