“Woof!” said Van, affably, and he bit Bob’s thumb a little harder, just to show him that the chosen son of Vanart I. and Queen Mab was not to be trifled with, and that, in reality, he owned Bob. But the merry little eyes twinkled gayly, as if, after all, this being the Lord of Creation was a good joke.
For two weeks—while he was getting his breath, you might say—Van lived in the big New York studio with Bob Grant. Every day he grew in grace, and became, more and more, a shapely, active little dog. Beautiful indeed he was. Even in his young puppyhood he was lithe and agile as a kitten. His feet were small, as became his birth and breeding; he carried his brown head proudly on his delicate neck, that arched as none but a thoroughbred’s might. His soft, pointed ears were alert to all the new noises of a strange and interesting world, and he wagged, or was wagged, by a funny bud of a tail, which every well-brought-up fox-terrier knows is the style in good society. His chest was broader than that of the ordinary breed, and his eyes were dark and tender; and one who knew dogs understood at a glance that a strain from some far-away bull-dog ancestor had added kindliness and affection to the sometimes ill-tempered disposition of a full-blooded fox terrier.
In those two weeks Van learned many things. One was that pins are not good things to play with. Bob came in one day and found him on his back, making queer little sounds through a rigidly open mouth, at which he was pawing frantically to rid himself of something. Lodged between his upper and lower molars was a pin which he had tried to swallow. Bob removed it, and then Van barked and capered as if he had done a clever thing. But he knew also that it was a thing not to be repeated.
The next thing he learned was that sisters do not stay with one always. One day little Belle disappeared,—going out of the big New York studio on the arm of Billy, never to return. Van did not mind that so much. His short life had been all surprises so far, and he liked being cock-o’-the-walk far better than sharing the glory.
So Belle faded from his little brain, like the other visions of his border-land, and he quite forgot her in the excitement of the new and wonderful things that he was learning. Until now the world had been a constant series of changes, and more were to come; for so far he knew nothing of the big out-of-doors.
Billy came in one evening, and stood looking down at the bonny bit as he lay in his basket.
“Have you taken him out in Madison Square, yet, Bob?”
“Not yet. I’ve been too busy.”
“Get on your hat and we’ll show him the town. I’d like to see how he will behave.”
He was wakened, yawning and blinking, crumpled gently under his master’s arm, and they all went out into the soft May night.