(SHORT STORY.) COUNTER IRRITANT.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVII, Issue 19, 23 January 1936, Page 23

(SHORT STORY.) COUNTER IRRITANT.

Strong agitation was greatly in evidence on Mr. Burton's thin features as ho drifted into the sitting-room at halfpast two on Saturday afternoon. "Just been telling that half-wit next door what I think of him," he informed lis wife, ill tones in which a slight tremor would not be denied. Mrs. Burton lowered her sewing and glanced at him over the top of her rimless glasses. "Yes?" she said encouragingly. "I've told him," continued Mr. Burton, pushing unsteady hands into his trouser pocket*, and raising his voice, "that if his dog comcs tearing up my garden again I'll wallop it—and wallop it good and hard!" "And what did Mr. Green say to that?" inquired Mrs. Burton, severing a cotton thread with her teeth. Mr. Burton's bushy eyebrows drew together in a frown. "He threatened me," he replied darkly —"actually threatened me with violence. And he —ha—called me a bumptious little blighter!" "You can't expect much from a man whose wife wears such appalling hats," 6aid his wife, taking a feminine view of it "Somebody ought to tell her what a sight she looks. "But why shouldn't we get a dog of our own ? I've always wanted one, and it would keep their dog out and frighten these pestering beggars away. You could soon train it to keep off the flower beds," she added. Mr. Burton's beady little eyes glowed. "By Jove!" he said, "that's an idea. I'd like to get even with Green." "But be careful to get a well-behaved one that's fond of cats," cautioned his wife, "because we don't want Thomas upset." Mr. Burton nodded absently. He was lost in a vision of his dog chewing the Greens' animal. Thomas, the cat, could look out for himself. "11l go and get one now," he told his wife. ' "There's a man in North Lane who breeds all sorts. He's sure to have something suitable." And, donning his hat and coat, he set off at once. "I want a dog," he informed the tough looking gentleman who received him; "one that's fond of cats and fierce to vagrants, but not to postmen or tradesmen; one that likes a fight with other dogs and is quiet and well-behaved in the* house." "Does it matter if it can't play the pianner an' darn yer socks?" asked the dog man, scratching a thirst-conscious nose thoughtfully. "Er—no," murmured Mr. Burton, slightly taken aback. "Because if it don't," said the man, "I've got the very dog you want. I'll be back in a minute." He disappeared into a wooden shed, and reappeared',:almost at once, hauling a huge bull-terrier after him. "This is it," he announced, jerking the dog forward. "A fust-class dawg in every respect," % ..... Mr. Burton, assuming the air of an expert, inspected it from all angles. Muscular and solid, the animal looked every inch a warrior. It returned Mr. Burton's stare with that expression of pallid vacancy peculiar to the breed. "Is it fond of cats?" he inquired. "It'd run a mile just to see one," said the man simply and with perfect truth. "And what about its manners?" "Better than me own," replied the breeder—"much better." Mr. Burton left with the dog ten minutes later, and the vendor, who would have accepted half what he had obtained for it, insisting on shaking hands with him. "His name's Bill," he remarked, as he showed Mr. Burton off the premises, "an' you've got a real bargain, sir. Treat him fair an' he'll be like a brother to you." Mr. Burton had an eventful journey home. Bill gave immediate proof of his love for cats by trying to take his new owner over a ten-foot wall to answer one back. He was balked by Mr. Burton's superior weight, but a little later he succeeded in towing him across the road in front of frantically braked traffic to challenge a more than willing Airedale. By the time he ushered the warlike Bill into the house, Mr. Burton had begun to regret his impulsive purchase. His wife, however, received the dog with enthusiasm. "He's a darling," she crooned, slapping the panting Bill; "but I'm afraid he'll kill the Greens' dog." "I hope he does," said Mr. Burton, savagely. "I hope he gives Green himself a darned good hiding." i He sank wearily into an easy chair, and Bill, who appeared never to have been in a house before, prowled about inspecting things. He disapproved strongly of the radio and backing away from it, vociferously indignant, skidded across the hearth and accidentally sat on the fire. The uproar lasted twenty minutes and Ae blistered Bill was eventually pacified in the kitchen by being allowed to sit in the cat's saucer of milk. He remained theu for a long time, staring up with a smouldering eye at Thomas, who, perched on the mantelpiece, was laying the foundations of a clergyman s sore throat in a desperate attempt to express his feelings. , , . For the cat's sake he was moved back into the sitting-room, and for an nour or so remained quiet, brooding disastrous experience. Then, findin D the floor a trifle hard on his injury, he inspected the chairs with a view selecting the most "comfortable. He decided on Mr. Burtons, after careful consideration, and not at deterred by the fact that it was occupied by that gentleman, climbed up and eat heavily on his chest. Livid with rage, Mr. Burton hiu-kd him to the floor; but BUI was a do| Ol determination and, after the violent repulse, indicated quite plainly that if he didn't get his own way someone would suffer. "Better let him have t» suggested Mrs. Burton, calmly; - he s turnw 0 nastv." _ "What!" raved the incensed Mr. Burton, "am I to be turned out of my own chair by a dog!" .. . His wife shrugged her shouMers. "Please yourself; but if you dont g. way, he'll have you out by force. Mr. Burton gave way, in another chair, fought with a to speak bis mind. • "To-morrow," he eaid, at last, in choking voice, "I'll take him back. 111 give that thief of a breeder a fiver to be rid of him 1" . ' • ■ "You'll do nothing of the *ortl » d Mrs. Burton sharply. "There', nothing wrong with, him except .high spirits.. You don't want a dog without apirit, do your

