might suddenly turn a corner, or enter a room, and find the adored
Johnson smiling kindly at him. Wherefore he dared the to-be-shunned
presence of other white people. He nerved himself to enter tabooed
domains. Love sustained him. He knew he had no business there, just
as our cats knew it and, whenever they caught him at it, visited
swift and dire punishment upon him. Beautiful Dog dared even the
cats, those black nightmares of his existence.

He met my glance, paused, and cringed. But as I made no hostile
movement, and seemed disposed to be friendly, Beautiful Dog grinned
half-heartedly, wagged his rope of a tail dejectedly, and advanced
farther. Then he paused again, head on one side, ears forlornly
flopping, and made an awkward motion with his fore paws, expressive
of doubtful trust and painful inquiry. His god had been wont to
choose this particular room by preference. Did I know where he was?
When he was coming back?

Beautiful Dog glanced wistfully at the empty chair over by the
window. Once or twice his god had allowed him to lie beside that
chair while he read, and if Beautiful Dog happened to raise his
head, a kind hand happened to fall upon it. He hadn't forgotten. His
desire now was to sneak over to the chair and sniff at it. Perhaps
by some exquisite miracle his man might suddenly appear in his old
place. Can't miracles happen for Beautiful Dogs as well as for other
folks, when times and seasons are propitious?

Beautiful Dog took another step toward the chair. And then there
paced into the library, and caught him in the rear, his arch
enemy--Sir Thomas More Black. The great cat took one look at the
nigger dog trespassing upon forbidden ground. You could see Sir
Thomas More swell with rage and astonishment, and then lengthen out
like an accordion. Without a sound he launched himself upon the
intruder. And at the same instant and actuated by the same motive,
Potty Black, who had been sweetly and peacefully dozing on my lap,
rose up with slitted eyes, bottle-brushed her tail, and hurled
herself into the fray.

Attacked front and rear, Beautiful Dog was at hideous disadvantage.
He launched himself sidewise; he didn't even have time to howl. He
fell over his own splay feet as he ran, butted into chairs and
tables, twisted, turned, whirled, dodged, but always presented just
the right spot to be clawed. He couldn't dash to the door and
escape: the cats were too swift for him. They kept their bewildered
vic