The Master, he hangs his head like he had been
whipped. I felt most sorry for him, than all. He was so red, and he
was letting on not to see the kennel-men, and blinking his eyes. If
the Judge had ordered me right out, it wouldn't have disgraced us so,
but it was keeping me there while he was judging the high-bred dogs
that hurt so hard. With all those people staring too. And his doing
it so quick, without no doubt nor questions. You can't fool the
judges. They see insides you.
But he couldn't make up his mind about them high-bred dogs. He scowls
at 'em, and he glares at 'em, first with his head on the one side and
then on the other. And he feels of 'em, and orders 'em to run about.
And Nolan leans against the rails, with his head hung down, and pats
me. And Miss Dorothy comes over beside him, but don't say nothing,
only wipes her eye with her finger. A man on the other side of the
rail he says to the Master, "The Judge don't like your dog?"
"No," says the Master.
"Have you ever shown him before?" says the man.
"No," says the Master, "and I'll never show him again. He's my dog,"
says the Master, "an' he suits me! And I don't care what no judges
think.
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