CHAPTER XIV
It was shortly after the events related in the last chapter that we came to a final decision against the various business openings we had been investigating in St. Augustine, and concluded to go on to Jacksonville. We disposed of the few things we had bought for our little cottage, and when we again found ourselves on the train with our household goods, I gave us both a fit of merriment by quoting the words of poor little Joe in "Bleak House," —
"Wisht I may die if I ain't a-movin' on."
It was by this time mid-season, and Jacksonville was full of tourists. It was then very popular as a winter resort, Southern Florida was not much known; so we had some difficulty in finding a place to live.
We decided to get just one room somewhere, and board at a restaurant till the city emptied so we could secure a cottage.
The first room we found that would do, was too far from the business part of town; so we took it for only a month, and kept on looking. We heard of one, at last, which seemed close to everything. It proved to be large, lofty, and pleasant, with a glimpse of the river from its front windows.
The house was well recommended to us by the few business acquaintances Julius had made, though they all confessed that such places were constantly changing hands and inmates and that it was hard to keep up with them. Time pressed, and nothing better offered; so we moved in. It was entirely bare; so we bought some furniture, and, as it was rather a long room for its breadth, we managed, with a screen or two, to make it seem like three rooms.
When all was in place, it was really quite inviting. I had a small lamp stove, so we need only go out for dinners. We began to feel more settled than for a long time, especially, as Julius had in the meantime found a business opening which was entirely satisfactory. We saw nothing at all of the other lodgers; but this did not disturb us, as we were in no hurry to make acquaintances. We felt that it was best to be circumspect in a city of this size and make-up.
Our evenings were our pleasantest times, sitting on either side of the reading-lamp, with Bruno stretched at our feet; so I was inclined to object one evening, when Julius announced at dinner that he had promised to give a few hours to helping a young friend of his to straighten out his accounts. He had promised, though; so I had to yield. He set off betimes, so as to be home earlier. I locked the door after him, as I always did, and began to make myself as comfortable as possible for a quiet hour or two, with a new magazine.
Before I had finished cutting the leaves, I was struck with surprise at Bruno's actions. He crept in a very stealthy manner to the door, and stood there in an attitude of listening, with every nerve and muscle tense.
I watched him a minute, and then asked, —
"What is it, Boonie?"
He did not look around; he waved his tail once or twice, then resumed his tense pose. Thoroughly surprised, I went softly to him, and stood also listening. I could hear nothing but a faint rustling, a suppressed whispering, and the soft click of a latch. I touched Bruno's head; he looked up at me, and I saw he was holding his lip between his side-teeth, as he had a way of doing when he was very much puzzled or excited.
I tried to coax him away from the door, but he refused to come. I made sure the bolt was shot, and then sat down at a little distance to watch him. There was a door in the middle of one side of the room, which, when we took possession, we had found to be nailed up. We utilized the recess with the aid of some draperies, as a place to hang clothing. Bruno went to this door, thrusting his head in among the clothes.
He listened there for a long time, probably ten minutes; he returned again to the other door; then he gave a low growl, followed by several half-suppressed barks, and lay down against it.
I forgot all about my book, and sat watching to see what he would do next. The evening seemed endless. At last I heard Julius below in the hall; Bruno sprang up when I opened the door, and went clattering down the stairs to escort him up. It was not late, only about ten. I at once told Julius of the queer evening we had spent, and had the satisfaction of seeing him as thoroughly puzzled as I had been. We sat until a late hour discussing it, then gave it up as something quite beyond us.
About three o'clock in the morning we were awakened by an alarm of fire. The room was full of light, and when we looked out of the window we found that it was close by – only about two squares away. It was a big blaze and, as it was on the opposite side of the street, we had a fine view of it. I was terribly frightened. My uneasiness earlier in the evening had unnerved me, and this terrible fire so near us upset me completely. A fire fills me with horror, especially if it breaks out in the night: it always reminds me of the burning of a big steamer that happened one awful night in my tenth year.
I watched the flames, fascinated by their lurid splendor; – imagining that the three white pigeons which had been awakened by the light and were circling around the tower of smoke – now hidden by it, and now silhouetted against it – were the souls of those who had perished in the flames. Overcome by horror, I finally exclaimed: —
"Suppose it had been this big building that had caught fire!"
"But it wasn't," said Julius.
"No: but it might have been. I don't like this at all. I want to be in a little house by ourselves, close to the ground."
"Yes, it would be better," said Julius, who saw by the light of the flames how pale I had become, and noted how I was trembling. "It will not do to have you so terrified: we'll make a change at once. But it will be difficult to find a house until the tourists begin to scatter."
