little at sight of Chum, but at once resumed their former
disinterested gaze.

"Walk close!" whispered Link as the parade started.

Chum, hearing a command he had long since learned, ranged himself
at Ferris's side and paced majestically in the procession of
four. Two of the other novice dogs were straining at their
leashes; the third was hanging back and pawing frantically to
break away. Chum, unleashed, guided only by the voice, drew every
eye to him by his rare beauty and his lofty self-possession.

But he was not allowed to finish the parade. Stepping up to
Ferris, Judge Leighton tapped him on the arm.

"Take your dog over to that corner," he ordered, "and keep him
there."

Link fought back a yearning to punch the judge, and surlily he
obeyed the mandate. Into his memory jumped the things the groom
had said about a dog being "gated." If that judge thought for one
second that any of those mutts could hold a candle to Chum--.
Again he yearned to enforce with his two willing fists his
opinion of the judge.

But, as he well knew, to start a fight in this plutocratic
assemblage would mean a jail term. And in such case, what would
befall the deserted Chum? For the dog's sake he restrained
himself, and he began to edge surreptitiously toward the ring
exit, with a view to sliding out unperceived with his splendid,