Van struggled. This was an insult to his royal person. But he was held there. Then, of a sudden, at the word “Police!” he was released.
“Get him a piece of cake, Miss Betsy. Now try it again, Van. Dead Dog!”
Van looked just an instant at Dr. Peters, as if he were trying to understand clearly; and then, thump! down he went, lying as still as the doorstep itself, until he heard the word of relief. Then he was up, jumping and capering as if he himself had thought out the whole thing.
The next time Dr. Peters came over, Van saw him from afar, and promptly plumped down, not waiting for the command; and there he lay, prone on the sidewalk, until the word “Police!” released him.
But he never liked doing this particular trick, and would do it for no one else without much coaxing. It was not seemly for him to take so humble a position, and all his life, whenever he was told to do “Dead Dog,” he would first go through all the other tricks he had ever been taught, hoping that people would forget about this disagreeable one, and pass it by.
All puppies, whether they are thoroughbreds or mongrels, begin life by practising their sharp little teeth on something, and generally they care little whether it be a lace curtain or a fine Bokhara rug. From the first Van was taught that he must be full owner of the thing he might wish to destroy.
Betsy gave him one of her discarded copper-toed shoes to try his tiny new teeth upon.
“Now, Vanny-Boy, this shoe is yours; no, no,—this one that I give you. You mustn’t touch this other one.”
Van fell to upon his gift. Bit by bit he demolished the leather—the scraps lay all over the floor. Down to the bare bones of it he worried his way, and then he began on the sole. In a day or so he had this also in shreds. Only the heel and the bit of copper remained to tell of his busy moments. All this time the other shoe lay near by, but he never looked at it. When the task he had set himself was finished, he came wriggling to Betsy, who offered him the mate. Then and then only did he seize the other shoe, and it soon followed in the way of its fellow.
Under the little writing-desk in Betsy’s room was an old and dilapidated carpet-covered footstool, which showed unmistakable signs of a long and useful life. Van, who loved playing at Betsy’s feet, discovered the rag-tag-and-bobtail effect of it, and received permission to worry the poor old thing. Little by little the carpet grew thinner, but it held out for many days.