We thoroughly discussed the situation, and by breakfast-time had reached a decision.
I was to return to Lemonville for a stay of a week or two, and while there to see to the packing and shipping of a piano we had left in storage. Julius meanwhile was to find a cottage, and have our belongings transferred to it. We did not like the arrangement very well, but it seemed to be the only thing we could do.
Thus ended our experience as lodgers.
I was gone two weeks. It was pleasant to meet old friends, after a separation long enough to have plenty of news to exchange, without having had time to lose interest in each other's affairs, but my heart was back in Jacksonville.
Julius and I wrote to each other every day, but the mails were so tedious and uncertain that we usually got each other's letters by threes or fours, with days full of anxiety and heart-ache between.
I still have the package of letters received then. I have just been reading them over again. Bruno pervades them all. It is —
"Took Bruno with me to the office to-day, he begged so hard when I started to leave him; it's lonely for him, poor fellow!"
And —
"While I ate breakfast, I had the waiter put up a good lunch for Boonie; he's getting tired of biscuit, and I don't like to give him raw bones."
On Sunday, —
"I took Bruno a long walk in the suburbs to-day. It did him a lot of good."
A letter written just before I returned says, —
"Bruno seems down-hearted to-night; I think he misses somebody."
I returned as soon as Julius wrote that he had procured a house. The welcome I received told me that Bruno was not the only one who had missed "somebody."
CHAPTER XV
All that season we lived in a rented cottage, but before the next summer came we were planting roses in our own grounds. We had been renting just about a year, when we bought our little home in one of the suburbs; so we could fully appreciate the joys of being on our own place again.
We found a kitten, the "very moral" of Rebecca, striped black and blue-gray. She was a dear little thing, and she and Bruno soon became fast friends.
The only creature we ever knew him to bite – except, indeed, wild animals, which he considered fair game – was in defending Catsie.
His victim was a handsome coach-dog, following some friends who one day drove out to call on us. He was a thoroughbred dog, but he had not Bruno's gentlemanly instincts. The first thing he did was to go trotting around to the back porch, where he spied Catsie enjoying a fine meaty bone. He sneaked up behind her, and snatching it in his teeth, made off with it.
Bruno could not stand that. It seemed to make a perfect fury of him. I think he felt that the fault was worse, because the coach-dog was so sleek and plump; there was not even the excuse of hunger.
Poor fellow! Bruno sent him howling and limping from the yard.
The call came to an untimely end, our visitors declaring, —
"That great savage brute of yours has almost killed our beautiful dog!"
I am afraid we did not feel very contrite. We never took our "great savage brute" anywhere to visit, except when he was especially invited; and besides, we had our own opinion, which was similar to Bruno's, of big dogs that robbed little cats.
It took a great deal to rouse Bruno, so much that we sometimes mistook his amiability for lack of courage.
We had often watched him chasing the animals that lax town laws had allowed to roam the streets of the only two villages we had ever known. He would go dashing after a pig or a cow. If the creature ran, he would chase it until he was exhausted; but if it stood its ground and calmly returned his excited gaze, he would stop, look at it for a minute, then turn and come trotting back, with an air that said plainly, —
"I was only in fun; I wanted to see what it would do."
There was a big watch-dog which lived in an enclosure we had to pass on our way to town. When we took Bruno that way for a stroll, as soon as he reached this lot, he and the other dog would greet each other through the picket-fence with the most blood-curdling growls and snarls. They seemed fairly to thirst for each other's life-blood. Then, each on his own side of the fence, they would go racing along, keeping up their growls and snarls, till they reached a place where there were half a dozen pickets broken out, so that either could have leaped through with ease.
Then what a change!
Their ears would droop, and their coats and tempers smooth down to the most insipid amiability. But at their next meeting they were quite as savage, till they again reached the opening in the fence. It was the same program, over and over.
Bruno liked to play at anger just for a little excitement, but when he found anything really worth a spell of the furies, it was quite another story.
The butcher-boy, who came every other day, took Bruno's tragic demonstrations for the real thing, and was terribly afraid of him. He used to shout to me, "Come out and hold the dog!" until he could run to the kitchen and get safely back outside the gate.
It was all in vain for me to assure him there was no danger. He thought I did not know what I was talking about. His terror was so real, I pitied the child – he was not more than twelve or fourteen – so I used to shut Bruno up in the front hall on butcher-boy days until after he had made his call.
