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Title: A Dog Day - or The Angel in the House
Author: Emanuel, Walter
Language: English
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A DOG DAY
or
The Angel in the House
by
WALTER EMANUEL
Pictured by Cecil Aldin
[Publisher Logo]
Published by R.H.Russell. New York. 1902.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1902, by William Heinemann.
All rights reserved.
Entered at Stationers Hall, London, England.
Entered at the Library of Congress, Washington, U.S.A.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO
W. W. JACOBS
BECAUSE
HE LIKED IT
[Small Decoration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
A DOG DAY
THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE
A.M.
7
Woke up feeling rather below par, owing to
disturbed rest. Hardly enough energy to stretch
myself. In the middle of the night a strange man
came in by the kitchen window, very quietly, with
a bag. I chummed up to him at once. He was nice to
me, and I was nice to him. He got me down a piece
of meat that I could not reach myself. While I was
engaged on this, he took a whole lot of silver
things and put them into the bag. Then, as he was
leaving, the brute—I believe, now, it was an
accident—trod on my toe, making me yelp with pain.
I bit him heartily, and he dropped his bag, and
scurried off through the window again. My yelping
soon woke up the whole house, and, in a very short
time, old Mr. Brown and young Mr. Brown appear.
They at once spot the bag of silver. They then
declare I have saved the house, and make no end of
fuss with me. I am a hero. Later on Miss Brown
came down and fondled me lots, and kissed me, and
tied a piece of pink ribbon round my neck, and
made me look a fool. What’s the good of ribbon, I
should like to know? It’s the most beastly tasting
stuff there ever was.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
8:30.
Ate breakfast with difficulty. Have no appetite.
8:35.
Ate kittens’ breakfast.
8:36.
An affair with the cat (the kittens’ mother). But
I soon leave her, as the coward does not fight
fair, using claws.
[Illustration]
9:0.
Washed by Mary. A hateful business. Put into a
tub, and rubbed all over—mouth, tail, and
everywhere—with filthy soapy water, that loathsome
cat looking on all the while, and sneering in her
dashed superior way. I don’t know, I am sure, why
the hussy should be so conceited. She has to clean
herself. I keep a servant to clean me. At the same
time I often wish I was a black dog. They keep
clean so much longer. Every finger-mark shows up
so frightfully on the white part of me. I am a
sight after Cook has been stroking me.
9:30.
Showed myself in my washed state to the family.
All very nice to me. Quite a triumphal entry,
in fact. It is simply wonderful the amount of
kudos I’ve got from that incident with the man.
Miss Brown (whom I rather like) particularly
enthusiastic. Kissed me again and again, and
called me “a dear, clean, brave, sweet-smelling
little doggie.”
[Illustration]
9:40.
While a visitor was being let in at the front-door
I rushed out, and had the most glorious roll in
the mud. Felt more like my old self then.
9:45.
Visited the family again. Shrieks of horror on
seeing me caked in mud. But all agreed that I was
not to be scolded to-day as I was a hero (over the
man!). All, that is, except Aunt Brown, whose
hand, for some reason or other, is always against
me—though nothing is too good for the cat. She
stigmatised me, quite gratuitously, as “a horrid
fellow.”
[Illustration]
9:50.
Glorious thought! Rushed upstairs and rolled over
and over on the old maid’s bed. Thank Heaven, the
mud was still wet!
[Illustration]
10 to 10:15.
Wagged tail.
[Illustration]
10:16.
Down into kitchen. While Cook is watching regiment
pass, I play with chops, and bite big bits out of
them. Cook, who is quite upset for the day by
seeing so many soldiers, continues to cook the
chops without noticing.
10:20 to ...
Dozed.
[Illustration]
1:15.
Ate kittens’ dinner.
[Illustration]
1:20.
Attacked by beast of cat again. She scratched my
hind-leg, and at that I refused to go on. Mem.: to
take it out of her kittens later.
[Illustration]
1:25.
Upstairs into dining-room. Family not finished
lunch yet. Young Mr. Brown throws a bread pellet
at me, hitting me on the nozzle. An insult. I
swallow the insult. Then I go up to Miss Brown and
look at her with my great pleading eyes. I guessed
it: they are irresistible. She gives me a piece of
pudding. Aunt Brown tells her she shouldn’t. At
which, with great pluck, Miss Brown tells her to
mind her own business. I admire that girl more and
more.
[Illustration]
1:30.
A windfall. A whole dish of mayonnaise fish on the
slab in the hall. Before you can say Jack Robinson
I have bolted it.
1:32.
Curious pains in my underneath.
[Illustration]
1:33.
Pains in my underneath get worse.
1:34.
Horrid feeling of sickness.
[Illustration]
1:35.
Rush up into Aunt Brown’s room, and am sick there.
[Illustration]
1:37.
Better. Think I shall pull through if I am
careful.
1:40.
Almost well again.
1:41.
Quite well again. Thank Heavens! It was a narrow
shave that time. People ought not to leave such
stuff about.
1:42.
Up into dining-room. And, to show how well I am, I
gallumph round and round the room, at full pelt,
about twenty times, steering myself by my tail.
