Murphy Part 7

"Ah--allus together, ain't 'em?"

"For his part, he don't seem to have much else."

It would be well to get on, and not to stand there gaping into the darkness, listening to what you were never meant to hear. The truth of the old saying generally holds good; and sometimes words accidentally overheard in such ways are fixed in the mind for life. These last were like a stab.

"Don't seem to have much else?" What did the fellow mean? How invariably lookers-on misjudged! What a mistake it was to pa.s.s judgment at all--on anything or anybody!

"... Much else ... much else...?"

The road was less deeply covered here. The dog was heavy: a few yards more and he was put down. As the journey was resumed, he took to playing in the darkness, and, in his winning and affectionate way, with the fingers of his master's hand, as much as to say, "Thank you: we are together; the rest matters little."

"Him and his dog ... much else ... much else...?" The words kept time with the footfall.

How dark it was!

And cold--the thermometer marked minus 1.

XII

A summer night, and the heat the heat of the dog-days. The tramcars had stopped running long ago; the streets were quite deserted.

Not long since, the clock set high in the tower of St. Giles' had chimed three-quarters; and now it chimed the hour, and wearily struck "Two."

Then other clocks also awoke to their duties, and, not possessing chimes, repeated the latter information in various keys, from far and near. It was all very sombre; and the smell of the streets very unlovely.

It was Bill's turn to be up that night; at least, they said it was his turn. As a matter of fact, he had been up three nights running, and at least ten in the last eighteen, for this was no ordinary case, and the credit of the firm was at stake. Not that he held the dignity of being a member, much less a partner, of the firm; but he had worked for it, he would often tell, and with no little pride in his voice--"worked for it thirty-two years, come Lammas; and that wus a very long while."

To Bill, and the few remaining, or still discoverable, like him, the firm's credit was his; and the firm should never find its confidence misplaced so long as Bill Withers could walk on his two feet, or aid some suffering creature. Those were his sentiments. Then, of course, this Bill had a soft place in his heart for animals generally, though the softest place of all was unreservedly retained for dogs.

"They wus human; well, a sight better than human, as any one might see humans at times";--that was the way he put it. "And there warn't a mossel o' doubt about it, no matter what n.o.body said."

At that, his mates in the yard thought well to let the matter drop.

"That there Bill has his queer hideas abaht most things; better leave him to hisself," they remarked, with a twist of the mouth, and pa.s.sed on.

Bill had a habit of speaking his thoughts aloud, especially when up at night. He found company in the habit, and was employing his time in this way now.

"Two o'clock. Another half-hour and he'll have to have the soup, and then a little stim'lant. That wus the orders. Let's see. To-morrow's Toosday.

That'll make it three weeks since the master brought un back with him in his motor, all wrapped in blankets. 'Twas that ogg-sigen as saved him at the moment. But here--he's been fed every two hours, night and day since, any way. Well, well...."

There was a step on the cobbles of the yard. Bill looked round. "Mr.

Charles"--as he called him--the head of the firm, was coming.

Five weeks before this Murphy had been taken ill. n.o.body appeared to know what was the matter with him, except that he was restless, refused his food, and looked wrong in his coat. The very spirit there was in him misled others: he would hunt birds under the smallest provocation; rabbits were not animals to be given up so long as there was breath in the body; that finest of games, working to the hand, was to be played to the last day, for was it not the jolliest of fun for both, and did not his master laugh loudly when it was all over, and he skipped and barked and jumped himself, asking for just one more turn? It was only the chicken-hearted that gave up; life was to be lived to the very last minute, especially when so full of fun and happiness as his. If he flagged and was tired after these doings, it was only the hot weather: he would be all right tomorrow. So he was kept quiet for a week.

But the morrow came, and he was less full of life than on the day before.

There was something evidently wrong; though advice was asked, and with little gain. His bright eyes had grown dull now, and he refused all food.

It was time to call in the best opinion that could be had.

"Distemper. Pneumonia; and the heart also affected." That was the verdict. There was just a chance for him. It would be a risk to move him so far; but it was perhaps worth it, as treatment could then be followed properly: in establishments of the kind all animals were tended with as much care and skill as patients in a hospital.

So Murphy was taken away. How suddenly it had all come about. And now three weeks had gone by; and the dog still lived.

"How's he doing, Bill?"

"No difference to my mind, as I can see."

"We must save him, if we can, Bill. She was here again to-day, and said the dog was such a very valuable one that she didn't know what would happen if he died."

"I judged something of the kind," remarked Bill. "I've got a cousin, over their way: shepherd to Mr. Phipps--him as has Fair Mile Farm. You knows.

He come in with him--'twus last Sat.u.r.day's market--over some tegs; and he called in here, and I do believes 'twus to ask how this un here wus. Said he'd allus liked un. Seemed to know all about un. Said as he and the gen'leman as owns un wus allus together; that he couldn't get about like some; and that he and this dog here was never apart, and seemed to hang together, curious ways like. They'd got some name for the two of 'em down in that part--so he says; but I a'most forgets what 'twus now."

"So I understand. One or two have been to call to ask after him, up at the office, and said much the same."

"Been here himself, hasn't he?" inquired Bill.

"Ay, yesterday. I told him he couldn't see him; or, rather, that if he did, with the dog's heart as rocky as it was, I would not answer for the result. He did not speak a word after that, except--'Do your best'; and went out."

"From what that cousin o' mine said," put in Bill, "I judge if he'd come in, it would a-killed the dog right off." He was smoothing Murphy's ears as he spoke.

"I told him," continued Mr. Charles, "that two things were especially against this dog; one was his high breeding, and the other, his brain development. It's the last I'm most afraid of, though."

"Brain? Clever?" put in Bill--"I should just say he _was_."

"--And I told him that I had never seen a dog that was easier to treat; and that he was making a real plucky fight for it."

"That's true," said Bill, in a tone as if the words had been "Amen."

"--And that he was that sensible that he allowed us to do just as we liked with him; so good and patient that there was not a man in the yard that wasn't _glad_ to do anything for him."

"True again," broke in Bill, with emphasis.--"Murphy," he said, calling the dog by name. "Whew! Another hot day, I judge; coming light afore long." Bill was looking at the sky.

"All against him; all against him," returned the other. "But there, I shall be downright sorry if we lose him now."

Bill shook his head. "See all as has been done ... and the telegrams ...

and the letters, and ..."

The conversation of the two men was stopped by a low bark from the dog.

"Dreaming," said Bill; "does a lot o' sleep."

"Brain," said the other, listening--"I feared as much all along. It's all up, Bill."

Bill was down, and had got one of his hands under the dog's head.

The bark came again: only a very weak one; not enough to disturb anybody near. It became continuous after that; grew a little louder; then gradually fainter.