Transcriber’s Notes:
The cover image for eReaders was created by the transcriber and placed in the public domain.
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
THE WANDERING DOG MARSHALL SAUNDERS
I AM AN OPEN-FACED, WIRE-HAIRED FOX-TERRIER
“BOY” THE WANDERING DOG
ADVENTURES OF A FOX-TERRIER
BY MARSHALL SAUNDERS
AUTHOR OF Beautiful Joe, Etc.
NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
This story is dedicated to my fellow-members of
THE AMERICAN HUMANE ASSOCIATION,
which has its headquarters in Albany, New York—an association with which I have been connected for many years, and which is carrying on a noble work for children and animals.
CONTENTS
ILLUSTRATIONS
BOOK ONE: MY LIFE IN THE CITY
I claim that we dogs are better friends to men than men are to themselves.... You, doubting man, say “No.”
Well then, give me offhand and quickly, the name of a single friend of yours who never criticises you, who lives for you only, labors for you, fights for you, would die for you, and all as a matter of course, and without thought of reward.... I note you are silent.... Well, I can name you a million dogs who, if they loved you, would live, labor, fight and die for you cheerfully and bravely, and without knowing or caring whether they were doing anything unusual or singular, or at all out of the ordinary.
BOY, The Wandering Dog.
THE WANDERING DOG BOOK ONE: MY LIFE IN THE CITY
CHAPTER I I SEEK AND FIND A FRIEND
A few months ago, I came in the course of my wanderings, to the city of New York. My! My! how the big city has grown since I was here a few years ago.
I entered it by way of a ferry-boat from Jersey City. Then I scampered up past City Hall, the Hotel de Gink, and the Tombs to the Bowery.
Of course, the first thing was to make a friend. I chose a solemn-looking bulldog, sitting round the corner from a saloon whose huge, bulging window looked like a big eye staring down the street. The dog, who was brindle in colour, and had a tremendous head, sat tight up against the wall, and was keeping a wary eye out for something, I know not what.
“Good afternoon,” I said politely, and not going too close to him.
“How d’ye do,” he said morosely. Then he looked up at the elevated.
That’s the worst of a big city. No dog that’s worth knowing cares a rap about you, unless you force yourself on his attention.
“Oh! Come off the L,” I said brusquely.