Our colored woman used to spend her nights in the bosom of her family, coming back every morning in time to get breakfast. One morning she failed to appear. It was butcher-boy morning, and the weather was quite chilly. When I called Bruno in to shut him up, I noticed that the house next to ours was closed. Our neighbors were off for the day. There were two vacant lots opposite our place, and on the other side, a church. So when our neighbors went off for a day's jaunt, as they frequently did, we were quite isolated.
After I had shut Bruno in the hall, I sat down by the kitchen fire to toast my toes and wait for the butcher-boy. I was impatient for him to come, so I could release Bruno, who did not like being shut up. He was perfectly willing to lie in the hall, – in fact, it was a favorite dozing-place with him, – but, like some people, he did not enjoy the idea of being forced to do even what he liked best. I was glad when I heard a step on the back porch, and sprang eagerly to open the door. There stood the dirtiest, most evil-looking tramp I had ever seen. He was so taken aback at the way the door flew open, that I had slammed it and shot the bolt before he recovered. I hurried in for Bruno, who had heard the strange step and was eager to investigate. As soon as I returned and unfastened the bolt, the tramp threw his weight against the door to force it open. Bruno sprang to the opening with a whole volley of barks and growls. I caught his collar, saying to the tramp, —
"You'd better run; I can't hold him long!"
I never saw a man make better time. I gave him a minute's start, then loosed Bruno. He reached the fence just as the tramp had fallen over it without stopping to open the gate. When I saw all was safe, I felt so limp I fell back in a chair weak and nerveless. Bruno watched the tramp around the corner, then returned to look after me. He was much exercised to find me in such a state, and relieved his feelings by alternately trying to lick my face, and dashing out to bark again after the vanished tramp.
After that, Bruno seemed to feel more than ever responsible for me. He had all along been my especial protector, but seeing me overcome with fright seemed to make a deep impression on him.
CHAPTER XVI
Julius and I had been in the habit of taking evening walks, and as Bruno stayed with me through the day when Julius was gone, it was his only chance for a run.
One evening, when Julius came home, it had been raining, and I felt that it would not do for me to go out.
"You'd better take Boonie for a little run, though," I said; "he has been in the house all day."
"I have an errand down at the corner," answered Julius, "and he can race around the square while I am attending to it. You won't be afraid?"
"Not for that little while; you will be back again before I have time to miss you."
Julius went into the hall for his overcoat and hat.
"Come on, Boonie," he said; "Boonie can go."
Bruno bounced up, all excitement, showing how he had felt the confinement. He dashed into the hall, where Julius was putting on his overcoat, then came trotting back into the sitting-room and stood, ears erect, looking at me and wagging his tail. I understood him, and answered, —
"No, Boonie; Judith must stay. Just Julius and Boonie are going."
He knew us only by the names he heard us call each other.
He sat down at my feet, all his excitement gone.
"Come, Boonie," called Julius from the door. "Come on, Boonie's going!"
Bruno looked at him, wagged his tail, looked at me, and refused to stir.
"Don't you see?" I said; "he thinks I ought not to be left alone." Then to him, "Go on, Boonie; Boonie must go. Judith isn't afraid."
He looked gratefully at me, and wagged his tail, saying plainly, in his dog-fashion, —
"Thank you, but I'd rather not."
Julius waxed impatient.
"You Boon! come along, sir! come on!" he thundered. Bruno's ears and tail drooped. He looked up sideways in a deprecating manner at Julius, then came and laid his head on my knee. It was of no use. Neither threats nor coaxing could move him. Noble creature! His ideas of chivalry were not to be tampered with, even by those who were his gods, his all!
The next morning at breakfast I said to Julius, —
"I am afraid Bruno will be ill staying in-doors so closely. Can't you take him for a little run before you go to the office?"
"Yes," answered Julius, "I'll take him if he'll go."
"Oh, he'll go fast enough. Dinah is here, and he will think it safe to leave me."
Bruno was delighted at the invitation, and went tearing around the square four times while Julius walked it once; then came in, hot and happy, to tell Catsie and me all about it.
There was something so peculiarly tender about our feelings for Bruno and his for us. He was at once our protector and our dependent. It is not strange that we never failed to be thoroughly enraged when dog-lovers tried, as they sometimes did, to coax us to sell him. Sell our Bruno! True, we had tried to give him away, but that was for his own good. But to take money for him! To sell him!! Unspeakable!!!
Three times we had nursed him through trying illnesses, – twice the blind staggers, and once the distemper; and when either of us was ill, he could not be coaxed from the bedside. No matter who watched at night, Bruno would watch too, and no slightest sound nor movement escaped his vigilance.
How often since he left us have I longed in weary vigils for the comfort of his presence!