in a tumultuous thunderstorm, it has not one redeeming feature.

The Beauville Show Committee,--like all experts in such matters,
had taken this chance into account. Down the aisles of benches
and through the questioning and scared groups of exhibitors ran
attendants and officials; shouting that the Country Club polo
stables and the wide spaces under the clubhouse verandas had been
fitted up for emergency quarters, where the dogs might be housed,
dry and safe, until the passing of the storm.

Up to the Master hurried a club page-boy.

"This way, sir!" he panted. "I saved a special box stall, in the
first stable, for your collie."

"YOU saved it?" queried the puzzled Master, while the Mistress
began to unfasten Lad's leash. "How did you happen to do that?"

"I was told to, sir," answered the boy. "A--a gentleman told me
to, just now. One of the of'cers of the club. I don't know his
name. He showed me the stall; and he told me to take your dog
there."

"That's mighty, decent; whoever did it," said the Master,
whistling the freed dog to him and setting forth in the boy's
wake, toward the welcoming stables. "I wish you knew his name.
I'd like to thank him."

The stable was dim-lit, at best. Now, the gathering storm made it
as dark as twilight. The box stall to which Lad was led was