He studied the proffered entry blank with totally uncomprehending
gaze. The postmaster came to his relief.

"Let me show you," he suggested, taking pity on his customer's
wrinkled brow and squinting helplessness. "I've had some
experience in this folderol. I took my Airedale over to the
Ridgewood show last spring and got a third with him. I'm going to
take him up to Craigswold on Labor Day, too. What kind of dog is
yours?"

"The dandiest dawg that ever stood on four legs," answered Link,
afire with the zeal of ownership. "Why, that dawg of mine c'n--"

"What breed is he?" asked the postmaster, not interested in the
dawning rhapsody.

"Oh--breed?" repeated Link. "Why, I don't rightly know. Some kind
of a bird dawg, I guess. Yes. A bird dawg. But he's sure the
grandest--"

"Is he the dog you had down here, one day last month?" asked the
postmaster, with a gleam of recollection.

"Yep. That's him," assented Link. "Only dawg I've got. Only dawg
I ever had. Only dawg I ever want to have. He's--"

But the postmaster was not attending. His time was limited. So,
taking out a fountain pen, he had begun to scribble on the blank.
Filling in Link's name and address, he wrote, in the "breed and
sex" spaces, the words, "Scotch collie, sable-and-white, male."