THE BLIND MAN’S DOG
At his post on the corner, not far from the park entrance, was another little dog, whose occupation would not permit of his attending these gatherings, if he had been invited, which he was not.
As the park dogs went by, either led by their attendants or chasing one another, as some were never free to do, this dog, from his place by the side of his master, would look in wonder at them. Where were they going, and what would they do when they arrived? How strange they all looked! He was anxious to know if he resembled any of them. He looked over as much of his body as he could see without turning a backward somersault.
He had four legs, as they had, and his coat, which was white where it was not black, and black where it was not white, was smooth and sleek. But his tail—there was the difference. None of them had his kind of a tail. Some of theirs were bushy, others were short and stiff. He wondered how they could ever express their feelings with such tails. One little pom had her tail curled up over her back like a doughnut. No, his tail evidently was not in the prevailing fashion, as none of the park dogs were wearing his kind. Not beautiful, but how useful was this straight, tapering tail of his! How easily he could express his every mood with it!
If he were happy, how fast he could wag that willing little tail. Should any one be harsh or unkind to him, down would go that same little indicator. So, if his tail were not in the popular style for the season, it answered his purposes, as a gauge for his feelings, which was more important.
His ears were small and stuck up on the top of his little head like sentinels, sensitive, alert, always pricked up to hear every sound that came through the air. Then those piercing black eyes—they were his chief asset. There was special use for them, and it was important that they have sharp vision, as he must be “eyes for the blind.”
His beloved master looked to him for protection, as he moved about from one place to another; and the dog had to pilot him to his place of business, where his firm sold papers. The firm consisted of himself, Tony, his partner, and the dog, Job, so named on account of his characteristic patience.
Man and dog were inseparable. They had lived together ever since Job was small enough to go into the blind man’s pocket. At that time, Peg, Job’s mother, was the pilot, and she had trained her son for the work when she should grow too old and feeble to do it.
Every evening they would start out from the small cottage, where they lived with the blind man’s dear old mother. Job would lead on cautiously to the corner. Here they would stop, waiting for the signal to cross. Then Job would lead carefully to the middle of the street, watching the lights, and over to the high curb on the other side. This he would mount, turn around and pull on the leash, so his master would know that the other side of the street was reached, when he could measure the height with his cane, as he must step up. On the dog would lead, through the crowd to the soap box on the corner, where his master would open up his business for the night.
Job Was “Eyes for the Blind”
Tony would be there already with his supply of papers. Each of the partners had his own kind to sell. Soon the blind man would call, “Morning Times—all the latest morning news!” although it was really early evening. This call would be heard along the street with Tony’s clear soprano cutting the air with “Extray—Extray—Evening Herald—Evening News—read the latest, all about the game!” Meanwhile Job, the personification of patience, would take his position near his master, to watch for any stray pennies that might drop from the hands of his master when a purchase was made.
Tony kept an eye on the blind man’s business to see that no one took advantage of him. This did not often happen, however, for those wonderfully sensitive nerves in the blind man’s fingers had become very acute, and the sense of touch was keen to the value of the coin that was given into his hands. He was not easily fooled. Seldom was Tony called on for anything except to get more change.
The blind man was a youngish looking man, not unpleasing to look at. He was clean, of fair skin, and had all the marks of having been injured while helping to make his country a safe place to live in, which was indeed the fact.
In Tony and Job he had two faithful allies, the former having no claim to such a relationship, other than a fellow feeling of helplessness that Tony was experiencing when they first met, which had been entirely overcome through this partnership. It had helped Tony to forget himself in helping one more unfortunate than himself.
Tony didn’t belong to any one in particular. Now, since he had adopted Job and his blind master, he felt he had something to live for, and he ceased to feel the need of belonging. He told the blind man when he first met him that his father was dead, and his mother had married a man with a houseful of children. Tony had been told to get out, and to make his own way.
Small and under-nourished, the lad went forth, his first stop being the corner where the blind man was being harassed by a gang of newsboys, who were trying to drown his feeble voice, and loudly hawking their papers. The confusion and noise were great. Tony came upon the scene just in time to help his present-day friend out, by going to his side and beginning to sing.
It was no classical song that he sang, but it had its effect. As “Yes, we have no bananas to-day,” rang out sweet and clear amid the hubbub, everyone passing took notice of the situation; and Tony could sing!
Among those whose attention was attracted was the owner of the building in front of whose premises this all occurred. Driving off the hawkers, so as to give the blind man a chance, he permitted Tony to help him, and in this way the partnership was formed.
Tony slept at police headquarters that night. The next day at school arrangements were made for him to live at a boys’ refuge home, with the privilege of selling papers in the evening with the blind man and Job as partners. Now that Tony was not always hungry, his voice was growing stronger. Calling “Extray” had helped to develop his vocal cords.
At school he could be depended upon to lead the choruses. His clear, sweet notes, as they sang “Star Spangled Banner,” could be heard above the rest of the singing. One day the choir master from one of the churches came to hear them, with the idea of finding some material for a boys’ vested choir for his fashionable church.
After hearing the children sing, he asked that Tony be allowed to sing alone. This the little Italian boy was proud to do, and he sang so sweetly that the choir master engaged him, and asked him to meet with the choir for practice on Saturday afternoon.
This was the beginning of better things for little Tony. The boys’ choir was to make its first appearance on Easter morning, and Tony was to be the soloist.
The blind man and Job had heard about it several times, for Tony was full of the subject, so full that he bubbled over. He would start out with “Evening News,” and trail off up into high C, ending in “All love excelling,” before he came down to earth again.
His partner, too, was fond of music. His beloved Violin was his only solace. The sad appealing notes that he was able to produce on that old instrument went straight to one’s heart. Then there was Job. Maybe he didn’t love music, but he would stand before his master, listening intently, ears pricked to sharpest aspect, body tense, and tail oscillating with measured beat to the rhythm, and when the tension grew too strong, a dismal howl would relieve his pent-up feelings.
The practicing had been going on for several Saturday afternoons. The next Sunday was Easter. The blind man was not in the habit of going to church, although his dear old mother was a regular attendant, but there was an inducement to go this Easter morning that he had never felt before. Tony was to sing in the choir. He would go just for that.
The church was beautifully decorated for the occasion. The choir boys in their vestments marched to their places, singing a stately processional. Proud mothers filled the pews, each looking with adoring eyes at her own beloved boy. Tony had no one to care. All were strangers to him, so he thought, as he looked over the throng. Then away to one side, in a pew alone, he saw something that made him happy, for there were his partners, Job and his master.
Job paid little or no attention to anything that was being done or said. The choir had sung one song. Other things had been done, but nothing that a dog cared about. Then the organ played the prelude, and a voice, full of sweetness and charm, started out with, “Love Divine, all love excelling.” This aroused Job’s interest. He sat up and took notice; his body stiffened, his ears twitched. When everyone was enraptured with the little Italian’s music, in the pause after the solo, Job’s over-wrought feelings overcame him. One pathetic wail, toning off into a dismal howl, broke the sacred silence.
The Judge, satisfied with this conclusion of the exercises, dismissed the dogs with the feeling that the lessons they had learned from this experience would be beneficial and lasting—that the motto he had given them, “To live and let live,” would influence all their lives. Bidding them a kind good-by, he adjourned the court.