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Page 20
"Dr.--WHO?" sharply queried the superintendent, who had not
caught the name when the Master had spoken it in his rapid-fire
speech. "Dr. Halding? Of New York? Huh!
"You needn't worry about the effect of city life on your dog," he
went on with venomous bitterness. "The pup won't have a very long
spell of it. If I had my way, that man Halding would be barred
from every dog-show and stuck in jail. It's an old trick of his,
to buy up thoroughbreds, cheap, at shows. The bigger and the
stronger they are, the more he pays for them. He seems to think
pedigreed dogs are better for his filthy purposes than street
curs. They have a higher nervous organism, I suppose. The swine!"
"What do you mean?" asked the Mistress, puzzled by his vehemence.
"I don't--"
"You must have heard of Halding and his so-called 'research
work,'" the superintendent went on. "He is one of the most
notorious vivisectionists in--"
The superintendent got no further. He was talking to empty air.
The Mistress had fled. Her determined small figure made a tumbled
wake through the crowd as she sped toward Bruce's bench. The
puppy was no longer there. In another second the Mistress was at
the door of the building.
A line of parked cars was stretched across the opposite side of
the village street. Into one of these cars a large and loose-
jointed man was lifting a large and loose-jointed dog. The dog
did not like his treatment, and was struggling pathetically in
vain awkwardness to get free.
"Bruce!" called the Mistress, fiercely, as she dashed across the
street.
The puppy heard the familiar voice and howled for release. Dr.
Halding struck him roughly over the head and scrambled into the
machine with him, reaching with his one disengaged hand for the
self-starter button. Before he could touch it, the Mistress was
on the running-board of the car.
As she ran, she had opened her wristbag. Now, flinging on the
runabout's seat a ten and a five-dollar bill, she demanded--
"Give me my dog! There is the money you paid for him!"
"He isn't for sale," grinned the Doctor. "Stand clear, please.
I'm starting."
"You're doing nothing of the sort," was the hot reply. "You'll
give back my dog! Do you understand?"
For answer Halding reached again toward his self-starter. A
renewed struggle from the whimpering puppy frustrated his aim and
forced him to devote both hands to the subduing of Bruce. The dog
was making frantic writhings to get to the Mistress. She caught
his furry ruff and raged on, sick with anger.
"I know who you are and what you want this poor frightened puppy
for. You shan't have him! There seems to be no law to prevent
human devils from strapping helpless dogs to a table and
torturing them to death in the unholy name of science. But if
there isn't a corner waiting for them, below, it's only because
Hades can't be made hot enough to punish such men as they ought
to be punished! You're not going to torture Bruce. There's your
money. Let go of him."
"You talk like all silly, sloppy sentimentalists!" scoffed the
Doctor, his slight German accent becoming more noticeable as he
continued: "A woman can't have the intellect to understand our
services to humanity. We--"
"Neither have half the real doctors!" she flashed. "Fully half of
them deny that vivisection ever helped humanity. And half the
remainder say they are in doubt. They can't point to a single
definite case where it has been of use. Alienists say it's a
distinct form of mental perversion,--the craving to torture dumb
animals to death and to make scientific notes of their
sufferings."
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