Ranson's Folly

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C. Scribner's Sons, 1902 - Fiction - 345 pages
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Page 130 - But no sooner than Jimmy would leave me, the St. Bernards would take to howling again, insulting mother and insulting me. And when I tore at my chain, they, seeing they were safe, would howl the more. It was never the same after that; the laughs and the jeers cut into my heart, and the chain bore heavy on my spirit. I was so sad that sometimes I wished I was back in the gutter again, where no one was better than me, and some nights I wished I was dead. If it hadn't been for the Master being so kind,...
Page 140 - em and walks to the two gentlemen who was holding the beautiful dogs, and he says to each "What's his number?" and he hands each gentleman a ribbon. And then he turned sharp, and comes straight at the Master. "What's his number?" says the Judge. And Master was so scared that he couldn't make no answer. But Miss Dorothy claps her hands and cries out like she was laughing, "Three twenty-six,'* and the Judge writes it down, and shoves Master the blue ribbon.
Page 148 - Miss Dorothy, who sits beside me letting me lick her gloves to show the crowd what friends we is, "Aren't you afraid he'll bite you?" and Jimmy Jocks calls to me, "Didn't I tell you so ! I always knew you were one of us. Blood will out, Kid, blood will out. I saw your grandfather," says he, "make his debut at the Crystal Palace.
Page 154 - I'd never drive out no dog that asks for a crust nor a shelter," he says. "But what will Mr. Wyndham do?" "He'll do what I say," says Miss Dorothy, "and if I say she's to stay, she will stay, and I say — she's to stay!" And so mother and Nolan and me found a home. Mother was scared at first — not being used to kind people; but she was so gentle and loving that the grooms got fonder of her than of me, and tried to make me jealous by patting of her and giving her the pick of the vittles. But that...
Page 132 - I don't know nothing about bullterriers," says she, " but I think Kid's got good points," says she, " and you ought to show him. Jimmy Jocks has three legs on the Rensselaer Cup now, and I'm going to show him this time, so that he can get the fourth; and, if you wish, I'll enter your dog too. How would you like that, Kid ? " says she. " How would you like to see the most beautiful dogs in the world? Maybe you'd meet a pal or two," says she. " It would cheer you up, wouldn't it, Kid ? " says she....
Page 127 - Master to spend in the publics, and I hadn't won them for being a beautiful, high-quality dog, but just for fighting — which, of course, as Woodstock Wizard III. says, is low. So, I started for the stables, with my head down and my tail between my legs, feeling sorry I had ever left the Master. But I had more reason to be sorry before I got back to him. The Trophy House was quite a bit from the Kennels, and as I left it I see Miss Dorothy and Woodstock Wizard III. walking back toward them, and...
Page 136 - And from a book they reads out the names of the beautiful highbred terriers which I have got to meet. And I can't make 'em understand that I only want to run away and hide myself where no one will see me. Then suddenly men comes hurrying down our street and begins to brush the beautiful bull-terriers; and the Master rubs me with a towel so excited that his hands trembles awful, and Miss Dorothy tweaks my ears between her gloves, so that the blood runs to 'em, and they turn pink and stand up straight...
Page 126 - ... St. Bernards, and if ever you're hungry down at the stables, young man, come up to the house and I'll give you a bone. I can't eat them myself, but I bury them around the garden from force of habit and in case a friend should drop in. Ah, I see my mistress coming," he says, "and I bid you good day. I regret," he says, "that our different social position prevents our meeting frequent, for you're a worthy young dog with a proper respect for your betters, and in this country there's precious few...
Page 108 - And you're like him," says the old mastiff — " by that, of course, meaning you're white, same as him. That's the only likeness. But, you see, the trouble is, Kid — well, you see, Kid, the trouble is — your mother " " That will do," I said, for I understood then without his telling me, and I got up and walked away, holding my head and tail high in the air. But I was, oh, so miserable, and I wanted to see mother that very minute, and tell her that I didn't care. Mother is what I am, a street...
Page 137 - ard. This ain'ta fight," says he. "Look your prettiest," he whispers. "Please, Kid, look your prettiest"; and he pulls my leash so tight that I can't touch my pats to the sawdust, and my nose goes up in the air. There was millions of people a-watching us from the railings, and three of our...

About the author (1902)

Author and journalist Richard Harding Davis was born in Philadelphia on April 18, 1864. After studying at Lehigh and Johns Hopkins universities, he became a reporter and in 1890, he was the managing editor of Harper's Weekly. On assignments, he toured many areas of the world and recorded his impressions of the American West, Europe, and South America in a series of books. As a foreign correspondent, he covered every war from the Greco-Turkish to World War I and published several books recording his experiences. In 1896, he became part of William Randolph Hearst's unproven plot to start the Spanish-American War in order to boost newspaper sales when Hearst sent him and illustrator Frederick Remington to cover the Cuban rebellion against Spanish rule. In Cuba, Davis wrote several articles that sparked U.S. interest in the struggles of the Cuban people, but he resigned when Hearst changed the facts in one of his stories. Davis was aboard the New York during the bombing of Mantanzas, which gave the New York Herald a scoop on the war. As a result, the U.S. Navy prohibited reporters from being aboard any U.S. ships for the rest of the Cuban conflict. Davis was captured by the German Army in 1914 and was threatened with execution as a spy. He eventually convinced them he was a reporter and was released. He is considered one of the most influential reporters of the yellow journalist era. He died in Mount Kisco, New York on April 11, 1916.

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