who had not seen them smiled
over the breeder's enthusiasm in entering fifteen months old
youngsters in Open classes, where they would meet old champions,
whose very names carried great weight, both with the judges and the
public.

A young Irish Wolfhound, lying down among the straw of his bench,
is a very deceptive animal. When he is, say, three years old, his
beard and brows, massive shoulders, and set, assured expression
give one fair warning of the commanding presence he will display
when he rises. But when he is yet young he looks a much lesser
creature than he is when seen on a show bench, particularly if, as
so often happens, he makes a kind of nest for himself in the straw.
Most of the people specially interested in Wolfhounds paused
opposite Finn's place, and made some passing remark about: "Fine
head, that!" "Good muzzle that youngster has!" or if they noticed
one of his forelegs over the straw: "Wonderful heavy timbers,
those!" But they paid no very particular heed really to the hounds
from the cottage beside the Downs. Now and again, however, an old
breeder, passing leisurely along the benches, would pause when he
had passed Kathleen, and, after a quick glance back, return to
Finn's place, looking up his number in the catalogue, and gazing at
the young hound with a gravely calculating eye. "Fifteen months
old!" muttered one of these, glancing to and fro between his
catalogue and Finn. "H'm! By old Dermot--Tara. Yes. Finn. Ah!" And
so on down the benches. Finn had a notion that these men knew a
good deal; they had a knowledgeable way with them. Finn would have
obeyed them readily. That was how their manner impressed him.

By the time Finn had to some extent exhausted the first novelty of
his surroundings, and was contemplating the desirability of
sleeping off some of its effects--the number of new impressions he
had formed that morning was at least equal to those of a human's
first visit to a great picture gallery--the Master came along with
something of a rush, chains were unsnapped, and Finn and his sister
were taken down from the bench. A number of other Wolfhounds were
leaving the bench at the same time, and being led in the direction
of a fenced-in judging ring (square in shape, by the way) at one
end of the building. The dog classes for Irish Wolfhounds were
about to be judged, and the Mistress of the Kennels brought
Kathleen along, though her sex was not to be judged for some time,
because she knew