Aberdeen Mac - The Story of a Scottish Terrier

By Charles R. Johns

Originally published in 1917, this entertaining book was written in memory of the authors old friend "Jock," an Aberdeen or Scottish Terrier. A novel of animal trainers, circus dogs, cruelty, vivisection and early police courts, it is highly recommended for inclusion on the bookshelf of every family home. Many of the earliest books, particularly those dating back to the 1900s and before, are now extremely scarce and increasingly expensive. Home Farm Books are republishing these classic works in affordable, high quality, modern editions, using the original text and artwork.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Read Books Ltd.
• Release date: Jan 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781447486671

Book preview

Mac.

CHAPTER I.

THE DOG-THIEF.

THERE was an atmosphere of quiet industry about Belgravia; the servants were polishing the door-handles and cleaning the steps of the great houses that shelter the deserving rich from the cold of winter, and the curiosity of the outer world—the world that wonders how Society lives, and intensely desires to live in the same way.

The door of No. 10 Cadogan Crescent was open, and a young woman was kneeling down at work, intent on the task to which it had pleased Providence to call her, through the medium of a registry office. As she polished and re-polished, a brindled Scottish terrier watched her lazily from the doormat, looking at her with the approving eye of one who likes to see useful work being done, but does not anxiously wish to take part in it. Suddenly the dog stood up, sniffed and darted into the street. A man had just passed the gate, slouching along with his eyes fixed on the opposite side of the Crescent, and after him ran the dog, instinct with motion, his tail and ears up and his nose well down. He caught the man up and sniffed excitedly at his heels, but the man slid along, apparently absorbed in the scrutiny of the architecture across the road. The dog kept close to him and continued to sniff. The man walked leisurely round the corner, and still took no notice of the dog. Along the road the two went and round the next turning, where a donkey cart was standing, under the charge of a youth who chewed a piece of straw, had straw on his hat, and was so thin and colourless that he seemed himself to be trying to give the impression that he was made of straw and would be unhappy if he were dissociated from it.

Got him, Jap? he asked. Jap made no verbal answer, but bent down with a quick movement, put his hands behind him, caught the dog by the collar, and before his victim could struggle away or give more than a stifled yelp, he was in a wooden box on the cart, the lid was dropped, fastened with a staple and bolt, and in a moment the man and boy were urging the donkey to get on, which he did as fast as was in his power, until they reached a street leading off Victoria Street, down which the party went, until they came to a yard with a padlocked gate and walls topped with spikes. The man opened the gate and went in, the cart followed, and the gate was bolted. At a sign from the man the youth opened the box gingerly, slipped a lead on the dog’s collar and dragged him into a stable, where he was fastened to a ring let into a manger. The boy threw some biscuits on the ground, brought a bowl of water, and left the dog alone to whimper and whine. In the yard the man was unharnessing the donkey; he looked at the boy as he came out and said: We’ll take ’im round to Cohen’s to-night. That Scottie ought to fetch good money.

Yes, if the slops don’t cop us, replied the youth.

Wot d’yer say that for? growled the Jap.

Nothin’, said the lad only the name on ’is collar is MacKenzie, 10 Cadogan Crescent, and ’e’s the ’Ome Secretary, wot pays the cops their money every week.

’Ow d’yer know that? asked the man.

The Basher told me the other day when ’e was on the same game. ’E sent the dog back ’ome, said it was a mug’s game to git acrost the chaps wot pays the slops.

’Strewth! ejaculated the Jap, his light yellow eyes opening wide, and his thin lips working nervously. His hand shook and he wiped his mouth on his coat-sleeve. He shuffled quickly to the stable-door, opened it, and closed it behind him. Two minutes later he came out, his eyelids half-closed, and cursed the boy.

Ain’t no name on collar, he growled.

Which collar? asked the boy.

The collar ’e’s wearin’.

There was a name on it, persisted the lad.

If ever yer says that agin, me lad, I’ll do yer in. The Jap’s upper lip drew away from his discoloured teeth, and he snarled like a wild beast. For a moment he stood glaring at the boy, then he slouched to a heap of stable-litter, turned it over and slipped a dog-collar into the middle of it. The boy watched him silently, then turned away as the Jap finished replacing the litter. They put the donkey in the stall and locked the door, and a few minutes later the only sounds of life in the place were the stamping of a donkey’s feet, and the whimpering cry of a stolen dog.

CHAPTER II.

DOLLY’S DISCOVERY.

AT the house of the Home Secretary in Cadogan Crescent the maid had finished beautifying the metal ornaments on the front door and the steps, and was returning to the depths of the house, when she was met by a girl of about twelve years, who was apparently under the impression that she was a human cyclone, for she came sliding down the banisters at a great rate, landed with a bump on the hall floor, cannoned against the grandfather clock, pirouetted while the clock was recovering from the impact, and then came to a sudden halt with the question: Where’s ‘Mac’?

