LOVE MY DOG—LOVE ME.

Cromwell Argus, 30 September 1929, Page 4 (Supplement)

LOVE MY DOG—LOVE ME.

Mr. Bob Vinnicombe stared fortli through the mullioned windows of the Plume of Feathers with jaundiced eyes. Immediately in front of him was Fore Street, bright in the sunshine of earliest spring, making one side of the little square with its ancient but-ter-market much kodak-ed in high summer by visitors exploring the moor by charabanc; and beyond the square was the street which, to his mind, was the street of sheer romance because it led right away to the wide, wide world. "Christopher!” he murmured in discontent, "what a graveyard the place be ... If only something would happen.” The laughter of the only other man in the room greeted his disgruntled comment. "Graveyard, Bob Vinnicombe. Why, summat be alius happenin’ here. If 'ec stared at that window long enough, 'ee’ll zee things happen like . . . like a house a-vire ...” “I’d like to see it a-fire,” interrupted Mr. Vinnicombe viciously. •“Oh, come, Bob! Don’t ’ee be zo "Overwhelmed with lightnings an’ brimstone an’ thunderbolts same as them places in the Bible —Godom an’ Sommorah, or drowned in the Dead Sea along of the Egyptians an’ their chariots or blowed to li’l bits by Aaron’s trumpets or ” He checked sharply his earnest if incorrect aspirations for the enlivenment of his birthplace, and gave vent to a long whistle of surprise. “P-h-e-w-w! ” “What be up?” asked his friend. “Something have happened at last!” "What ” "A girl! . . . The dinkiest, prettiest maid that ever was. Looks like one of Honeybone’s almanacs. Steps like a fairy, an’ smiles like sunshine in a lark place an’ ” The quick movement of Amos Vesper to the window to get a view of the marvel broke the poetic flow; and a further interruption was made by the speaker’s rough-haired terrier who, not to be left out in the cold, leaped first to a table and thence to the broad window-sill, whence he could look forth on the square. “Where ?” began Vosper. "Coming this way, just passin’ Jan Blanchard’s shop. By the way she walks you might think that primroses was a-blowing at her feet; an’ that summer was a-walking just behind her, an’ that li’l birds were a-twittering—” Breath and invention failed him and he stood there dumb, whilst his companion took up the tale of Avonder in more prosaic speech. “A real high-stepper, vor sure, what ’ee might call a vair bobby-dazzler. Wonder where she do belong?” "Not to this tombstone of a place, you can bet, Amos. Moorford never reared a rose like that, an’ couldn’t if it tried. Look at her, Amos, buxom an’ dainty, not too tall an’ yet not too short for a fine, upstanding man same as I be; high enough to lean against a man’s shoulder, an’ short enough for a man to have to stoop to kiss her ruby lips ” “Lor’, Bob, ee zure be riding fast!” laughed his friend. "Fast? Not fast enough! Kiss, did I say; but I see a golden ring an’ hear the chime of wedding bells—” “I marvel ’ee don’t zee two twins in one cradle!” broke in his friend with laughter. “But whatever ’ee d’see the maid have got to zee it first, b’fore it comes true.”

"Of course, she has, Amos Vosper. An' I'm. the man to open her eyes—" "Well, here's the chance. She'm passing by. If 'ee was to tap on the window —" "Bow-wow-woof! woof!"

