Summer is the zero hour for collies' coats. Yet, this year, Lad
had not yet begun to shed his winter raiment; and he was still in
full bloom. This fact decided the Mistress. Not one collie in ten
would be in anything like perfect coat. And the prize cup grew
clearer and nearer, to her mental vision. Hence the series of
special baths and brushings. Hence, too, Laddie's
daily-increasing gloom.
At eight o'clock on the morning of the show, the Mistress and the
Master, with Lad stretched forlornly on the rear seat of the car,
set forth up the Valley on the forty-mile run to Beauville. On
the tonneau floor, in front of Lad, rested a battered suitcase,
which held his toilet appurtenances;--brushes, comb, talcum,
French chalk, show-leash, sponge, crash towel, squeaking rubber
doll (this to attract his bored interest in the ring and make him
"show") and a box of liver cut in small bits and fried stiff.
Lad blinked down at the suitcase in morose disapproval. He hated
that bag. It spelt "dogshow" to him. Even the presence of the
delicious fried liver and of the mildly dramatic squeaking doll
could not atone for the rest of its contents and for all they
implied.
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