o is he?" says she, looking in her
book. "I don't keep up with terriers."

"Oh, you know him," says the gentleman. "He is the champion of
champions, Regent Royal."

The Master's face went red.

"And this is Regent Royal's son," cries he, and he pulls me quick into
the ring, and plants me on the platform next my father.

I trembled so that I near fell. My legs twisted like a leash. But my
father he never looked at me. He only smiled the same sleepy smile, and
he still kept his eyes half shut, like as no one, no, not even his own
son, was worth his lookin' at.

The judge he didn't let me stay beside my father, but, one by one, he
placed the other dogs next to him and measured and felt and pulled at
them. And each one he put down, but he never put my father down. And
then he comes over and picks up me and sets me back on the platform,
shoulder to shoulder with the Champion Regent Royal, and goes down on
his knees, and looks into our eyes.

The gentleman with my father he laughs, and says to the judge, "Thinking
of keeping us here all day, John?" But the judge he doesn't hear him,
and goes behind us and runs his hand down my side, and holds back my
ears, and takes my jaws between his fingers. The crowd around the ring
is very deep now, and nobody says nothing. The gentleman at the
score-table, he is leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees and his
eyes very wide, and the gentleman at the gate is whispering quick to
Miss Dorothy, who has turned white. I stood as stiff as stone. I didn't
even breathe. But out of the corner of my eye I could see my father
licking his pink chops, and yawning just a little, like he was bored.

The judge he had stopped looking fierce and was looking solemn.
Something inside him seemed a-troubling him awful. The more he stares at
us now, the more solemn he gets, and when he touches us he does it
gentle, like he was patting us. For a long time he kneels in the
sawdust, looking at my father and at me, and no one around the ring says
nothing to nobody.

Then the judge takes a breath and touches me sudden. "It's his," he
says. But he lays his hand just as quick on my father. "I'm sorry," says
he.

The gentleman holding my father cries:

"Do you mean to tell me--"

And the judge he answers, "I mean the other is the better dog." He takes
my father's head between his hands and looks down at him most sorrowful.
"The king is dead," says he. "Long live the king! Good-by, Regent," he
says