the puppy class. If he is any good, Symonds will know it. If the
dog is as worthless as I think he is, I'll get rid of him. If
Symonds gives any hope for him, I'll keep him on a while longer."

"But," ventured the Mistress, "if Symonds says 'Thumbs down,'
then--"

"Then I'll buy a pet armadillo or an ornithorhynchus instead,"
threatened the Master. "Either of them will look more like a
collie than Bruce does."

"I--I wonder if Mr. Symonds smokes," mused the Mistress under her
breath.

"Smokes?" echoed the Master. "What's that got to do with it?"

"I was only wondering," she made hesitant answer, "if a box of
very wonderful cigars, sent to him with our cards, mightn't
perhaps--"

"It's a fine sportsmanly proposition!" laughed the Master. "When
women get to ruling the world of sport, there'll be no need of
comic cartoons. Genuine photographs will do as well. If it's just
the same to you, dear girl, we'll let Symonds buy his own cigars,
for the present. The dog-show game is almost the only one I know
of where a judge is practically always on the square. People
doubt his judgment, sometimes, but there is practically never any
doubt of his honesty. Besides, we want to get the exact dope on
Bruce. (Not that I haven't got it, already!) If Symonds 'gates'
him, I'm going to offer him for sale at the show. If nobody buys