—— (By J. R. PHILLIPS.) !

Speaking thickly, Mr. Burton was understood to say he didn't want a dog at all—not even a stuffed one. Three times during the night Bill rose from liis couch in the kitchen to exchange baek-cliat with Thomas, who cursed him through the keyhole; and once Mr. Burton rose from his bed and went down to speak to both. He escaped with his life, but without his pyjama trousers, and spent the remainder of the night formulating plans for the decease of liis new pet. Sunday morning dawned bright and sunny and Mr. Burton, in a slightly improved frame of mind, turned the assassin out into the garden to await the advent of the vandal from next door. Giving his wife strict instructions to fetch him as soon as hostilities began, he seized the opportunity to rest in his chair, and, being worn out, fell asleep over the newspaper. He was awakened by Mrs. Burton shaking his arm. "Has it started?" he exclaimed, leaping up eagerly. "No; but I'm afraid Bill is being a bit rough on the garden," she told him. With a sinking heart he hurried outside to find his worst fears realised. His beloved garden was a complete wreck. Seizing a stick he made for the dog with murder in his eye. The encounter was brief. After receiving one vicious cut, Bill captured the stick and neatly overturned his owner into a cold frame. Mrs. Burton arrived ill time to save her husband's life by calming the triumphant victor with I sugar. k In the privacy of his bedroom the H seething Mr. Burton sought to locate an B ignoble wound with two mirrors, and B having found it, paid a heartfelt tribute B to the properties of iodine by smashing I one of them on the bedpost. 11 He returned to the sitting room to find 1| Bill blissfully dozing in his easy cliair. | "Hush!" commanded Mrs. Burton, in I a hissing whisper, "don't disturb him." I Mr. Burton limped out of the rooinjl without a word, and slamming his hat I on, went for a stroll to think over a situation which seemed to be rapidly going from bad to worse. Outside the gate he bumped into his neighbour. "Hullo," said Mr. Green, halting and tapping his pipe on the heel of his shoe. "I see you've got a dog of your own to wreck your garden. I've been watching it play with you. Made myself ill with laughing." "Laugh away!" sneered Mr. Burton. "Laugli away! It'll slaughter that thing of yours next time it comes over the wall." The murder of his neighbour's dog was the only crumb of comfort he had left. Mr. Green shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid it can't do that now," he said, slowly. "My dog has been run over and killed." "Killed!" echoed Mr. Burton, blankly. "When ?" "Yesterday afternoon," replied the other, "and only a few minutes after you'd got so hot under the collar about him, too "