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Title: A Dog Day - or The Angel in the House
Author: Emanuel, Walter
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "A Dog Day - or The Angel in the House" ***

available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)

      Images of the original pages are available through
      Internet Archive. See

Transcriber’s note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).



The Angel in the House



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.



                              W. W. JACOBS

                              HE LIKED IT

                           [Small Decoration]


                               A DOG DAY

                         THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE


          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.




          Ate breakfast with difficulty. Have no appetite.


          Ate kittens’ breakfast.


          An affair with the cat (the kittens’ mother). But
          I soon leave her, as the coward does not fight
          fair, using claws.



          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.


          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.”



          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.


          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



          Glorious thought! Rushed upstairs and rolled over
          and over on the old maid’s bed. Thank Heaven, the
          mud was still wet!


10 to 10:15.

          Wagged tail.



          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 ...




          Ate kittens’ dinner.



          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.



          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



          A windfall. A whole dish of mayonnaise fish on the
          slab in the hall. Before you can say Jack Robinson
          I have bolted it.


          Curious pains in my underneath.



          Pains in my underneath get worse.


          Horrid feeling of sickness.



          Rush up into Aunt Brown’s room, and am sick there.



          Better. Think I shall pull through if I am


          Almost well again.


          Quite well again. Thank Heavens! It was a narrow
          shave that time. People ought not to leave such
          stuff about.


          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!


          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


2:0 to 3:15.

          Attempt to kill fur rug in back room. No good.

3:15 to 3:45.



          Small boy comes in, and strokes me. I snap at him.
          _I will not_ be every one’s plaything.


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.




          Awakened by bad attack of eczema.


5:20 to 5:30.

          Slept again.


          Awakened again by eczema. Caught one.


5:30 to 6:0.

          Frightened canary by staring greedily at it.



          Visited kitchen-folk. Boned some bones.



          Stalked a kitten in kitchen-passage. The other
          little cowards ran away.


          Things are looking brighter: helped mouse escape
          from cat.



          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.


          Then into Miss Brown’s room. Very tidy when I
          entered. Discovered there packet labelled
          “High-class Pure Confectionery.” Not bad. Pretty



          Down to supper. Ate it, but without much relish. I
          am off my feed to-day.


          Ate kittens’ supper. But I do wish they would not
          give them that eternal fish. I am getting sick of


          Sick of it in the garden.


          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.


          Hooray! Appetite returning.




          Have one of the nicest pieces of coal I have ever
          come across.



          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.


          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.



          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!


          Ate the bread-poultice.


          Begin to get sleepy.

9:15 to 10:0.



          Led to kennel.


          Lights out. Thus ends another dernd dull day.


      *      *      *      *      *      *

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.

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