a handsome man!" [Pg 101] [Pg 101] A Dog Story A large black dog, of stately mien, was walking o'er the village green, on some important errand bent; a little cur, not worth a cent, observed him passing by, and growled, and barked a while, and yapped, and howled. The big one did not deign a look, but walked along, like prince or dook. The cur remarked, beneath its breath: "That big four-flusher's scared to death! Those great big brutes are never game; now just watch Fido climb his frame!" The big black dog went stalking on, as calm and tranquil as the dawn; he knew the cur was at his heels; he heard its yaps and snarls and squeals, and yet he never looked around, or blinked an eye, or made a sound; his meditations had a tone that mangy pups have never known. The cur, unnoticed, lost all fear; it grabbed the big dog by the ear; the latter paused just long enough to take the small one by the scruff, and shake him gently to and fro; and then he let poor Fido go, and said, in quiet tones: "Now get!" And Fido's doubtless running yet. Suppose you see if you can nail the moral hidden in this tale. [Pg 102] [Pg 102] The Pitcher I'd like to be a Pitcher, and on the Diamond stand, a cap upon my Forehead, a Ball within my Hand. Before Applauding Thousands, I'd throw the Curving Sphere, and From the eyes of Batsmen, bring forth the Briny Tear. I'd make my Occupation a thing of Pomp and Dread, I'd tie Myself in Bow-Knots, and stand upon my Head; a string of wild Contortions would mark my Every Throw, and all the Fans would Murmur: "Oh, Girls, ain't he a Jo?" And when I left the Diamond, on Rest or Pleasure bent, the Kids would trail behind me, and Worship as they went; and all the Sporty Grownups would say: "He's Warm Enough!" and fair and Cultured Ladies would cry: "He is the Stuff!" I'd like to be a Pitcher, while I Remain Below; by day to Gather Garlands, by night to Count the Dough. [Pg 103] [Pg 103] Lions and Ants Once a hunter met a lion near the hungry critter's lair, and the way that lion mauled him was decidedly unfair; but the hunter never whimpered when the surgeons, with their thread, sewed up forty-seven gashes in his mutilated head; and he showed the scars in triumph, and they gave him
Prev.
Back
Top