told Chum his god was deliriously happy, and that Chum himself
had somehow had a share in making him so. Hence the dog's former
gloomy pacing changed to a series of ecstatic little dance steps,
and he kept thrusting his cold muzzle into the cup of Ferris's
palm.

Again Bench 65 was surrounded by an admiring clump of spectators.
Chum and Link vied each other in their icy aloofness toward these
admirers. But with a difference.

Chum was unaffectedly bothered by so much unwelcome attention
from strangers. Ferris, on the other hand, reveled in the
knowledge that his beloved pet was the center of more adulation
than was any other dog in all the section.

Class after class went to be judged. Link was sorry he had not
spent more money and entered Chum in every class. The initial
victory had gone to his head. He had not known he could be so
serenely happy. After a while, he started up at the attendant's
droning announcement of,

"Winners' Class, Male Scotch Collies! Numbers 62, 65, 68,70, 73!"

Again Link and Chum set out for the ring. Link's glee had merged
into an all-consuming nervousness, comparable only to a maiden
hunter's "buck ague." Chum, once more sensing Ferris's state of
mind, lost his own glad buoyancy and paced solemnly alongside,
peering worriedly up into Link's face at every few steps.

All five entrants filed into the ring and began their parade.