Page Four
Tho your name is not in the above,
I know that you are “in the woodpile”
somewhere, and want to tell you exactly
what I think about it.
The first hurried reading did not make
me realize the full significance of the
request; but the second attempt brought
results, and I said a few choice words
of annoyance, deciding, however, that I
would “take a shot at it” anyway, since
all I would have to do would be to inter
view a few of Badin’s honest citizens,
make out a kind of report, and put it
into the Bulletin box. But, alas, little
did I know what was in store for me!
To the first man I tackled I gave the
above letter, telling him that I wanted
a little information on the subject. Well,
he had no sooner finished reading it
than he started swearing and saying
awful things. From a few printable
words that he accidentally got mixed
with the “blue” ones, I gathered that
he had a garden—or rather had had one.
As everyone knows, the ground here
abouts is very hard, and, this garden
being so centrally located, and so soft
and inviting, all of the old dogs made
daily visits there to bury bones—and
other things—and the young ones to
wallow on the vegetables, and chase one
another up and down the rows. He said
that he wouldn’t mind them burying stuff
there so much, if the ornery brutes would
only remember where they put things,
and not have to excavate the whole place
to get a lost fish or a misplaced soup-
bone. He cooled down enough finally to
tell me the names of several who might
be able to give me the information I
was after.
Profiting by this experience, I tackled
the next on the list in quite a different
manner. Him I adroitly led up to the
fountain, bought him a drink and a
smoke (which same by the way, I shall
charge to the Bulletin), and then
casually remarked “Well, what do you
know about the Dogs of Badin?” Phew!
You’d have thought I had stepped on
his corns or something, the way he took
on. He threw away my smoke (your
smoke, I mean), and started saying
things, punctuating them with such
bangs of his fist on the cigar case that
I held my breath and began figuring up
what a new glass would cost, and won
dering whether the broken pieces would
damage the twenty-five-centers or the
twofers. And such things as he did say!
And to me, who promised Mr. E. F'.
Smith two years ago to take charge of
a Sunday School class. To me, mind you,
who had been personally invited by Mrs.
C. to take one also in her Sunday
School (The reason I never took either
was that I hate any showing of partial
ity. I once played the piano in church
for three months, and quit on just this
same account. The choir couldn’t just
seem to sing together with my music,
and I hated to be partial and single out
any particular one to keep up with);
and who once won a gold cross for at
tendance, because Mother was so per
sistent.
Why, Mr. Cummings, did you pick on
me for such a job? Why did you assign
to J. G. T. such a sweet and beautiful
subject—something into which a man
could put his soul, and make a work of
art, and win for himself fame in the
Club House and Albemarle—and just let
me go to the dogs with wasting my
efforts on such a mongrel subject?
Cupid—Dogs! Just look at them!
You know it wasn’t fair.
One man I went to interview—rathe
to hear rave awhile—almost beat t
up before I could explain that I hadi
come to see him to make amends f
some outrage my dog had perpetrated
and with me not even owning a dog
all, nor even wanting to.
Oh, Frederic C., why the devil d
you do it? My reputation is “all sho
in this town all right, for everybo(
knows that I am, for some unknown re
son, interested in dogs; and the half
the town who own the brutes think
am conspiring to murder the dears, a'
the other half, who wish the first ha
didn’t own them, pester me with bloo
curdling suggestions as to the best "'S
to kill them all; and I just can’t bei
to be partial.
I was down by the lake the other da
and there was a good-looking girl "'**
something tied on the end of a strin
which I at first took to be some kind 
insect, but, on looking closer found *
be a dog. I was getting on finely.
she was smiling back, when she saU' ^
looking at the end of the string,
became panic-stricken, and retreated.
This morning I thought that,
farewell effort to do my duty by *
home magazine. I’d interview the
force; so I picked out the biggrest
ber of that organization, in hope®
getting a proportionate amount of •>'
mation. As usual, when I mentioned
magic word “Dog” he started right
with no further prompting.
seemed to be plumb full of venom,
fairly frothed at the mouth, just
he had hydrophobia. "I’d just
have every dog in Badin boiled
one big dog, and have a chance ^
him full of holes,” he growled, a"** ^
a motion as if he really was
shoot something. Now, Frederic. ^ jj
sup^io.sc he had pulled that gun.
had prone off, and I’d been in the
It ;ust wasn’t right to wish ®
danger and everything on nie- t
know nobody can do anythin!?
dog tale anyway. A “Badin
Hell! Ifs a Dog’s Life in
made me live these last few
for 1 dream about them at
they bark, shy at them in the st
kid brother write* that his
puppies, the dog days are no^ rf-,
Jethro Almons’ show is ^
hot ones; and I am doggone jnf
the whole thing, and refuse to jib,
thing more on it. Dogs »«•>' .
tones, but I doubt it. They
(ommentaries tho; and I kno'*'
having worms and disteroper'
A SECTOR OF THE SHORE LINE