bruce-第6节
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inspection。
〃He's cunning； isn't he？ Kind of like a Teddy Bear；the sort
kids play with。 But；〃 with a tinge of worry； 〃I'm not sure Ma
will let me keep two。 Maybe〃
〃Perhaps；〃 suggested the Mistress； 〃perhaps you'd like us to keep
little Bruce； to remember Lass by？ We'll try to make him very
happy。〃
〃Yes'm！〃 agreed Dick； in much haste； his brow clearing from a
mental vision of Mrs。 Hazen's face when she should see him return
with twice as many dogs as he had set out for。 〃Yes'm。 If you
wouldn't mind； very much。 S'pose we leave it that way？ I guess
Bruce'll like being with you； Miss。 II guess pretty near
anybody would。 You'llyou'll try not to be too homesick for
Lass； won't you？〃
On the steps of the veranda the downy and fat puppy watched his
mother's departure with no especial interest。 By the Mistress's
wish； Mr。 Hazen had not been required to make any part of his
proffered hundred…dollar payment for the return of his boy's pet。
All the Mistress had stipulated was that Lass might be allowed to
remain at The Place until baby Bruce should no longer need her。
〃Bruce；〃 said the Mistress as the car rolled up the drive and out
of sight； 〃you are the sole visible result of The Place's
experiment in raising prize collies。 You have a tremendous
responsibility on those fat little shoulders of yours；to live
up to it all。〃
By way of showing his scorn for such trifles as a 〃tremendous
responsibility；〃 Bruce proceeded to make a ferocious onslaught at
the Mistress's temperamental gray Persian kitten； 〃Tipperary；〃
which was picking a mincing way across the veranda。
A howl of pain and two scratches on his tiny nose immediately
followed the attack。 Tipperary then went on with her mincing
promenade。 And Bruce； with loud lamentations； galloped to the
shelter of the Mistress's skirt。
〃Poor little chap！〃 soothed the Mistress； picking him up and
comforting him。 〃Responsibility isn't such a joke； after all； is
it； Baby？〃
CHAPTER II。 The Pest
Thackeray； as a lad； was dropped from college for laziness and
for gambling。 Bismarck failed to get a University degree； because
he lacked power to study and because he preferred midnight beer
to midnight oil。 George Washington； in student days； could never
grasp the simplest rules of spelling。 The young Lincoln loved to
sprawl in the shade with fish…pole or tattered book； when he
should have been working。
Now； these men were giantsphysically as well as mentally。 Being
giants； they were by nature slow of development。
The kitten； at six months of age； is graceful and compact and of
perfect poise。 The lion…cub； at the same age； is a gawky and
foolish and ill…knit mass of legs and fur； deficient in sense and
in symmetry。 Yet at six years； the lion and the cat are not to be
compared for power or beauty or majesty or brain； or along any
other lines。
The foregoing is not an essay on the slow development of the
Great。 It is merely a condensation of the Mistress's earnest
arguments against the selling or giving away of a certain
hopelessly awkward and senseless and altogether undesirable
collie pup named Bruce。
From the very first； the Mistress had been Bruce's champion at
The Place。 There was no competition for that office。 She and she
alone could see any promise in the shambling youngster。
Because he had been born on The Place； and because he was the
only son of Rothsay Lass； whom； the Mistress had also championed
against strong opposition； it had been decided to keep and raise
him。 But daily this decision seemed less and less worth while。
Only the Mistress's championing of the Undesirable prevented his
early banishment。
From a fuzzy and adventurous fluff…ball of gray…gold…and…white
fur； Bruce swiftly developed into a lanky giant。 He was almost as
large again as is the average collie pup of his age； but； big as
he was； his legs and feet and head were huge； out of all
proportion to the rest of him。 The head did not bother him。 Being
hampered by no weight of brain； it would be navigated with more
or less ease； in spite of its bulk。 But the legs and feet were
not only in his own way； but in every one else's。
He seemed totally lacking in sense； as well as in bodily
coordination。 He was forever getting into needless trouble。 He
was a stormcenter。 No one but a born foolcanine or humancould
possibly have caused one…tenth as much bother。
