your share toward making his life a burden. Before the judging
begins, some of the exhibitors act as if they wanted to kiss him.
Nothing's too good for him. He wades chin-deep through flattery and
loving attentions. Then, after the judging is over, he is about as
popular with those same exhibitors as a typhoid germ. No one can say
bad enough things about him. He's 'incompetent,' he's 'a
grafter,--'he's 'afraid of the big kennels,'--he's 'drunk.' He's any of
these things; or all of them put together. Nobody's satisfied.
Everybody has had a raw deal. Everybody's hammer is out for the poor
slob of a judge. Well, not everybody's, of course. There are some real
sportsmen left crawling on the surface of the earth. But the big
majority pan him, all the way home; and then some of them roast him in
print. The Income Tax man is a popular favorite, compared with a
dog-show judge."

"But--"

"Then, again," pursued the Toy Breeds man, "he's got to leave his heart
at home, if he doesn't want it to ache when he has to 'gate' the
second-rate mutts shown by outsiders who never exhibited before and who
think their pet dog ought to get every prize because he's so cunning
and friendly. I hate to--"

The Mistress came hurrying up from a careful inspection of the line of
collies. Drawing her husband aside, she whispered, excitedly:

"There's only one other collie here, whose coat can anywhere near equal
Laddie's. The rest are all in shabby summer coat. Come across and let
me show him to you. I'm--I'm afraid he has a gorgeous coat. Not that
_I_ think it's half as good as Lad's," she added, loyally, as she
piloted the Master between the double lines of clamorous dogs.
"But--oh, I'm so afraid the judge may think it is! You see, he doesn't
know Laddie as we do."

She stopped before a bench whereon lay a pale golden sable collie;
almost corn-colored; who boasted a wealth and magnificence of coat that
made the Master open his eyes wide.

The dog was smaller and slighter of frame than was Lad. Nor, in head
and expression, was he Lad's equal. But his coat was every bit as
luxuriant. Indeed, there was perhaps a shade more of it than Lad
carried.

A collie's coat, as a rule, takes about seven months to grow. Thus,
each year, it comes into full bloom a little later than on the year
before. And, in course of time, it is prone to reach its climax of
excellence in summer. This was the lot of both Lad and the paler-hued
dog.

"Lochaber King,"