under his seat for his hat, when his wife
said:

"Why, this isn't the interval. There's one more turn yet."

"A dog turn," he answered, and thereby explained; for it was his practice
to leave a theatre during the period of the performance of an animal-act.

Villa Kennan glanced hastily at the programme.

"Of course," she said, then added: "But it's a singing dog. A dog
Caruso. And it points out that there is no one on the stage with the
dog. Let us stay for once, and see how he compares with Jerry."

"Some poor brute tormented into howling," Harley grumbled.

"But it has the stage to itself," Villa urged. "Besides, if it is
painful, then we can go out. I'll go out with you. But I just would
like to see how much better Jerry sings than does he. And it says an
Irish terrier, too."

So Harley Kennan remained. The two burnt-cork comedians finished their
turn and their three encores, and the curtain behind them went up on a
full set of an empty stage. A rough-coated Irish terrier entered at a
sedate walk, sedately walked forward to the centre, nearly to the
footlights, and faced the leader of the orchestra. As the programme had
stated, he had the stage to himself.

The orchestra played the opening strains of "Sweet Bye and Bye." The dog
yawned and sat down. But the orchestra was thoroughly instructed to play
the opening strains over and over, until the dog responded, and then to
follow on with him. By the third time, the dog opened his mouth and
began. It was not a mere howling. For that matter, it was too mellow to
be classified as a howl at all. Nor was it merely rhythmic. The notes
the dog sang were of the air, and they were correct.

But Villa Kennan scarcely heard.

"He has Jerry beaten a mile," Harley muttered to her.

"Listen," she replied, in tense whispers. "Did you ever see that dog
before?"

Harley shook his head.

"You have seen him before," she insisted. "Look at that crinkled ear.
Think! Think back! Remember!"

Still her husband shook his head.

"Remember the Solomons," she pressed. "Remember the _Ariel_. Remember
when we came back from Malaita, where we picked Jerry up, to Tulagi, that
he had a brother there, a nigger-chaser on a schooner."

"And his name was Michael--go on."

"And he had that self-same crinkled ear," she hurried. "And he was rough-
coated. And he was full brother to Jerry. And their father and mother
were Terrence and Biddy of Meringe. And Jerr