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Page 26
It was a dreadful, dismal, heartbroken howl that echoed back from
the walls. He howled continuously, until the landlord, quite
distracted, and concerned about the peace of his neighbors,
thrust Bobby into the dark scullery at the rear, and bade him
stop his noise. For fully ten minutes the dog was quiet. He was
probably engaged in exploring his new quarters to find an outlet.
Then he began to howl again. It was truly astonishing that so
small a dog could make so large a noise.
A battle was on between the endurance of the man and the
persistence of the terrier. Mr. Traill was speculating on which
was likely to be victor in the contest, when the front door was
opened and the proprietor of the Book Hunter's Stall put in a
bare, bald head and the abstracted face of the book-worm that is
mildly amused.
"Have you tak'n to a dog at your time o' life, Mr. Traill?"
"Ay, man, and it would be all right if the bit dog would just
tak' to me."
This pleasantry annoyed a good man who had small sense of humor,
and he remarked testily "The barkin' disturbs my customers so
they canna read." The place was a resort for student laddies who
had to be saving of candles.
"That's no' right," the landlord admitted, sympathetically.
"'Reading mak'th a full man.' Eh, what a deeference to the warld
if Robbie Burns had aye preferred a book to a bottle." The
bookseller refused to be beguiled from his just cause of
complaint into the flowery meads of literary reminiscences and
speculations.
"You'll stop that dog's cleaving noise, Mr. Traill, or I'll
appeal to the Burgh police."
The landlord returned a bland and child-like smile. "You'd be
weel within your legal rights to do it, neebor."
The door was shut with such a business-like click that the
situation suddenly
became serious. Bobby's vocal powers, however, gave no signs of
diminishing. Mr. Traill quieted the dog for a few moments by
letting him into the outer room, but the swiftness and energy
with which he renewed his attacks on the door and on the man's
will showed plainly that the truce was only temporary. He did
not know what he meant to do except that he certainly had no
intention of abandoning the little dog. To gain time he put on
his hat and coat, picked Bobby up, and opened the door. The
thought occurred to him to try the gate at the upper end of the
kirkyard or, that failing, to get into Heriot's Hospital grounds
and put Bobby over the wall. As he opened the door, however, he
heard Geordie Ross's whistle around the bend in Forest Road.
"Hey, laddie!" he called. "Come awa' in a meenit." When the
sturdy boy was inside and the door safely shut, he began in his
most guileless and persuasive tone: "Would you like to earn a
shulling, Geordie?"
"Ay, I would. Gie it to me i' pennies an' ha'pennies, Maister
Traill. It seems mair, an' mak's a braw jinglin' in a pocket."
The price was paid and the tale told. The quick championship of
the boy was engaged for the gallant dog, and Geordie's eyes
sparkled at the prospect of dark adventure. Bobby was on the
floor listening, ears and eyes, brambly muzzle and feathered tail
alert. He listened with his whole, small, excited body, and hung
on the answer to the momentous question.
"Is there no' a way to smuggle the bit dog into the kirkyard?"
It appeared that nothing was easier, "aince ye ken hoo." Did Mr.
Traill know of the internal highway through the old Cunzie Neuk
at the bottom of the Row? One went up the stairs on the front to
the low, timbered gallery, then through a passage as black as
"Bluidy" McKenzie's heart. At the end of that, one came to a
peep-hole of a window, set out on wooden brackets, that hung
right over the kirkyard wall. From that window Bobby could be
dropped on a certain noble vault, from which he could jump to the
ground.
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