It was Bill, the rough-haired terrier, who spoke and attracted the girl's attention so that she looked and then stopped directly in front of the window; for Bill was an engaging rogue, with one ear half-chewed away in glorious battle, and the other lopping over his left eye in a way that gave his face a humorous twist. Having arrested attention, Bill proceeded to improve the acquaintance and, wagging a stumpy tail, thrust a black nose against the pane as if eager to be petted. The girl, apparently oblivious of the two men, laughed at Bill with unaffected gaiety. "You funny dog!" she said, loud enough to be heard through the glass, and then tapped tantalisingly upon the pane. Bill, a dog of manners, barked responsively, short, friendly barks, and the girl laughed and tapped again. "Good dog," she said. "Pretty dog!" Both epithets, as anyone knowing Bill could have told her, were exaggerations; but with a reckless disregard for truth, she repeated them, winning from the terrier more vociferous response; and then just as she tapped once more, Bob Vinnicombe, eager to be in the limelight, pushed his own face close to the glass. For one moment the girl stared at the unexpected apparition in amazement; then she laughed a peal as merry as the bells that Vinnicombe had heard afar, and promptly fled up the street. The dog's owner drew a long breath. "Did you ever see the like, Amos Vosper?" "Never before in this world," agreed the other, fervently. "An' you won't see nothing more beautiful in the next," said Mr. Vinnicombe Avith conviction. "No . . . No . . . not among all the female angels. . . . But 'tis time I was getting on. I'm going to discover who she be." "How are 'ee going to do that, Bob?" "By using my tongue. The maid was coming out of the post office when I first saw her, so I'm going in there to buy a penny stamp an' to ask ——" "You can ax till you'm blue. They won't tell 'ee not unless they've a mind to. 'Tis against the law an' the post office." "They'll tell me," said Mr. Vinnicombe with conviction, and walked straight out of the inn to the drapers acoss the square, where he proceeded to make assurance doubly sure by purchasing a delicate silk handkerchief. Carrying this openly in his hand, he entered the post office with a demand for the name of the young lady who had just left that he might carry to her the handkerchief which was her property. Even the post office could not turn a man aside from such laudable rectitude and gave him the name and address, which Amos Vosper listened to also; and outside made his objection. "But that handkerchief's not her property. Bob!"

"That's where the spokes rattle in your wheels, Amos. 'Twas her property, just so soon as I put down the two and four three farthings that was the price; an' this very night I'm going to take it up to her an' hand it over."

"You heard the name, Amos. Miss Ruth Coaker, of Furzecombe Farm. She'll be Old Coaker's grand-daugnter come to stay with him for a while, an' it's me for Furzecombe this very night." "I might walk up along with 'ee," suggested his friend, but Bob Vinnicombe was adamant.

"No! 'Tis friendly meant, Amos, but where a maid and a man be concerned, two's the fitting number, an' a third, whether man or maid, do spoil the balance. I reckon Bill here will be all the company we'll need; him being already acquainted with Ruth and wanting exercise." "Well, since 'ee won't have me, I'll not force myself upon 'ee," answered Vesper none too cheerfully, and took his way, leaving his friend to his own devices.

Presently, as Moorford Church was striking six, Bob Vinnicombe, with Bill at his heels, left the little town and struck his way across the moor to Furzecombe, which farm lay in a ccmbe, at the head of which the prickly gorse from which it took its name was already breaking into yellow blossom. Bob Vinnicombe found that fact of good omen; and gaily hummed the old rhyme of the country-side: "When the furze is in bloom, Kissing is in tune "

and as he hummed it had visions of Ruth Coaker's ruby lips; and the vision seemed full of promise, until he came to the home gate of the farm*, leaning on which, surveying his visitor with sardonic eyes, was old Farmer Coaker himself. "Good evening, Mr. Coaker," said the young man with geniality, " 'tis a wonderful fine evening for the season."

"Wondervul!" agreed the farmer. "But being a thing that any vool can see with his two eyes, 'ee didn't traipse from Moorford to tell me that, did 'ee, Bob Vinnicombe?"

"Well, no, Mr. Coaker, 't is just a polite way of passing the time of the day." The farmer considered him again, noted the trimness of his raiment, and the early primrose in his buttonhole and drew his own conclusions, but kept a wooden face.

"An' 'ee didn't walk over to Furzecombe to pass the time of the day, neither, I'll wager?" "No, Mr. Coaker," answered his visitor with an assurance that he was far from feeling. "I came up along to see your grand-daughter Ruth " The farmer laughed suddenly. "I might have guessed it, an' I will zay this, Bob Vinnicombe, that 'ee 've not wasted time. The maid only came over from Tavistock this mornin', an' here 'ee be " "I came along to hand over somethin' that belongs to her that was left behind in Moorford this afternoon." "Be that zo? What "

"A silk handkerchief," answered Bob, promptly producing the article in question.

The farmer marked the newness of the handkerchief, the little star-ticket in the corner, and his suspicions took new life. "How did 'ee know 'twas Ruth's?"

"Saw her leaving the post office an asked who she was so that I could de liver it to " "Kit! Kit!"

A girl's voice mellow and sweet broke on his explanation, and he looked in the direction whence it came —a look that told the farmer much, having himself once been young. He stepped aside from the gate. "Down in the li'l orchard," he said. "When 'ee've delivered the hanky, tell the maid to bring 'ee into the kitchen vor a drop ov zider." "Thank you kindly, Mr. Coaker," said the young man, and went whistling on his way, Bill nosing ahead. "Kitty! Kitty!"

