Safe in his sublime trust that his master would let no harm
befall him, the collie trotted toward the ring at Ferris's heels.
Three other novice dogs were already in the ring when Link
arrived at the narrow opening. The steward was sitting at the
table as before. At the corner of the ring, alongside the
platform, stood a man in tweeds, unlighted pipe in mouth,
half-shut shrewd eyes studying the dogs as they filed in through
the gap in the ropes. The inscrutable eyes flickered ever so
little at sight of Chum, but at once resumed their former
disinterested gaze.
"Walk close!" whispered Link as the parade started.
Chum, hearing a command he had long since learned, ranged himself
at Ferris's side and paced majestically in the procession of
four. Two of the other novice dogs were straining at their
leashes; the third was hanging back and pawing frantically to
break away. Chum, unleashed, guided only by the voice, drew every
eye to him by his rare beauty and his lofty self-possession.
But he was not allowed to finish the parade.
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