Dad and I were standing, one morning, in front of Willard's Hotel,
when he stooped over and began patting Jerusalem on the head. All of a
sudden the smiling brute sprang open his mouth and bade farewell to a
succession of yells which speedily collected ten thousand miserable
office-seekers, and an equal quantity of brigadier-generals, who, all
in a breath, inquired who had been stabbed, and what was the name of
the lady.
Meantime nothing would pacify the pup; he howled most dismally,
punctuating his wails with quick sharp shrieks of mortal agony. More
than an hour--more than two hours--we strove to discover and allay the
canine grievance, but to no purpose.
Presently one of the hotel pages stepped up to Mr. Petto, handing him
a telegraphic dispatch just received. It was dated at his home in
Cowville, Illinois, and making allowance for the difference in time,
something more than two hours previously. It read as follows:
"A pot of boiling glue has just been upset upon Jerusalem's
hind-quarters. Shall I try rhubarb, or let it get cold and chisel it
off?
"P.S. He did it himself, wagging his tail in the kitchen. Some
Democrat has been bribing that dog with cold victuals.--PENELOPE
PETTO."
Then we knew what ailed "the following dorg."
I should like to go on giving the reader a short account of this
animal's more striking personal peculiarities, but the subject seems
to grow under my hand.
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