The girl's voice sounded again as Bob Vinnicombe came to the orchard wicket-gate; and under the trees, now swelling to bud, he saw Ruth Coaker standing, staring down the orchard quite unaware of his presence. He paused for a moment to admire the picture she presented in her plain dress of lilac print with curtained milking-bonnet of the same stuff; then he opened the gate. Instantly Bill slipped through and rushed to renew the acquaintance made in the afternoon, barking greeting. Ruth Coaker turned swiftly, and became aware of both dog and master in a single glance. A glint of laughter came in her brown eyes, and then, as Bill, barking joyfully, began to dance round her, she stooped to pat him. Ha suffered the attention cheerfully. "Why!" she cried. "'Tis you—you funny dog!" She saw Bob Vinnicombe hurrying between the apple trees, but ignored him utterly and continued to fondle the dog, even when the man had halted close beside her, looking on divided between envy and approval. Then, when she had kept him waiting sufficiently long to cause his courage to ooze, she glanced up under her eyelashes. "What be his name?" she demanded suddenly." "William—Bill for short." "Bill! Bill! Good dog! Pretty dog!" Such flattery drove the terrier almost crazy with delight. He danced round her, barked joyfully, set playful teeth at her toes and skirts, and, in short, so lost his head that his master was forced to intervene. "Down, Bill," he cried sternly. "Down."

Bill went down like a lamb, and Ruth Coaker was free to give attention to his master. Her manner to him was as austere as it had been free to the dog. "What be you doing here?" she asked. "There's no right of way through "

"Wrong, Miss Coaker. Your grandfer made me free of the place an' sent me here to find you; an' you've to take me to drink a mug of cider with him when I've done my business with you." "Business! .... with me? What business can " "This —first!" Bob Vinnicombe produced the handkerchief. " 'Tis yours —left behind in Moorford this afternoon "

"I never saw the tiling in my life before."

"No!" the young man laughed brazenly. " 'Twas in Hannaford's shop when you tapped at the window to me——"

"I never did!" cried Ruth, indignantly. 'Twas to the dog I tapped." "Same thing." explained Bob cheerfully. "Bill an' me are as good as one. an' them that like him like me." The girl laughed. "Love my dog, love me, I suppose. But a dog may be better than his master; an' nearly as funny as I daresay Bill is." Bob Vinnicombe felt the shaft, but did not wince. "He's a Christian, is Bill, an' a better judge of a maid than ever was a man in this world. An' he've taken to you so strong that I'm dead sure I can't do better " "Can't do better? What on earth do 'ee mean?" "Do better than wed you."

"Do . . . better . . . than " Rising laughter staccatoed the words, then it became a flood overwhelming speech altogether, a very cascade, shaking her with its rush and finally bringing tears to her eyes. She got breath at last—imperfectly, and began to speak. "Like master . . . like dog . . . the dog be funny, but the master —"Oh-o —oh o " The tears came again; there was no hiding these evidences of emotion, and she felt for her handkerchief to wipe them away. She could not find it, and Bob Vinnicombe, divining her difficulty, shook out his purchase of the afternoon.

"Here you be, Ruth! All ready for use. Lucky thing I brought it along." There was nothing else for it. No girl looks her best with a tear-stained face, and Ruth Coaker, knowing it, had the sense to take the handkerchief and use it. Then she asked: "Why did you buy it?" "To get the post office to tell me your name so that I could bring it —" "You told them I'd lost it?"

"No! But that's what they thought, I guess! an' 'twasn't for me, wantin' your name, to tell 'em different; an' don't matter a button what they think so long as you an' me think alike. . . . So I bought the thing and brought it along—an' very useful it has been for sure." "But if I won't have it "

"That be shot for a tale. You've got it now. You've used it to dry your beautiful eyes " "Do you think of them like that?" interrupted Ruth. "The most beautiful I ever saw, more sparkling than stars or diamonds, an' worth twice as much.'"

The girl laughed, but was plainly gratified; then she looked at the handkerchief in her hand, and a little imp of mischief danced in the belauded eyes.

"Did you ever play drop-handker-chief?" she asked suddenly. Bob Vinnicombe had indistinct remembrances of a ring game where someone dropped a handkerchief behind someone else, and the someone else raced the other for a kiss. "Do you mean " "Turn round," she interrupted. "And keep quite still until I tell you to move."

