First, he walked up sideways, his tail wagging and straight out, like a patent towel-rack. Then he walked round the concierge, who followed his movements with becoming interest, wagging his own tail, straightening his forelegs and sidling around him kindly, as befitted the stranger’s rank and quality, but with a certain dog-independence of manner, passing the time of day, and intimating, by certain twists of his tail, that he felt quite sure his excellency would like the air and scenery the further he got up the pass,—all strange dogs did.
During this interchange of canine civilities, the landlord who was helping out the two men,—the companions of the dog, one round and pudgy, the other lank and scrawny, but both in knickerbockers, with green hats decorated with cock feathers and edelweiss,—assisted by the blue-shirted porter, who carried in the bags and alpenstocks, closing the coffee-room door behind them.
Suddenly the strange dog—who had been beguiled by the courteous manner of the concierge—realized that his master had disappeared. The man was hungry, no doubt, and half blinded by the glare of the sun, and, after the manner of his kind, had dived into this shelter without a word to the dumb beast who had tramped behind his wheels, swallowing the dust his horse kicked up.
When the strange dog realized this,—I saw the instant the idea entered his mind, as I caught the sudden loss of the head,—he gave a quick glance around with that uneasy, furtive, anxious look that comes into a dog’s face when he discovers that he is adrift in a strange place without his master. What face is so utterly miserable, and what eyes so pleading—the tears just under the lids—as the lost dog’s?
Then it was beautiful to see the concierge. With a sudden arching of the neck he reassured the strange dog—telling him, as plainly as could be, not to worry—they were only inside, and would be out after breakfast. There was no mistaking what he said to him. It was all done with a peculiar curving of the neck, a reassuring wag of the tail and quick glance toward the coffee room, and a few frolicsome, kittenish jumps, plainly indicating that as for himself the occasion was one of great hilarity, with absolutely no cause for anxiety. Then, if you could have seen that anxious look fade away, and the responsive, reciprocal wag of the night club of a tail, and the sudden peace that came into his eyes, as he followed the concierge to the doorway, dropping his ears and throwing himself beside him, looking up into his face, his tongue out, panting, after the habit of his race,—the white saliva dropping upon his paws.
Then it was that the concierge’s manner altered. It was not gruff, nor savage, nor severe,—it was only firm and decided.
Then followed a long talk, conducted in side glances, and punctuated with the quiet laughs of more slapping of tails on the cobbles, as the concierge listened to the adventures of the stranger, or matched it with funny experiences of his own.
Here a whistle from the coffee-room window startled him. Even so rude a being as a man is sometimes mindful of his dog. In an instant both were on their feet, the concierge ready for whatever would turn up, the stranger trying to locate the sound and his master. Another whistle, and he was off, bounding down the road, looking wistfully at the windows, and rushing back bewildered. Suddenly the thought popped into his head that the shortcut to his master lay through the archway. Then it was that the concierge’s manner altered. It was not gruff, nor savage, nor severe,—it was only firm and decided. With his tail still wagging, showing his kindness and willingness to oblige, but with spine rigid and hair bristling, he explained clearly and succinctly to that strange dog how absolutely impossible it would be for him to permit his crossing the archway. Up went the spine of the stranger, and out went his tail like a bar of steel, the feet braced and the whole body taut as standing rigging. But the concierge kept on wagging his tail, though his hair still bristled,—saying as plainly as could be:
“My dear sir, do not blame me. I assure you that nothing in the world would give me more pleasure than to throw the whole house open to you; but consider for a moment. My master puts me here to see that nobody comes in but those he wishes to see, and that all other livestock, and most especially dogs, shall be kept out. (This with head bent on one side and neck arched.) Now, while I have the most distinguished consideration for your dogship (tail wagging violently), and would gladly oblige you, you must see that my honor is at stake (spine more rigid), and I feel assured that under the circumstances you will not press a request (low growl) which you must know would be impossible for me to grant.”
And the strange dog did not. On the contrary, he lowered his tail as he listened, swaying it back and forth, until his interest increased it to a positive wag, ending in a sudden wheel and bound down the road,—convinced but not satisfied.
Then the concierge gravely settled himself once more on his haunches in his customary place, his eyes commanding the view up and down and across the road, where I sat still tilted back in my chair waiting for my cutlets,—his whole body at rest, his face expressive of that quiet content resultant upon duties performed and honor untarnished.
But the stranger had duties, too,—to answer the whistle, and find his master. So back he rushed to the concierge, looking up into his face, his eyes restless and anxious.
Then a dash, and he was around by the archway, licking the concierge in the face, biting his neck, rubbing his nose under his forelegs, saying over and over again how deeply he thanked him.
“If it was inconsistent with his honor to permit him to cross the threshold, was there any other way he could get into the coffee room?” This last with a low whine of uneasiness, and a toss of head.
“Yes, certainly; why had he not mentioned it before? It would give him very great pleasure to show him the way to the side entrance,” jumping to his feet, and away he went, everything wagging now, and stopped stock still at the corner, pointing with his nose to the closed door.
Then the stranger bounded down with a scurry and plunge, nervously edging up to the door, wagging his tail, crooning a low, anxious whine, springing to one side, his paws now on the sill, his nose at the crack until the door opened, and he dashed inside.
What happened in the coffee room I do not know, for I could not see. I am willing, however, to wager that a dog of his loyalty, dignity and sense of duty, did just what a dog of quality would do. No awkward springing at his master’s chest with his dusty paws leaving marks on his vest front; no rushing around chairs and tables in mad joy at being let in, alarming waitresses and children. Only a low whine and gurgle of delight, a rubbing of his cold nose against his master’s hand, a low, earnest look up into his face,—so frank, so trustful,—a look that carried no reproach for being shut out, and only gratitude for being let in. A moment more, and he was back again, head in air, sweeping in with a glance everything in the road, looking for his friend. Then a dash, and he was around by the archway, licking the concierge in the face, biting his neck, rubbing his nose under his forelegs, saying over and over again how deeply he thanked him,—how glad and proud he was of his acquaintance, and how delighted he would be if he came down to Vienna, or Milan, or wherever he came from, so that he might show him some attention, and make it pleasant for him.
Just here the landlord called out that the cutlets and coffee were ready, and, man like, I went in to breakfast.
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