“Well, come,” said the Mistress to Betty, “this does not look like prejudice against the larger breeds:  Jan, and two other big dogs, with one bulldog and two terriers.”  Betty only nodded.  She was too much excited on Jan’s behalf for conversation; and her bright eyes missed no single movement in the ring.  It was all very well to say that Jan was only shown “for the fun of the thing,” and because “a one-day show is rather a joke, and not long enough to bore him.”  But from the moment her Jan had entered that ring with the Master, Betty knew that in all seriousness she badly wanted him to—­well, if not to win outright, at all events to “get a card”; to come honorably through the ordeal.

The dogs now left in the ring were the Moorish hound—­a creature full of feline grace and suppleness, with silky drop-over ears and a tufted tail—­an exceptionally fine cross-bred collie, the Stone bulldog, a Dandie Dinmont, and a Welsh terrier, the last extraordinarily small, bright, shapely, and game.  The slogi had apparently been most carefully trained for the ring.  He entirely ignored the other dogs, stood erect on his hind feet at his master’s word of command, jumped a chair with exquisite grace and agility, and in a variety of other ways exhibited both wonderful suppleness and remarkable docility.  The collie was handsome, beautifully groomed, and rather snappish.  The Stone bulldog made a picture of good-humored British stolidity, and if his hind quarters had been equal to his superbly massive front and marvelously “smashed-up” face he would have been tolerably sure of a win in any class.  The Dandie Dinmont had the most delightful eyes imaginable, and was a good-bodied dog, faulty only in tail and in a tendency to be leggy.  The Welshman was a little miracle of Celtic grace—­the very incarnation of doggy sharpness.

The only member of this select company whose presence was really distasteful to Jan was the collie.  This lady’s temper was clearly very uncertain; she had a cold blue eye, and in some way she reminded Jan strongly of Grip, a fact which served to lift his hackles markedly every time he passed the bitch.  The Master quickly noticed this, and did his best to keep a good wide patch of ring between them.

The six were each favored with a long and careful separate examination by the judge, upon a patch of floor space which, fortunately, was right opposite to Betty Murdoch’s seat.  Betty rustled her show catalogue to call Jan’s attention when his turn came, and kept up direct telepathic communication with him during the whole operation.  This, combined with the Master’s studious care in handling—­a business of which he had had considerable experience—­served to keep Jan keyed up to concert-pitch while in the judge’s hands.

When these individual examinations were ended, the collie and the Dandie were allowed to leave the ring.  Their leaders creditably maintained the traditional air of being glad that was over, as they escorted their entries back to their respective benches; and then the judge settled down to further study of the bulldog, the Welshman, the Moor, and Jan.