Jasper County Democrat, Volume 10, Number 27, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 October 1907 — Miss Deakins’ Dog. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Miss Deakins’ Dog.

By Philip Kean.

Copyrighted, 1907, by Homer Sprague.

“Jenks,” said Miss Deakins, “don’t go across the hall again.” Jenks flopped .down on the door mat ■nd sighed', canine fashion. “Ton understand?" said Miss Deakins. Jenks wagged a disconsolate tall and closed his eyes. “Very well,” and Miss Deakins went in and shut the door, withdrawing from Jenks the vision of her trim figure, enveloped in a blue linen apron, down the front of which traveled splotches of paint. Jenks, outside on the mat, heard a faint whistle and lifted one ear. Then he whined softly. A door opened across the hall. “Cuts it and run, Jenksie,” said a masculine voice. Jenks yawned eagerly, but did not move. “Come.on,” wheedled the man on the other door mat. Jenks stood up and wagged his tail. There was a “get thee behind me, Satan,” protest in his attitude, coupled with yielding. And just thendMlss Deakins opened her door. “Were you calling my dog?” she demanded. “Yes. You don't mind, do you?” The man came toward her as he said it. He wore a shabby velveteen coat, and the paint stains matched those on Miss Deakins’ apron. “I do mind,” Miss Deakins assured him. “Jenks has been taught to He on tils mat until 12 o’clock. Then he has his lunch with me.” “Such beautiful regularity,” murmured the man in the velveteen coat. Miss Deakins flushed. “I don't see why he wants always to go to your room.” “Of course you dofi’t see,” he agreed, “but—but Jenks is rather fond of me”— “You give him ham bones,” she accused him. “I do. There are some people and some dogs to whom you have to give things in order to make them love you. Perhaps Jenks is not that kind of dog. JPerhaps he may have a soul above

bam bones. Perhaps without bam bones Jenks might love me. Psychologically it’s interesting, but I don’t want to put it to the test. 1 value Jenks’ affection too highly to seek the cause.” “Pm too busy,” she reminded him, “to talk in the abstract. And Td rather you didn’t call Jenks.” “Very well,” he said formally and went back to his room and shut the door. * x Miss Deakins stood irresolutely on her door mat, with Jenks by her side, and looked at the closed door. There was red in her cheeks and there was a tremble In her voice as she said to the dog: “Come on, Jenks. I’m sorry you can’t be trusted, but you can’t.” And as they entered the shabby little room, lighted into, whiteness and glare by a great skylight, she went on, “I don’t believe I can tj?ust anybody, not •ven a dog, Jenksie.’’ She painted all the afternoon, and as the twilight came on she sat and looked out over the roofs, and Jenks •at beside her with his cold nose in her hand, and when a big star shone over the top of the highest building •he said, “I’m like the Miller of Dee, T care for nobody, no, not I, and nobody cares for me.’ ” Just then there came a knock at the door. When she opened it no one was there, but on Jenks’ mat was a bunch of lilacs, such as one buys at the corner stands. As she filled all her bowls and Vases Miss Deakin sang a little song, and before she finished there came another .knock at the door. “What were yon singing?” asked the man from across the way. "You know—the ‘Spring Song,’*’ she told him icily. | “I have just painted a little picture of spring,” he said Ingratiatingly. "May J show It to you?” It was a water color—just a stretch of young fields, with a sweep of or>

chard beyond, but it made heZ"catch her breath. ' y “I can almost sniff the fragrance,” was her impetuous comment “It is beautiful.” “That is the way the world is looking outside the city,” he said, with enthusiasm, “There are violets and pussy willows, and the birds are callinglet me take you out there tomorrow. It will do you good. You are so pale”— She froze at that. “Certainly not” she refused and spoke with sternness to Jenks. “Jenks,” she said,. “I told you not to cross the hall. Jenks got up wearily from the opposite door mat. “I don't see why you won’t be friends,” the painter said as he stood, Irresolute, with his picture in his hand. “I have my work, and nothing must Interfere with my career.” “But we have lived opposite each other for six months.”' “It would be the same if we had lived opposite each other for six years,” was the way she closed the discussion. More stars were out when she again sat with Jenks by the window and the moon flooded the world with light, but over the roofs she caught the glow of a different illumination, a red, murky glow, tnat flared up presently Into flames and columns of rolling smoke. “It’s a fire, Jenks,” she told the dog. Jenks whined. “It’s down the street,” was her further information, and then in a sudden panic, “It’s in the next house, Jenksie.”

With the dog close behind her she ran to the door. The hall was full of smoke. Through it she saw the man across the way. “We can’t get down,” he said quickly. “The stairs are on fire, but there’s a fire escape from my window.” He caught her in his arms, and before she could protest they were descending the ladder. From the window above Jenks whined. “Oh, we can’t leave Jenks,” she cried. “Let me go. Let me go.” He held her firmly and called up to the dog, “Wait a minute, old boy, I’ll be back.” When she was safe and looked up through the smoke to where the patient little animal was waiting she said: “Oh, if you should be killed. It is better that Jenks should—go”— But he was already on the ladder. She covered her eyes with her hands, and then she knew nothing until a shout went up and some one sajd, “He's got the dog.” There was another long interval, and then she felt something warm and wet ’ on her cheeks, and there was Jenks licking her face, and she threw her arms about his neck and cried. And presently she held out her hand to the man who had saved him and said in a weak little voice: “He shall sit on your door mat all the time if you will let him.” “There isn’t any door mat,” he told her. “It’s burned up. But I'll buy another”— She smiled at that, and her eyes as they met his held in them all the promise of friendship and more than friendship that was to come.

“THERE'S A FIRE ESCAPE FROM MY WTNDOW.”