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Updated: August 10, 2024
He trotted to Shoop's cabin, and stood looking up at the door. "Would you be playin' 'Annie Laurie' for us?" queried Shoop. Dorothy played for them, unaccompanied by Bondsman. Shoop shook his head. Either the tune had lost its charm for the Airedale or else Dorothy's interpretation differed from Bud's own. "Thanks, missy," said Shoop when she had finished playing. "Guess I'll be movin' along."
Finally, he was warned by me to leave the island, and the result was his tryin' to borrow the lethal weapon, the poem and the letter. The Baron Airedale document he showed me when he first landed, to try to get my indorsement. There's no Burke in the South Seas, and there probably is no such bloomin' baron. Sounds more like a dog." The consul chuckled.
Airedale, and several others. They cast about for a moment, and then the Bishop saw him. With a joint halloo they launched toward him. There was no time to lose. He fled down the shady path between the trees, but with a hopeless horror in his heart. He could not long outdistance such a runner as the Bishop, whose tremendous strides would surely overhaul him in the end.
He abandoned his manuscript and bounded down the pulpit stairs. "Unfrock him!" yelled Mr. Poodle. "He's never been frocked!" roared the Bishop. "Impostor!" cried Mr. Airedale. "Excommunicate him!" screamed Mr. Towser. "Take him before the consistory!" shouted Mr. Poodle.
And Torrance thought he knew why Bud had called. The Airedale sat in the outer office, watching his master. Occasionally the big dog rapped the floor with his stubby tail. "He's just tellin' me to go ahead and say my piece, John, and that he'll wait till I get through. That there dog bosses me around somethin' scandalous." "He's getting old and set in his ways," laughed Torrance. "So be I, John.
The ground covered ranges from man-packing to horse-packing, from the use of the tump line to throwing the diamond hitch. THE BULL TERRIER, by Williams Haynes. This is a companion book to "The Airedale" and "Scottish and Irish Terriers" by the same author. Its greatest usefulness is as a guide to the dog owner who wishes to be his own kennel manager.
Yet, even now, when a village is absorbed by a sprawling suburb or overwhelmed by the influx of a new industrial population, some of the older inhabitants feel that they are losing touch with the deeper realities of life. A year ago I stood with a hard-walking and hard-thinking old Yorkshire schoolmaster on the high moorland edge of Airedale.
A friend of mine calling to see me the other day and observing my faithful Airedale "Quilp" by name whose tail was in a state of violent emotion at the prospect of a walk, remarked that when the new taxes came in I should have to pay a guinea for the privilege of keeping that dog. I said I hoped that Mr. McKenna would do nothing so foolish. In fact, I said, I am sure he will do nothing so foolish.
Through the mop of Airedale whiskers that covered his face his bright eyes were ever alert, and always they watched the back-trail as he wondered why the slim, blue-eyed girl they both loved and missed so much did not come. And vaguely he wondered why it was that his master always went on and on, and never waited for her to catch up with them. And Jolly Roger was changed.
She often walked beside the river in these quiet morning hours, alone unless her dog Jock, an Airedale terrier of unimpeachable ancestry and cheerful disposition, was at hand to accompany her. Jock had been presented to her by Barry as a wedding gift; and Toni, who had never before been on an intimate footing with a dog, found his companionship both delightful and stimulating.
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