er. The noise of
barking, the pungency and variety of smells, and the crowded
multiplicity of doggy personalities were at first overpowering, and
Finn and his sister walked with lowered tails, quick-shifting eyes,
raised hackles, and twitching skin. But pride of race, and the
self-confidence which goes with exceptional strength, soon came to
Finn's aid, and by the time he reached his own bench, his tail was
carried high and muzzle also, though he walked with unusual
rigidity, and at heart was far from comfortable.

Though the benches were continuous, the space allotted to each dog
was divided from that of the next dog by a strong galvanized iron
net-work, and each dog's chain was fastened to the back of his
bench. When the Wolfhounds were benched, Finn had his sister upon
his right, and (though he never suspected it) his redoubtable sire,
the great Champion Dermot Asthore, on his left. On Kathleen's right
was a big rebel of a dog with an angry eye, named Wolf Tone. Facing
them, on the other side of their aisle, was a long row of their
cousins, the Deerhound family; while behind them, and out of sight,
was an even longer row of their cousins on the other side: the
Great Dane family. Farther on, beyond Champion Dermot Asthore, who
sat in the rear of his bench wrapped in a cloak of kingly
isolation--he disliked shows very much, and now, late in his great
career, was thoroughly weary of them--was a row of five and twenty
distant connections of Finn's, belonging to the Russian Wolfhound
or Borzois family. Finn had noticed these white and lemon coloured
curled darlings as he was led along to his own bench, and his
nostrils had wrinkled with scorn as he noted their "prettiness,"
the snipey sharpness of their long muzzles, the extraordinary
slimness and delicacy of their legs, the effeminate narrowness of
their chests, and the toyish blue ribbons that decorated some of
their collars. Mentally, he granted these fashionable darlings
fleetness, but absolutely withheld from them the killing powers
they are credited with. "Bah!" one may imagine Finn muttering to
himself. "Foxy tails, weasel's faces, terrier's legs--you are
almost toys!"

Heavy-coated, massive old Dermot Asthore took no more notice of
Finn than of the rest of the show. He was supremely bored, and,
being perfectly aware that the show lasted three days, his
immediate prospect disgusted him. One fancied that on the few
occasions upon which he did open his mouth at a