ther kennels, and if this one of
our champions would win over that one, and whether them as hoped to be
champions had better show in the "open" or the "limit" class, and
whether this dog would beat his own dad, or whether his little puppy
sister couldn't beat the two of 'em. Even the grooms had their money up,
and day or night you heard nothing but praises of "our" dogs, until I,
being so far out of it, couldn't have felt meaner if I had been running
the streets with a can to my tail. I knew shows were not for such as me,
and so all day I lay stretched at the end of my chain, pretending I was
asleep, and only too glad that they had something so important to think
of that they could leave me alone.

But one day, before the Show opened, Miss Dorothy came to the stables
with "Mr. Wyndham, sir," and seeing me chained up and so miserable, she
takes me in her arms.

"You poor little tyke!" says she. "It's cruel to tie him up so; he's
eating his heart out, Nolan," she says. "I don't know nothing about
bull-terriers," says she, "but I think Kid's got good points," says she,
"and you ought to show him. Jimmy Jocks has three legs on the Rensselaer
Cup now, and I'm going to show him this time, so that he can get the
fourth; and, if you wish, I'll enter your dog too. How would you like
that, Kid?" says she. "How would you like to see the most beautiful dogs
in the world? Maybe you'd meet a pal or two," says she. "It would cheer
you up, wouldn't it, Kid?" says she. But I was so upset I could only wag
my tail most violent. "He says it would!" says she, though, being that
excited, I hadn't said nothing.

So "Mr. Wyndham, sir," laughs, and takes out a piece of blue paper and
sits down at the head groom's table.

"What's the name of the father of your dog, Nolan?" says he. And Nolan
says: "The man I got him off told me he was a son of Champion Regent
Royal, sir. But it don't seem likely, does it?" says Nolan.

"It does not!" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," short-like.

"Aren't you sure, Nolan?" says Miss Dorothy.

"No, miss," says the Master.

"Sire unknown," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," and writes it down.

"Date of birth?" asks "Mr. Wyndham, sir."

"I--I--unknown, sir," says Nolan. And "Mr. Wyndham, sir," writes it
down.

"Breeder?" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir."

"Unknown," says Nolan, getting very red around the jaws, and I drops my
head and tail. And "Mr. Wyndham, sir," writes that down.

"Mother's name?" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir."