Evening star., 1922-10-22

"Yes. dear-funny way. Look at
his legs"
She contemplated those members.
"Well?"
They're kinda brief. aren't they,
Blossom"
Naturally. He's no giraffe, Am
brose Young thOroughbreds have
small legs. Just like babies
But he seems so sorta long in pro-
portion to his legs" said Mr.. Pottle
critically. "He gets to look more like
an overgrown caterpillar every day."
You said yourself. Ambrose. that
you know nothing about dogs" his
wife reminded him. The legs always
develop last. Give Pershing a chance
to get his growth. then you'll see.'
! Mr.. Pottle shrugged. unconvinced.
IT'S time to take Pershing out for
| his airing" Mrs. Pottle observed.
| A fretwork of displeasure appeared
on the normally bland brow of Mr..
Pottle.
"Lotta good that does" he grunted.
him around on a string. He's so darn
funny looking, the boys are beginning
to kid me about him."
DO you want me to go out" asked
Mrs. Pottle. with this heavy cold?"
"Oh, all right" said Mr.. Pottle
blackly.
"Now. Pershing, precious. let
mamma pull on your liz blanket so
you can go for nice lii walk with
your papa"
I'm not his papa" growled Mr.
Pottle rebelliously. I'm no relation
of his"
However. the neighbors along Gar
den avenue presently spied a short,
rotund man progressing with reluc-
tant step along the street. in his hand
| a leathern leash. at the end of which
ambled a pup whose physique was the
occasion of some discussion among
the dog fanciers who beheld it.
x :. X
"DLOSSOM." said Mr. Pottle-it was
II after Pershing had outgrown
two boxes and a large wash basket
you may say what you like. but that
dog of yours looks funny to me-
How can you say that?" she re-
torted. Just look at that long. heavy
coat. Look at that big. handsome
head. Look at those knowing eyes.
as If he understood every word we're
saying"
But his legs. Blossom-his legs"
'They are a wee. tiny bit Short
she confessed. But he's still in his
infancy. Perhaps we don't feed him
often enough"
MOP" said Mr.. Pottle, with a rising
infection which had the perfume Of
| sarcasm about 1t. NO? suppose
seven times a day, including once in
the middle of the night, isn't often
enough?"
Honestly, Ambrose. you'd think you
were an early Christian martyr being
devoured by tigers to hear all the fuss
you make about getting up just once
for five or ten minutes in the night to
feed poor. hungry little Pershing."
TT hardly seems worth it." re-
marked Mr.. Pottle, with him turning
| out this way"
What way?'
"Bandy legged"
est. Bernards," she said with dig
nifty, do not run to legs. Mungles
may be all leegy, but not full -blooded
st. Bernards. He's baby, remember
that, Ambrose Pottle.'
He eats more than full-grown
farmland" said Mr.. Pottle; land
steak at so cents a pound!'
You can't bring up a delicate dog
like Pershing on liver" said Mrs.
Pottle crushingly. NOW run along.
Ambrose, and take him for a good
! airing while I get his evening broth
ready"
"They extended that note of mine at
the bank, Blossom" said Mr.. Pottle.
Don't let him eat out Of ash cans,
and don't let him associate with mum
gles," said Mrs. Pottle.
Mr.. Pottle skulked along side
streets. now dragging, now being
dragged by the muscular Pershing.
1t was Mr.. Pottle's idea to escape the
attention of his friends, of whom
there were many in Granville. and
who Of late had shown a disposition
to make remarks about his evening
promenade that irked his proud spirit.
But as he rounded the corner of Cot
tage row he encountered Charlie
Meacham, tonsorialist, dog-fancier,
wit.
Evening. Ambrose"
Evening, Charlie"
"Where'd you get the pooch?" in
qutred Mr.. Meacham, with some in
terest.
"Wife's," said Mr.. Pottle brisRy.
"Where'd she find it?"
Didn't find him. Bought him at
Laddiebrook-Su kennels"
''Oho!" whistled Mr.. Meacham.
"Pedigreed," confided Mr.. Pottle.
You don't tell mel"
Yep. Names Pershing."
Mr.. Meacham leaned against a con-