Bernard marked
"Champion." "And when my rheumatism is not troubling me," he says, "I
endeavor to be civil to all dogs, so long as they are gentlemen."
"Yes, sir," said I, for even to me he had been most affable.
At this we had come to a little house off by itself and Jimmy Jocks
invites me in. "This is their trophy-room," he says, "where they keep
their prizes. Mine," he says, rather grand-like, "are on the
sideboard." Not knowing what a sideboard might be, I said, "Indeed,
sir, that must be very gratifying." But he only wrinkled up his chops
as much as to say, "It is my right."
The trophy-room was as wonderful as any public-house I ever see. On
the walls was pictures of nothing but beautiful St. Bernard dogs, and
rows and rows of blue and red and yellow ribbons; and when I asked
Jimmy Jocks why they was so many more of blue than of the others, he
laughs and says, "Because these kennels always win." And there was
many shining cups on the shelves which Jimmy Jocks told me were
prizes won by the champions.
"Now, sir, might I ask you, sir," says I, "wot is a champion?"
At that he panted and breathed so hard I thought he would bust
hisself.
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