Robert Kimberly. Spearman Frank Hamilton
the West had come into the sugarworld it became a Kimberly problem to determinehow the new interests should be taken care of.
On the morning that Charles called he foundUncle John in his chair. They sent for Robert, and pending his appearance opened the conference.At the end of a quarter of an hour Robert hadnot appeared. Charles looked impatiently at hiswatch and despatched a second servant to summonhis brother. After twenty-five minutes a third callwas sent.
During this time, in the sunniest corner of thesouth garden, sheltered by a high stone wallcrested with English ivy and overgrown withclimbing roses, sat Robert Kimberly indolentlywatching Brother Francis and a diminutive Skyeterrier named Sugar.
Sugar was one of Kimberly's dogs, but Francishad nursed Sugar through an attack after thekennel keepers had given him up. And the littledog although very sick and frowsy had finallypulled through. The intimacy thus establishedbetween Sugar and Francis was never afterwardbroken but by death.
In this sunny corner, Kimberly, in a loose, brownsuit of tweed, his eyes shaded by a straw hat, satin a hickory chair near a table. It was thecorner of the garden in which Francis when off dutycould oftenest be found. A sheltered walk ledto the pergola along which he paced for exercise.Near the corner of the wall stood an oak. And abench, some chairs and a table made the spotattractive. Sugar loved the bench, and, curled upon it, usually kept watch while Francis walked.On cold days the dog lay with one hair-curtainedeye on the coming and going black habit. Onwarm days, cocking one ear for the measured step,he dozed.
Francis, when Sugar had got quite well, expressed himself as scandalized that the poor doghad never been taught anything. He possessed, his new master declared, neither manners noraccomplishments, and Francis amid other dutieshad undertaken, in his own words, to make aman of the little fellow.
Robert, sitting lazily by, instead of attendingthe conference call, and apparently thinking ofnothing-though no one could divine just whatmight be going on under his black-bandedhat-was watching Francis put Sugar through some ofthe hard paces he had laid out for him.
"That dog is naturally stupid, Francis-all mydogs are. They continually cheat me on dogs,"said Kimberly presently. "You don't think so?Very well, I will bet you this bank-note," he tookone from his waistcoat as he spoke, "that youcannot stop him this time on 'two'."
"I have no money to bet you, Robert."
"I will give you odds."
"You well know I do not bet-is it not so?"
"You are always wanting money; now I willbet you the bank-note against one dollar, Francis, that you cannot stop him on 'two'."
Francis threw an eye at the money in Kimberly'shand. "How much is the bank-note, Robert?"
"One hundred dollars."
Francis put the temptation behind him. "Youwould lose your money. Sugar knows how tostop. In any case, I have no dollar."
"I will bet the money against ten cents."
"I have not even ten cents."
"I am sorry, Francis, to see a man receiving aslarge a salary as you do, waste it in dissipationand luxury. However, if you have no money, Iwill bet against your habit."
"If I should lose my habit, what would I do?"
"You could wear a shawl," argued Kimberly.
"All would laugh at me. In any case, to betthe clothes off my back would be a sin."
"I am so sure I am right, I will bet the moneyagainst your snuff-box, Francis," persisted Kimberly.
"My snuff-box I cannot bet, since CardinalSantopaolo gave it to me."
"Francis, think of what you could do for yourgood-for-nothing boys with one hundred dollars."
Francis lifted his dark eyes and shook his head.
"I will bet this," continued the tempter, "againstthe snuff in your box, that you can't stop him thistime on 'two'."
"Sugar will stop on 'two'," declared Francis, now wrought up.
"Dare you bet?"
"Enough! I bet! It is the snuff against themoney. May my poor boys win!"
The sunny corner became active. Kimberlystraightened up, and Francis began to talk toSugar.
"Now tell me again," said Kimberly, "what thisverse is."
"I say to him," explained Francis, "that thegood soldier goes to war-"
"I understand; then you say, 'One, two, three!'"
"Exactly."
"When you say 'three,' he gets the lump?"
"Yes."
"But the first time you say the verse you stopat 'two.' Then you repeat the verse. If the dogtakes the lump before you reach the end thesecond time and say 'three'-"
"You get the snuff!" Francis laid the box onthe table beside Kimberly's bank-note.
"Sugar! Guarda!" The Skye terrier sat uprighton his haunches and lifted his paws. Francisgave him a preliminary admonition, took from amysterious pocket a lump of sugar, laid it on thetip of the dog's nose, and holding up his finger, began in a slow and clearly measured tone:
"Buon soldato
Va alia guerra,
Mangia male,
Dorme in terra.
Uno, due-
Buon soldato
Va-"
But here Sugar, to Francis's horror, snappedthe lump into his mouth and swallowed it.
"You lose," announced Kimberly.
Francis threw up his hands. "My poor boys!"
"This is the time, Francis, your poor boys don'tget my money. I get your snuff."
"Ah, Sugar, Sugar! You ruin us." The littleSkye sitting fast, looked innocently and affectionatelyup at his distressed master. "Why," demandedthe crestfallen Francis, "could you notwait for the lump one little instant?"
"Sugar is like me," suggested Kimberly lazily,"he wants what he wants when he wants it."
Alice, this morning, had been deeply in histhoughts. From the moment he woke he had beentoying indolently with her image-setting it upbefore his imagination as a picture, then puttingit away, then tempting his lethargy again with thepleasure of recalling it.
He drew a cigar-case from his pocket and carefullyemptied the snuff out of the box into it."When do you get more snuff, Francis?"
"On Saturday."
"This is Tuesday. The box is nearly full. Itlooks like good stuff." He paused between eachsentence. "But you would bet."
Francis without looking busied himself withhis little pupil.
"I have emptied the box," announced Kimberly.There was no answer. "Do you want anyof it back?"
Francis waved the offer aside.
"A few pinches, Francis?"
"Nothing."
"That dog," continued Kimberly, rapping thebox to get every grain out and perceiving theimpossibility of harrying Francis in any other way,"is good for nothing anyway. He wasn't worthsaving."
"That dog," returned Francis earnestly, "isa marvel of intelligence and patience. He has sosweet a temper, and he is so quick, Robert, tocomprehend."
"I fail to see it."
"You will see it. The fault is in me."
"I don't see that either."
Francis looked at Kimberly appealingly andpointed benevolently at Sugar. "I ask too muchof that little dog. He will learn. 'Patience,Francis,' he says to me, 'patience; I will learn.'"
Summoning his philosophy to bridge over thedisappointment, Francis, as he stood up, absent-mindedly felt in his deep pocket for his snuff-box.It was in difficulties such as this that recourse toa frugal pinch steadied him. He recollectedinstantly that the snuff was gone, and with somehaste and stepping about, he drew