He right-about faced as crisply as a prize squad under a snappy sergeant, and stood waiting for what w T as to follow. Nothing happened, and there was only the slightest sound of movement behind him; but presently, from the direction of the orchard gate, came two sounds which filled him with suspicion that he was being made a fool of —the barking of Bill, and a burst of girlish laughter. He risked everything and turned round. Ruth Coaker was sprinting for the gate, with the terrier barking joyously at her heels.

"Drat the merry baggage " Then he saw something else —the handkerchief on the grass at his feet, and in a flash he understood. Here was a new variety of drop handkerchief, and In the twinkling of an eye he had retrieved the silk square and was racing for the gate, laughing at the girl's wit. Bill gave a little yelp, the girl cried out, and he saw that the pair of them were tangled at the wicket-gate. Victory was already promised; and he laughed again. Then both girl and dog passed the gate; and the girl's laughter pealed as she sprinted to the house with Bill barking and racing behind her. Victory receded, but he followed the race gamely, hoping still to win before the tape was reached.

He had just passed the gate when there came a diversion. Something broke from the grass and ran for the farm buildings ahead of the running pair in front. He had but a glimpse of it, but a sharp change in the quality of the terrier's bark as she shot forward told him all he needed to know.

"God save us! A cat!" Then, remembering how he had heard the girl calling "Kit! Kit!" he himself roared "Bill! Bill!" to unheeding canine ears, and ran as he had never run in his life before.

Bill was a notorious hater of the feline species. He had been known to bring specimens home and lay them on the doorstep with pride in the achievement, whilst Bob Vinnicombe, to save trouble, had made hurried arrangements for their interment; and, with a cat running ahead of him, he was beyond recall. Yelping delight, he raced forward, whilst the girl cried out apprehensively, and Bob Vinnicombe, plunging forward, roared wrathfully. "Bill! Bill, you d d scamp " The cat swerved to the left, and darted into an open doorway with the terrier a good second. A moment later there was a mighty crash of falling pans, then a short snappy bark; another crash, and the cat re-emerged, splashed with some yellowish substance but still running for her life. Ruth Coaker cried out in dismay. "Oh —the cream! The scald-cream!" In the same second Bill appeared, dripping, fresh, it seemed, from a beauty bath, but indomitable of purpose. His master made a plunge for him. missed, and measured his length in the yard. He picked himself up in time to see Bill take a flying leap through an open lattice, still on the trail of pussy. "Bill, you devil " Ruth Coaker looked at him with shocked eyes; then, at sundry sounds within, she cried out: "Oh! he will kill Kit!" "You bet—if we don't stop him!" he shouted in answer and ran forward. He reached a door, and was still fumbling at the latch when from within came the splintering of glass, then a rattle of steel and a scuffling, mingled with sharp barks and spitting scunds. The door opened, and he heard the girl at his elbow. "The door on the left. Quick. Oh, the brute! He's worrying the poor dear to death."

"If he is " he said grimly between set teeth, and ran forward up the passage. He found the door, and, as he frhrew it open, caught the noise of something falling—plates or crockery of some sort by the sound. On the threshold he looked round fearing what he might see. Before him was a scene of amazing wreckage, which it was incredible could have been produced in so brief a time. There was broken crockery everywhere, apparently from a Welsh dresser which occupied one side of the room. A small table had been overturned, and a glass dish for flowers had severed connection with itself. A painted glass firescreen was in smithers among the firedogs, and a broken plant pot had scattered earth across the hearth-rug. Bill himself was the only heartening thing offered to his master's hurried survey, for he was in the very act of springing. Before Bob could stop him or cry out, the dog launched himself upwards towards the dresser, and, gaining the lower half, sprang again, bringing down more crockery. "The mad brute ..." cried Ruth. The cat, on the very top of the dresser, spat viciously, and Bill fell backwards, toppled off the lower half of the dresser, and rolled over among the potsherds. He gathered himself for a fresh endeavor: but in that second his master grabbed him by the neck, and, in wrath, flung him through the open window, and, crossing the room, addressed him through the lattice in opprobrious terms. "Go up-along, you—you —you —" There was more, much more, so much that Ruth Coaker put her hands to her ears, whilst the terrier, conscious of guilt and of wrath to come, scurried away. "Well " gasped the girl.