He was just here a minute ago, said the maid; I think he went into the street.

The girl dashed out of the house, calling Mac, Mac, and into the Crescent whistling shrilly (Like any street-boy, said the maid to herself). She ran up the Crescent, looked round the corner, then darted down to the other end, whistling and calling as she went, but no Mac was to be seen or heard. Back came the girl in a whirl of excitement and anxiety, rushing into the house, still calling Mac, Mac.

Can’t you find him, Miss Dolly? asked the maid. The girl took no notice of the question and dashed upstairs, going into every room and out again like a flash, slamming some of the doors and leaving others wide open. A middle-aged man was shaving himself in one of the bedrooms when the girl rushed in; he inwardly congratulated himself that it was the brush and not the razor which he was applying to his face at the moment of her entrance. He turned sharply and demanded: What’s all this, Dolly?—you’re like a tornado in petticoats.

Dolly stopped in her wild chase, looked across at her father and began to cry. The Home Secretary was a man who prided himself on being patient, when all other men would be hasty and angry, so he crossed the room and bent a soapy face toward the crying child, and put his arm round her neck. When she told him between sobs that Mac had disappeared he soothed her by saying he would soon come back—dogs liked to run out by themselves sometimes; perhaps he had gone to one of the green patches in the neighbouring squares to get some of the grass of which dogs were so lond, and which was so good for their health. We must have a grass patch of our own some day, he said. I’ll have to bring in a Bill to reform the housing conditions of the rich, who live in big houses in the West End and haven’t an inch of green grass at the back or front of their residences.

The child cut his speech short by running downstairs and into the Crescent. A taxi-cab was passing. She hailed it, and told the driver to take her to the nearest patch of grass.

It’ll be eightpence to Hyde Park, miss, and we get the money in advance in these hard times, suggested he.

Here’s two shillings; drive me round the squares where you think a dog might go to eat the grass, she said breathlessly.

The driver was a man of quick mind, and guessed the trouble.

Lost a dog, miss? What was he like?

The girl told him as nearly as she could, but it is not easy to tell a stranger the details of one’s own dog’s looks, though the child came as near as anyone could under such circumstances. Being unused to the show terms she called him an Aberdeen, which is a good enough name for one of the best of dogs. The driver was himself a bit of a fancier, he said, and he would look out as well; so she sprang inside, and they drove away on a quest which those who have made it say is one of the most futile and heartbreaking one could undertake. They say that to look for a stolen dog in London is like looking for a needle in a haystack, with the difference that if one searches long enough one may find the needle.

CHAPTER III.

HUE-AND-CRY.

ON the evening of the Friday upon which Mac was stolen away from his young mistress the dog was taken, under cover of darkness, to a shop where animals are bought and sold in Seven Dials, where he received the warm welcome that is always accorded to dogs of pure breeding by Mr. Isidore Cohen, the proprietor of the establishment.

He is a fine dog, was Mr. Cohen’s comment when the Jap brought Mac to him, and added contemplatively, but they don’t fetch much money these dogs.

The Jap knew very well the purport of the latter remark; it was the stock phrase of the dealer, and meant that he was not willing to pay more than he was obliged to. On the other hand, Mr. Cohen knew the Jap well, and his record of twenty-five police court convictions for dog stealing stood the dealer in good stead when bargaining about the price to be paid. The Jap waited quietly for an offer.

I’ll give you ten bob, began Mr. Cohen.

He’s worth five quid, insisted the Jap.

To his owner, perhaps, not to me, asserted Mr. Cohen.

Make it a quid, suggested the thief.

Fifteen bob, said Mr. Cohen, with the air of one who has spoken the last word on a distasteful subject.

Right, I want to be off, said the Jap.

You’re in a hurry, Jap. Are they after you again? The Jap made no reply in words, but held out his hand, received the coin, spat upon it for luck, and shuffled away to a saloon near by, where he would stay until they put him out, protesting volubly at closing-time, should his money last until then; if it did not last so long he would be forcibly shot into the street before that time. When sober the Jap was an arrant coward, but with a skinful of spirits he would undertake to fight anyone who seemed to give him cause, which cause was usually a firm conviction that the men and women around had robbed him of his remaining money. Whether the Jap were right in believing himself to be the victim of the crew around him it would be difficult to prove in a court of law, though it was an acknowledged fact that those nearest to him suddenly, and without apparent reason, progressed from the slow sipping of four-ale to the ordering of more expensive drinks, for which they were able