to make a hit with them judges, an' everything."

"Tricks?" scoffed the postmaster, pausing as he started to walk
away. "Dogs don't need tricks in the show ring. All you have to
do is to lead your dog into the ring, and parade him round with
the rest of them till the judge tells you to stop. Then he'll
make them stand on the show platform while he examines them. The
dog's only 'tricks' are to stand and walk at his best, and to
look alert, so the judge can see the shape of his ears and get
his expression. Teach your dog to walk around with you, on the
leash, without hanging back, and to prick up his ears and stand
at attention when you tell him to. That's all he needs to do. The
judge will do the rest. Have him clean and well brushed, of
course."

"I--I sure feel bitter sorry for there other dawgs at the show!"
mumbled Link. "A hundred dollars! Of all the dawgs that ever
happened, Chummie is that one! Why, there ain't a thing he can't
do, from herdin' sheep to winnin' a wad of soft money! An'--an'
he's all MINE."



CHAPTER III. The Ordeal

By dawn on Labor Day Link Ferris was astir. A series of
discomfiting baths and repeated currying with the dandy brush had
made Chum's grand coat stand out in shimmering fluffiness. A
course of carefully-conducted circular promenades on the end of a
chain had taught the dog to walk gaily and unrestrainedly in