ere his words to
me, sir.

"I know," said I, "what I know."

"And _I_ know," said he, "what _I_ know."

And there you are, sir. He's Inspector. I'm--nobody.

At the Gate

BY MYLA JO CLOSSER

From the _Century Magazine_. By permission of the Century Company
and Myla J. Closser.

A shaggy Airedale scented his way along the highroad. He had not been
there before, but he was guided by the trail of his brethren who had
preceded him. He had gone unwillingly upon this journey, yet with the
perfect training of dogs he had accepted it without complaint. The path
had been lonely, and his heart would have failed him, traveling as he
must without his people, had not these traces of countless dogs before
him promised companionship of a sort at the end of the road.

The landscape had appeared arid at first, for the translation from
recent agony into freedom from pain had been so numbing in its swiftness
that it was some time before he could fully appreciate the pleasant
dog-country through which he was passing. There were woods with leaves
upon the ground through which to scurry, long grassy slopes for extended
runs, and lakes into which he might plunge for sticks and bring them
back to--But he did not complete his thought, for the boy was not with
him. A little wave of homesickness possessed him.

It made his mind easier to see far ahead a great gate as high as the
heavens, wide enough for all. He understood that only man built such
barriers and by straining his eyes he fancied he could discern humans
passing through to whatever lay beyond. He broke into a run that he
might the more quickly gain this inclosure made beautiful by men and
women; but his thoughts outran his pace, and he remembered that he had
left the family behind, and again this lovely new compound became not
perfect, since it would lack the family.

The scent of the dogs grew very strong now, and coming nearer, he
discovered, to his astonishment that of the myriads of those who had
arrived ahead of him thousands were still gathered on the outside of the
portal. They sat in a wide circle spreading out on each side of the
entrance, big, little, curly, handsome, mongrel, thoroughbred dogs of
every age, complexion, and personality. All were apparently waiting for
something, someone, and at the pad of the Airedale's feet on the hard
road they arose and looked in his direction.

That the interest passed as soon as they discovered the new-comer