The Mistress had named him 〃Bruce；〃 after the stately Scottish
chieftain who was her history…hero。 And she still called him
Brucefifty times a dayin the weary hope of teaching him his
name。 But every one else on The Place gave him a title instead of
a namea title that stuck： 〃The Pest。〃 He spent twenty…four
hours； daily； living up to it。
Compared with Bruce's helplessly clownish trouble…seeking
propensities； Charlie Chaplin's screen exploits are miracles of
heroic dignity and of good luck。
There was a little artificial water…lily pool on The Place；
perhaps four feet deep。 By actual count； Bruce fell into it no
less than nine times in a single week。 Once or twice he had
nearly drowned there before some member of the family chanced to
fish him out。 And； learning nothing from experience； he would
fall in again； promptly； the next day。
The Master at last rigged up a sort of sloping wooden platform；
running from the lip of the pool into the water； so that Bruce
could crawl out easily； next time he should tumble in。 Bruce
watched the placing of this platform with much grave interest。
The moment it was completed； he trotted down it on a tour of
investigation。 At its lower edge he slipped and rolled into the
pool。 There he floundered； with no thought at all of climbing out
as he had got in； until the Master rescued him and spread a wire
net over the whole pool to avert future accidents。
Thenceforth； Bruce met with no worse mischance； there； than the …
perpetual catching of his toe…pads in the meshes of the wire。
Thus ensnared he would stand； howling most lamentably； until his
yells brought rescue。
Though the pool could be covered with a net； the wide lake at the
foot of the lawn could not be。 Into the lake Bruce would wade
till the water reached his shoulders。 Then with a squeal of
venturesome joy； he would launch himself outward for a swim； and；
once facing away from shore； he never had sense enough to turn
around。
After a half…hour of steady swimming； his soft young strength
would collapse。 A howl of terror would apprise the world at large
that he was about to drown。 Whereat some passing boatman would
pick him up and hold him for ransom； or else some one from The
Place must jump into skiff or canoe and hie with all speed to the
rescue。 The same thing would be repeated day after day。
The local S。P。C。A。 threatened to bring action against the Master
for letting his dog risk death； in this way； from drowning。
Morbidly； the Master wished the risk might verge into a
certainty。
The puppy's ravenous appetite was the wonder of all。 He stopped
eating only when there was nothing edible in reach。 And as his
ideas of edible food embraced everything that was chewable；from
bath…towels to axle…greasehe was seldom fasting and was
frequently ill。
Nature does more for animals than for humans。 By a single
experience she warns them； as a rule； what they may safely eat
and what they may not。 Bruce was the exception。 He would pounce
upon and devour a luscious bit of laundry…soap with just as much
relish as though a similar bit of soap had not made him horribly
sick the day before。
Once he munched； relishfully； a two…pound box of starch； box and
all； on his recovery； he began upon a second box； and was unhappy
when it was taken from him。
He would greet members of the family with falsetto…thunderous
barks of challenge as they came down the drive from the highway。
But he would frisk out in joyous welcome to meet and fawn upon
tramps or peddlers who sought to invade The Place。 He could
scarce learn his own name。 He could hardly be taught to obey the
simplest command。 As for shaking hands or lying down at order
（those two earliest bits of any dog's education）； they meant no
more to Bruce than did the theory of quadratic equations。
At three months he launched forth merrily as a chicken…killer；
gleefully running down and beheading The Place's biggest
Orpington rooster。 But his first kill was his last。 The Master
saw to that。
There is no use in thrashing a dog for killing poultry。 There is
but one practically sure cure for the habit。 And this one cure
the Master applied。
He tied the slain rooster firmly around Bruce's furry throat； and
made the puppy wear it； as a heavy and increasingly malodorous
pendant； for three warm days and nights。
Before the end of this seventy…two…hour period； Bruce had grown
to loathe the sight and scent of chicken。 Stupi
