Perhaps that was the way of it, but, however, the scandal
was out, and every one of the quality-dogs knew that I was a street-
dog and the son of a black-and-tan.
"These misalliances will occur," said Jimmy Jocks, in his old-
fashioned way, "but no well-bred dog," says he, looking most scornful
at the St. Bernards, who were howling behind the palings, "would
refer to your misfortune before you, certainly not cast it in your
face. I, myself, remember your father's father, when he made his
debut at the Crystal Palace. He took four blue ribbons and three
specials."
But no sooner than Jimmy would leave me, the St. Bernards would take
to howling again, insulting mother and insulting me. And when I tore
at my chain, they, seeing they were safe, would howl the more. It was
never the same after that; the laughs and the jeers cut into my
heart, and the chain bore heavy on my spirit. I was so sad that
sometimes I wished I was back in the gutter again, where no one was
better than me, and some nights I wished I was dead. If it hadn't
been for the Master being so kind, and that it would have looked like
I was blaming mother, I would have twisted my leash and hanged
myself.
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