The memory of Chum's grieving repulsion somehow stuck in Ferris's
mind. And it served as a brake, more than once, to his tavernward
impulses. Two or three times, also, when Link's babyish gusts of
destructive bad temper boiled to the surface at some setback or
annoyance, much the same wonderingly distressed look would creep
into the collie's glance--a look as of one who is revolted by a
dear friend's failure to play up to form. And to his own amused
surprise, Ferris found himself trying to curb these outbursts.

To the average human, a dog is only a dog. To Ferris, this collie
of his was the one intimate friend of his life. Unversed in the
ways of dogs, he overestimated Chum, of course, and valued his
society and his good opinion far more highly than the average man
would have done. Thus, perhaps, his desire to stand well in the
dog's esteem had in it more that was commendable than ludicrous.
Or perhaps not.

If the strange association did much for Link, it did infinitely
more for Chum. He had found a master who had no social interests
in life beyond his dog, and who could and did devote all his
scant leisure hours to association with that dog. Chum's sagacity
and individuality blossomed under such intensive tutelage, as
might that of a clever child who is the sole pupil of its
teacher.

Link did not seek to make a trick dog of his pet. He taught Chum
to shake hands, to lie down, to "speak" and one or two more
simple accomplishments. It was by talking constantly to the
collie, as to a fellow human, that he broadened the dog's