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Updated: May 8, 2025
Ainger's letter in the Spectator of September 22nd reminds me of an almost identical friendship that existed some years ago at Grove House, Knutsford. A long-haired mastiff was kept chained as a watch-dog, and when a white fantail pigeon's mate died, it attached itself to the mastiff, and was continually with it in the kennel.
"There are one or two of these records we shall not beat," said the master to Ainger; "but the majority of them we should be able to manage." He spoke so hopefully that Ainger's spirits went up decidedly. A final overhaul of the list was made, and the times registered compared with the times on the School list.
"Hadn't you better get the Exhibition first?" suggested the baronet. "Of course I mean to get it," said Arthur, rather nettled; "I fancy Ainger's as good a judge of what a chap can do in that line as you are." "I don't know," replied Dig; "he said I was going to get the History Medal, but I'm not so sure if I shall."
"It's no business of yours, and you'd better not be impudent, I can tell you. As it happens, I've got some work to do, and can't come. Cut away, you needn't stay." Wake departed cheerfully, and announced that the whole thing was a "put- up job," as Arthur would have called it, and that Felgate was at the bottom of it. Whereupon Ainger's face grew dark, and he walked, bat in hand, to the house.
Ainger, Barnworth, Stafford, and Felgate, requesting the pleasure of their company at 7.30 in the new master's rooms. The messenger had an easy task, for, oddly enough, he found the four gentlemen in question assembled in Ainger's study. They were, in fact, discussing their new house-master when his four little missives were placed in their hands. "What's the joke now, Mercury?" asked Barnworth.
Ainger's prediction that the house was not likely to get much backing-up in its new efforts from Felgate, looked likely enough to be fulfilled. While everyone else was full of athletic and scholastic fervour, he remained listless and even sulky. Some said it was because Ainger had proposed the great scheme, and Felgate disdained to play second riddle even to the captain.
The boys were sitting complacently contemplating this glorious finale when a loud knock came at the door, and a shout in Ainger's voice of "Let me in!" "What's the row?" cried Arthur, shovelling the ashes under the grate, while Dig, with wonderful presence of mind, whipped out the toasting- fork, and stuck half a loaf on the end of it.
Ainger's question as to there being "any precedent for such close intimacies between animals so widely separated in kind and habit" as the dog and pigeon mentioned in his interesting letter, I can mention two cases which have come under my notice this last summer at my farm in Berkshire. In one case the friendship existed between a pullet and a pig.
"In fact, if I were you, I would either scratch him, or see someone else is in too, to make sure of it. Unless you do, we lose it." "Do you mean he'd throw short on purpose?" "My dear fellow, you are just beginning to perceive what anybody who isn't a born simpleton would have seen for himself a week ago." Ainger's brow clouded. "I'll enter myself, then," said he. "No you won't; enter Stafford.
"Things seem pretty right, there's a draught in the big dormitory, the rules are not very much obeyed, and nothing can be suggested to improve matters." The four sat silent the situation was quite as painful to them as to Mark. The latter grew desperate. "Now," said he, raising his voice in a way which put up Ainger's back.
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