"Kitty's all right," said Bob Vinnicombe, fixing on the one stable fact in the world that in the last five minutes had shaken itself to pieces. Then he perceived other facts. "An* you're all right, my dear, an' I'm all right; and here's the handkerchief, an', if I remember the end of that drop-the-rag game, you owe me a kiss, me having got home first; an' as there's no time like the present, I reckon " He moved towards her, but Ruth backed towards the door.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself after the mess you've made, an' the fright to poor Kitty,'an' " "Bill's the guilty one, not me, and 'tisn't Bill you've got to kiss, my dear." He took another step forward, and the girl cried out sharply. "If you dare!" Pie would have dared, for Bill and he had one thing in common, they persisted through dismay; but at that precise moment another voice made itself heard.

"Darn my rigs! What be all this?" It was Farmer Coaker, and. as he looked round his shattered china, he was perhaps the most amazed man in all Devon.

"Been an earthquake," explained Bob Vinnicombe with an attempt to be plausible. "Earthquake was a terrier name ov Bill," said Ruth in further elucidation. "He tried to kill poor Kitty." "That —mongrel!" The farmer passed to unseemly speech, and from that to grim action. Going to the fireplace, from a couple of hooks that served as a rack he took down a double-barrelled gun, and, opening the breech, proceeded to load it. The significance of his action was so very plain that the girl asked quickly: "Grandfer —what are 'ee about?"

"I'm going to shoot that short-tailed pup! ... He baint fit to live. Next thing he'll be Avorrying lambs. He's at the top ov the turmit vield waitin'; an' I'll blow him to smithereens . . . a sitting shot." A distressed look came into Ruth's brown eyes. "Oh, grandfer —don't!" The farmer disregarded the appeal. He kicked some of his broken china a? if that was a complete answer then turned and went grimly forth.

As it chanced. Bill, growing tired of waiting, had removed himself from the boundaries of Furzecombe; so the tragedy was averted. But on the following Sunday afternoon, he turned up again, having, furtively and afar off, followed his master across a section nf the moor, and along a sunny hedge where the earliest primroses may be found. With curious eyes he watched Hob Vinnicomhe pick a handful of half-open blooms; then, as the man moved on, he followed, and, presently, making a detour and, skirmishing ahead, perceived a girl seated on a low stile, and, with the curiosity of his kind, moved forward to investigate. As he drew nearer, his manner became furtive, doubtful, and his pace slowed a little, for of dogs, as of men, it is true that conscience makes cowards of them all. At a safe distance he halted, and stood there, a little object, very uncertain of his next move, but v ith a comic, pleading look that was at orce a confession of guilt and a plea for mercy. The girl saw him, frowned, and then laughed. In a moment he was at her feet, perched on his hind legs, begging, his forepaws flapping up and down —the quaintest of canine supplicants. The girl laughed again and slipped down to the lowest step of the stile. "You naughty, good-for-nothing dog!" she said. "How dare you show your nose here again, after " Rill flopped his lop-ear, whined a little, and then barked. "Well," she said forgivingly, " 'ee can't help your nature, I reckon, Bill

Bill heard his name, and the tone in which it was spoken was enough for him. He dropped on all fours and fairly launched himseif into her arms. Ruth Coaker laughed. The terrier licked her hands, reached up to her face, and the girl caught his muzzle in both hands and kissed his cool nose.

"Good!" came a voice out of the tall furze. "It's my turn now." Bob Vinnicomhe stepped forward, laughing as he did so. "You've forgiven the dog, my dear; an' that be wise. As you d'say he can't help the nature of him."

"None ov us can," conceded Ruth. "Dogs an' humans we be as God made us."

"An' He sure made m? to love 'ee maid, as I knew just as soon as I put eyes on 'ee, an' as I've walked over to tell 'ee this afternoon. . . . Look!" He thrust the primroses forward. "Spring be coming; an' Spring-time be love-time, as birds an' flowers d'tell." Ruth did not contradict him. She took the flowers, sniffed their delicate fragrance, then said:

"I love primroses. They be zo beautiful." "Not one half so beautiful as yourself, Ruth Coaker," he answered sturdily. The girl flushed and laughed. "Lor' how 'ee d'talk, Bob Vinnicombe. If I believed 'ee "

"You've got to, maid. Set dowu the dog. an' I'll prove it to 'ee." "I . . . think I love Bill," laughed Ruth.

"Then that settles it. Bill an' me go together. I'll give him to 'ee as a lovetoken, but 'ee've sure got to love me too."

Ruth looked up at him a little shyly She liked his energy, his masterliness, his directness, and everything else be sides. Then she laughed "Well —vor Bill's sake "