The New York herald., 1922-02-26
BY
ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE.
Author of Lad: Dog; Bruce" /;
buff: a Collie" &c.


who really know dogs don't know
how to write; and almost nobody
who knows how to write knows
dogs" Perhaps that is why the
great dog stories of modern fiction
can be checked off on the fingers of
both hands-even by man who has
mislaid finger or SO.
Out of the tiny group-to my own
wa" of thirking-stands forth Olli-
wants Bob, Son of Battle" as the
best of them all. With the public
III general OlIivant's book owes q
goodly share of its popularity to the
human characters in it; chiefly, of
course, to dour little Adam McAdam,
the fiery cynic who had loved but
three things-his wife. his Child, his
dog-all being taken from him. Yet
as chronic dog man my own heart
does not go out 10 Our Bob, the gray
canine hero of the book. He is too
flawlC ssly noble. too colorlessly pure,
to appeal to me as does his mortal
fee, Red Wull, the Tailless Tykc.
Wul is the original under dog" OF
fiction. Every good person and every
other dog hated him. They're a
agin us, Wullie!" McAdam used to
tell him. And, reading past the soIr
words, Red Wull knew the ache and
the agony Of loneliness in his little
masters soul; and strove with all
his mighty heart TO make up to the
man fer the worlds enmity.
Fol true ratnos it is hard to beat
EcAdam's mumbled and sung fare
we'll to his mangled chum after the
best dog fight in ALI literature. For
true dog nature, at its grimmest and
most starlSly appealing. Red Wull is
unbeatable. 1t is this harshly drawn
character sketch of Wull that makes
Bob, Son of Battle" great. 1t is
the love of McAdam and his dog for
each other that strikes the needed
note of response in the reader. For
the bond between dog and man is
primitive human emotion; as much
as are love and hate and the
wealth quest The writer who can
strike this note--and few can "a so
without sloppiness or affectation-
will find a response in nearly all
normal minds.
Then. of course, there is that first
canine classic, "Rab and His
Friends" And it owes its success
TO the same elements which make
up the greatness of Bob, Son of
Battle" The glorious loyalty of
Rab the mongrel, to his sick mis-
tress; the bond between the human
family and their mongrel worship
per, the dumb heartbreak of Rab at
his deity's death-these are all true
chords; not a dissonance or a false
note in them. And they carry their
appeal straight to emotions and in
tellect. Nor is the intrusion of
maudlin sentimentality allowed to
mar the effect. 81 had to brain him
Wi a rackpin." is the terse climax.
No Little Nell stuff.
This same devotion. which endures
beyond the death OF it's object, is
the keynote of "Greyfriar Bobby's"
merited success. The little dog knew
no creed but alteration to his human
god. When that god died he found
his way to the grave and prepared
calmly to stay there until his own
death. There were no tears, no wild
protestations, none of the grating
and transitory phases of human
grief. The little dogs god had made
life worth living. That god was
dead. And, as a matter of course,
Bobby accepted death as his own
logical portion. And thousands OF
owners of other good little dogs at
once read. or thought they read.
their own pets possibilities in the
story of Bobby. When you can put
yourself or something dear to you
into a book character, then, so far
us you are concerned, the book is
great.