CASH AWARD OF ONE HUNDRED DOLLARS ($100) TO THE BEST DOG OF ANY BREED EXHIBITED
One hundred dollars!
Link reread the glittering sentence until he could have said itbackward. It would have been a patent lie had he heard it by word ofmouth. But as it was in print, of course it was true.
One hundred dollars! And as a prize for the finest dog in the show. Notto BUY the dog, mind you. Just as a gift to the man who happened to ownthe best dog. It did not seem possible. Yet--
Link knew by hearsay and by observation the ways of the rich colony atCraigswold. He knew the Craigswolders spent money like mud, when it sopleased them--although more than one fellow huckster was at times soreput to it to collect from them a bill for fresh vegetables.
Yes, and he knew Col. Cyrus Marden by sight, too. He was a long-facedlittle man who used to go about dressed in funny knee pants and with aleather bag of misshapen clubs over his shoulder. Link had seen himagain and again. He had seen the Colonel's enormous house at CraigswoldManor, too. He had no doubt Marden could afford this gift of a hundreddollars.
"TO THE BEST DOG OF ANY BREED!"
Ferris knew nothing about the various breeds of dogs. But he did knowthat Chum was by far the best and most beautiful and the wisest dogever born. If Marden were offering a hundred dollar prize for the bestdog, there was not another dog on earth fit to compete with Chum. Thatwas a cinch.
As for the hundred dollars--why, it would be a godsend on the mortgagepayment! Every cent of it could go toward the principal. That meantFerris could devote the extra few dollars he had already saved for theprincipal to the buying of fertilizers and several sorely-neededutensils and to the shingling of the house.
Avid for more news of the offer, he entered the store and hunted up thepostmaster, who also chanced to be the store's proprietor and the mayorof Hampton and the local peace justice. Of this Pooh-Bah the inquiringFerris sought for details.
"Some of the Red Cross ladies from up Craigswold way were here thismorning, to have me nail that sign on the store," reported thepostmaster. "They're making a tour of all the towns hereabouts. Theyasked me to try to int'rest folks at Hampton in their show, too, andget them to make entries. They left me a bunch of blanks. Want one?"
"Yep," said Link. "I guess I'll take one if it don't cost nothin',please."
He studied the proffered entry blank with totally uncomprehending gaze.The postmaster came to his relief.
"Let me show you," he suggested, taking pity on his customer's wrinkledbrow and squinting helplessness. "I've had some experience in thisfolderol. I took my Airedale over to the Ridgewood show last spring andgot a third with him. I'm going to take him up to Craigswold on LaborDay, too. What kind of dog is yours?"
"The dandiest dawg that ever stood on four legs," answered Link, afirewith the zeal of ownership. "Why, that dawg of mine c'n--"
"What breed is he?" asked the postmaster, not interested in the dawningrhapsody.
"Oh--breed?" repeated Link. "Why, I don't rightly know. Some kind of abird dawg, I guess. Yes. A bird dawg. But he's sure the grandest--"
"Is he the dog you had down here, one day last month?" asked thepostmaster, with a gleam of recollection.
"Yep. That's him," assented Link. "Only dawg I've got. Only dawg I everhad. Only dawg I ever want to have. He's--"
But the postmaster was not attending. His time was limited. So, takingout a fountain pen, he had begun to scribble on the blank. Filling inLink's name and address, he wrote, in the "breed and sex" spaces, thewords, "Scotch collie, sable-and-white, male."
"Name?" he queried, breaking in on Ferris's rambling eulogy.
"Huh?" asked the surprised Link, adding: "Oh, his name, hey? I call him'Chum.' You see, that dawg's more like a chum to me than--"
"No use asking about his pedigree, I suppose," resumed the postmaster,"I mean who his parents were and--"
"Nope," said Link. "I--I found him. His leg was--"
"Pedigree unknown," wrote the postmaster; then, "What classes are youentering him for?"
"Classes?" repeated Link dully. "Why, I just want to put him into thatcontest for 'best dawg,' you see. He--"
"Hold on!" interposed the postmaster impatiently. "You don't catch theidea. In each breed there are a certain number of classes: 'Puppy,''Novice,' 'Limit,' 'Open,' and so on. The dogs that get a blueribbon--that's first prize--in these classes all have to appear in whatis called the 'Winners Class.' Then the dog that gets 'Winner's'--thedog that gets first prize in this 'Winners' Class'--competes for bestdog of his breed in the show. After that--as a 'special'--the best inall the different breeds are brought into the ring. And the dog thatwins in that final class is adjudged the 'best in the show.' He's thedog in this particular show that will get Colonel Marden'shundred-dollar cash prize. See what I mean?"
"Ye-es," replied Link, after digesting carefully what he had heard. "Iguess so. But--"
"Since you've never shown your dog before," went on the postmaster,beginning to warm with professional interest, "you can enter him in the'Novice Class.' That's generally the easiest. If he loses in that, noharm's done. If he wins he has a chance later in the 'Winners' Class.'I'm mailing my entry to-night to the committee. If you like, I'll sendyours along with it. Give me a dollar."
While Link extracted a greasy dollar bill from his pocket, thepostmaster filled in the class space with the word "Novice."
"Thanks for helpin' me out," said Ferris, grateful for the lift.
"That's all right," returned the postmaster, pocketing the bill andfolding the blank, as he prepared to end the interview by moving away."Be sure to have your dog at the gate leading into the CraigswoldCountry Club grounds promptly at ten o'clock on Labor Day. If you don'tget a card and a tag sent to you, before then, tell your name to theclerk at the table there, and he'll give you a number. Tie your dog tothe stall with that number on it, and be sure to have him ready to gointo the ring when his number is called. That's all."
"Thanks!" said Link, again. "An' now I guess I'll go back home an'commence brightenin' Chum up, a wee peckle, on his tricks. Maybe I'llhave time to learn him some new ones, too. I want him to make a hitwith them judges, an' everything."
"Tricks?" scoffed the postmaster, pausing as he started to walk away."Dogs don't need tricks in the show ring. All you have to do is to leadyour dog into the ring, and parade him round with the rest of them tillthe judge tells you to stop. Then he'll make them stand on the showplatform while he examines them. The dog's only 'tricks' are to standand walk at his best, and to look alert, so the judge can see the shapeof his ears and get his expression. Teach your dog to walk around withyou, on the leash, without hanging back, and to prick up his ears andstand at attention when you tell him to. That's all he needs to do. Thejudge will do the rest. Have him clean and well brushed, of course."
"I--I sure feel bitter sorry for there other dawgs at the show!"mumbled Link. "A hundred dollars! Of all the dawgs that ever happened,Chummie is that one! Why, there ain't a thing he can't do, from herdin'sheep to winnin' a wad of soft money! An'--an' he's all MINE."
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