Another hole. Two came out, and one doubled and fled into the next hole before Van could get him. All round the yard went the fire-hose, led by Dr. Peters, sending its messenger into every hole, and seldom failing to bring out one or more victims.
It was a sweeping massacre, nothing more nor less; the rats had no chance against that terrible trio,—a doctor, a fire-hose, and a fox-terrier. Twenty-six rodents were gathered to their fathers.
Dr. Peters and the fire-hose remained unchanged, but Van went home a reconstructed dog, never more to be merely a cuddled, pampered house-darling. Betsy shuddered when she looked at him. He had a wild eye, a swagger, blood on his white shirt-front and all over his coat. He was a man-grown now, and had done a man’s work. His only regret was that the lady of his heart could not see the magnificent heap of slain. But perhaps she would not have appreciated it. He looked pityingly at Betsy. She was only a girl. She could not go out into the world and kill rats. Poor Betsy!
CHAPTER X
VAN’S WILD OATS
“Ha! Ha! I’m sure the cat must have laughed.”
WHILE Betsy was busy at school, the education of Van did not come to a standstill. But, alas! his new lessons were not in the path of virtue. The little Prince roamed the white world over, all through the short winter days, as far as his legs would take him afield. He made many friends, with a royal disregard for social standing, as other princes have been known to do, and before spring came he had fallen into the hands of,—yes, of thieves,—for they stole from him his good name and his character.
In the big Hospital there were many attendants, who, having hours off duty, liked nothing better than to amuse themselves with young Van, whose beauty and bright, active ways had made him the darling of the whole Hill-Top. Now, besides those attendants, there were, around the building, many, many cats—cats of all descriptions; pet cats a few, and roving, wild cats a-many. There were whole families of cats that had come up as the flowers of the field, who toiled and spun not, and who held themselves accountable to no one, man or woman. They were a sad, bad lot, that stole and laid waste the cupboards of the Hospital. Nobody loved them and they loved nobody. They had no manners or morals, and were simply a band of robbers.
Now, on an evil day, some of the young men decided that it would be a good and useful thing to train Van as a slayer of cats as well as a catcher of rats. Spring was coming on, and a new lot of kittens had appeared on the scene, when, out behind the buildings, where Dr. Johns could not see them, a number of attendants smuggled Van, one day, and turned him loose where the cats were thickest.
They cheered him on and encouraged him in every way possible, and he, being by birthright a sporting gentleman, and the natural enemy of all small animals, required very little training to make him an expert “catter.” He needed no coaxing. He still remembered that old yellow Tommy that he had treed in his infancy. Betsy and Mrs. Johns had laughed at that. It would certainly be a delight to them if they could see him wipe a whole family of good-for-nothing kittens off the map. There was not even the memory of a reproof to restrain him.