e had
never seen me before. Nolan he was a-gaping, too, with his mouth open.
But he holds me tight.

"He's not for sale," he growls, like he was frightened; and the man
looks black and walks away.

"Why, Nolan!" cries Miss Dorothy, "Mr. Polk knows more about
bull-terriers than any amateur in America. What can he mean? Why, Kid is
no more than a puppy! Three hundred dollars for a puppy!"

"And he ain't no thoroughbred, neither!" cries the Master. "He's
'Unknown,' ain't he? Kid can't help it, of course, but his mother,
miss--"

I dropped my head. I couldn't bear he should tell Miss Dorothy. I
couldn't bear she should know I had stolen my blue ribbon.

But the Master never told, for at that a gentleman runs up, calling,
"Three twenty-six, three twenty-six!" And Miss Dorothy says, "Here he
is; what is it?"

"The Winners' class," says the gentleman. "Hurry, please; the judge is
waiting for him."

Nolan tries to get me off the chain on to a showing-leash, but he shakes
so, he only chokes me. "What is it, miss?" he says. "What is it?"

"The Winners' class," says Miss Dorothy. "The judge wants him with the
winners of the other classes--to decide which is the best. It's only a
form," says she. "He has the champions against him now."

"Yes," says the gentleman, as he hurries us to the ring. "I'm afraid
it's only a form for your dog, but the judge wants all the winners,
puppy class even."

We had got to the gate, and the gentleman there was writing down my
number.

"Who won the open?" asks Miss Dorothy.

"Oh, who would?" laughs the gentleman. "The old champion, of course.
He's won for three years now. There he is. Isn't he wonderful?" says he;
and he points to a dog that's standing proud and haughty on the platform
in the middle of the ring.

I never see so beautiful a dog--so fine and clean and noble, so white
like he had rolled hisself in flour, holding his nose up and his eyes
shut, same as though no one was worth looking at. Aside of him we other
dogs, even though we had a blue ribbon apiece, seemed like lumps of mud.
He was a royal gentleman, a king, he was. His master didn't have to hold
his head with no leash. He held it hisself, standing as still as an iron
dog on a lawn, like he knew all the people was looking at him. And so
they was, and no one around the ring pointed at no other dog but him.

"Oh, what a picture!" cried Miss Dorothy. "He's like a marble figure by
a great artist--one who loved dogs. Wh