Then, as a grand finale, I jump twice on to the
waistcoat-part of old Mr. Brown, who is sleeping
peacefully in the arm-chair. He wakes up very
angry indeed, and uses words I have never heard
before. Even Miss Brown, to my no little surprise,
says it is very naughty of me. Old Mr. Brown
insists on my being punished, and orders Miss
Brown to beat me. Miss Brown runs the burglar for
all he is worth. But no good. Old Mr. Brown is
dead to all decent feeling!
[Illustration]
So Miss Brown beats me. Very nice. Thoroughly
enjoyable. Just like being patted. But, of course,
I yelp, and pretend it hurts frightfully, and do
the sad-eye business, and she soon leaves off
and takes me into the next room and gives me six
pieces of sugar! Good business. Must remember
always to do this. Before leaving she kisses me
and explains that I should not have jumped on poor
Pa, as he is the man who goes to the City to earn
bones for me. Something in that, perhaps. Nice
girl.
[Illustration]
2:0 to 3:15.
Attempt to kill fur rug in back room. No good.
3:15 to 3:45.
Sulked.
3:46.
Small boy comes in, and strokes me. I snap at him.
_I will not_ be every one’s plaything.
[Illustration]
3:47 to 4:0.
Another attempt to kill rug. Would have done it
this time, had not that odious Aunt Brown come in
and interfered. I did not say anything, but gave
her such a look, as much as to say, “I’ll do for
you one day.” I think she understood.
4:0 to 5:15.
Slept.
[Illustration]
5:15.
Awakened by bad attack of eczema.
[Illustration]
5:20 to 5:30.
Slept again.
5:30.
Awakened again by eczema. Caught one.
[Illustration]
5:30 to 6:0.
Frightened canary by staring greedily at it.
[Illustration]
6:0.
Visited kitchen-folk. Boned some bones.
[Illustration]
6:15.
Stalked a kitten in kitchen-passage. The other
little cowards ran away.
6:20.
Things are looking brighter: helped mouse escape
from cat.
[Illustration]
6:30.
Upstairs, past the drawing-room. Door of old Mrs.
Brown’s bedroom open invitingly. I entered. Never
been in before. Nothing much worth having. Ate a
few flowers out of a bonnet. Beastly.
[Illustration]
Then into Miss Brown’s room. Very tidy when I
entered. Discovered there packet labelled
“High-class Pure Confectionery.” Not bad. Pretty
room.
[Illustration]
7:0.
Down to supper. Ate it, but without much relish. I
am off my feed to-day.
7:15.
Ate kittens’ supper. But I do wish they would not
give them that eternal fish. I am getting sick of
it.
7:16.
Sick of it in the garden.
7:25.
Nasty feeling of lassitude comes over me, with
loss of all initiative, so I decide to take
things quietly, and lie down by the kitchen
fire. Sometimes I think that I am not the dog
that I was.
8:0.
Hooray! Appetite returning.
8:1.
Ravenous.
8:2.
Have one of the nicest pieces of coal I have ever
come across.
[Illustration]
8:5.
Nose around the kitchen floor, and glean a bit of
onion, an imitation tortoise-shell comb, a shrimp
(almost entire), an abominably stale chunk of
bread, and about half a yard of capital string.
After coal, I think I like string best. The family
have noticed what a lot of this I stow away, and
it was not a bad idea of young Mr. Brown’s, the
other day, that, if I had the end of a piece of
string always hanging from my mouth, they could
use me as a string-box. Though it is scarcely a
matter for joking about. Still, it made me laugh.
8:30.
If one had to rely on other people one might
starve. Fortunately, in the hall I happen on the
treacle-pudding, and I get first look in. Lap up
the treacle, and leave the suet for the family.
A1.
[Illustration]
8:40.
Down into the kitchen again. Sit by the fire,
and pretend I don’t know what treacle is like.
But that vile cat is there, and I believe she
guesses—keeps looking round at me with her hateful
superior look. Dash her, what right has she got to
give herself such airs? She’s not half my size,
and pays no taxes. Dash her smugness. Dash her
altogether. The sight of her maddens me—and, when
her back is turned, I rush at her, and bite her.
The crafty coward wags her tail, pretending she
likes it, so I do it again, and then she rounds on
me, and scratches my paw viciously, drawing blood,
and making me howl with pain. This brings Miss
Brown down in a hurry. She kisses me, tells the
cat she is a naughty cat (_I’d_ have killed her
for it), gives me some sugar, and wraps the paw up
in a bread-poultice. Lord, how that girl loves me!
9:0.
Ate the bread-poultice.
9:15.
Begin to get sleepy.
9:15 to 10:0.
Dozed.
10:0.
Led to kennel.
10:15.
Lights out. Thus ends another dernd dull day.
[Illustration]
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
Obviously missing punctuation added.
Time: . replaced by : e.g. 3.15 changed to 3:15, otherwise time display
conventions left as printed.
Original justification style of paragraphs not retained.
Out of order pages in original re-ordered to follow time sequence.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "A Dog Day - or The Angel in the House" ***
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