"Chum!" he wailed brokenly, clutching the dog's huge ruff in both
shaky hands. "Chum, old friend! Gawd forgive me! You saved me
from drowndin' an' from goin' broke, this night! You been the
only friend that ever cared a hang if I was alive or dead!
An'--an' I was goin' to lick you! I was goin' to lambaste you.
Because I was a beastlier beast than YOU be. I was goin' to do it
because you was so much better than me that you was made sick by
my bein' a hawg. An' I was mad at you fer it. I'm--oh, I'm
shameder than you are! Chum! Honest to Gawd, I am! Won't you make
friends again? PLEASE, Chum!"
Now, of course, this was a most ridiculous and maudlin way to
talk. Moreover, no man belongs on his knees beside a dog, even
though the man be a sot and the dog a thoroughbred. In his calmer
moments Link Ferris would have known this. A high-bred collie,
too, has no use for sloppy emotion, but shuns its exhibition
well-nigh as disgustedly as he shuns a drunkard.
Yet, for some illogical reason, Chum did not seek to withdraw his
aristocratic self from the shivering clutch of the repentant
souse.
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