The Judge, he was a fierce-looking man with specs on his nose, and a
red beard. When I first come in he didn't see me owing to my being
too quick for him and dodging behind the Master. But when the Master
drags me round and I pulls at the sawdust to keep back, the Judge
looks at us careless-like, and then stops and glares through his
specs, and I knew it was all up with me.
"Are there any more?" asks the Judge, to the gentleman at the gate,
but never taking his specs from me.
The man at the gate looks in his book. "Seven in the novice-class,"
says he. "They're all here. You can go ahead," and he shuts the gate.
The Judge, he doesn't hesitate a moment. He just waves his hand
toward the corner of the ring. "Take him away," he says to the
Master. "Over there and keep him away," and he turns and looks most
solemn at the six beautiful bull-terriers. I don't know how I crawled
to that corner. I wanted to scratch under the sawdust and dig myself
a grave. The kennel-men they slapped the rail with their hands and
laughed at the Master like they would fall over. They pointed at me
in the corner, and their sides just shaked. But little Miss Dorothy
she presses her lips tight against the rail, and I see tears rolling
from her eyes.
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