THE TREATING OF WHITEY. 



BERTHA SEAVEV SAUNIER, 



HIS coat was thin — so thin that his 

 skin showed through in patches. 

 And the skin was thin^so thin 

 that the bones almost pricked 

 through in a mute appeal to the public. 



He walked the streets until his four 

 little feet dragged with weariness and 

 he often sat down upon his haunches 

 to rest. 



When he stopped people noticed him 

 and many turned as they went past, 

 watching him — he was so pitiable a 

 sight. 



"Mangy dog," somebody said, but he 

 was more than that. He was lost and 

 he was starving. He was so needy that 

 he had forsaken his alley haunts and 

 had come up to the boulevards where 

 was greater prosperity, sunshine, clean- 

 liness, and perhaps love toward man 

 and beast. 



In his walks he chanced near the 

 lake and paced the viaduct that leads 

 out upon the pier. He even went on 

 the pier and looked down into the dark 

 water as many despairing men and 

 women have looked. It seemed easy to 

 fall in. but he turned back and walked 

 away. He had learned that if he kept 

 moving the police and guards did not 

 poke at him with their clubs. 



In crossing Michigan avenue he had 

 to watch his chances, for the rubber 

 tires of the carriages made no warning 

 sound on the asphalt. And then he 

 came to Wabash — the noise of the 

 elevated and surface trains, and of the 

 trucks and drays was so confusing that 

 he had need of more care than ever. 

 At length he reached State street and 

 sat down to re>t. 



Lizzie and Mattie were there before 

 him. They, too, were acquainted with 

 alley ways, though they were not per- 

 sonally acquainted with Whitey. Evi- 

 dently they had found nourishment 

 there that Whitey had missed, for Liz- 

 zie was decidedly fat and Mattie was 

 fairly presentable. 



Lizzie wore a faded worsted skirt 

 poorly joined to a cotton shirt-waist 

 with a green silk belt. Her short, fair 



hair was curled and tied with a green 

 ribbon and her airy straw hat was bright 

 with flowers. Other little girls of bet- 

 ter fortunes had worn the things and 

 had extracted their freshness and much 

 of their beauty. But Lizzie felt quite 

 dressed up beside her friend who wore 

 only a simple calico gown and plain 

 straw hat. She led Mattie from win- 

 dow to window, pointing out precious 

 articles and rare jewels, quite as if she 

 had purse connections with them. 



The girls glanced at Whitey as he 

 passed. 



"Poor little dog!" Mattie said. 



"Yes," returned Lizzie, "I should 

 think the policeman would shoot him." 



"Why?" queried Mattie in surprise. 



"Oh, he's so bad off." 



Whitey was moving slowly. He 

 was rested and he thought to go on. 



Somebody in a confectionery store 

 noticed the girls. 



" Mamma, I do believe that's my old 

 belt that I threw in the rags one day, 

 for there's the cross I made on it at 

 school with ink." 



" Nonsense," said the lady. 



"And, oh, mamma, look at the poor 

 dog!" 



Of all the people who were passing 

 four at least were interested in Whitey. 

 Alley and avenue — but the alley folks 

 first forgot him. They went back to 

 their diamonds. 



Whitey's troubles had made him 

 meek and humble. He did not at this 

 time expect anything and he was out 

 of hopes and plans. He did not ob- 

 serve any whisperings at the portals of 

 the big store nor see the wonder on the 

 face of the porter. What he did see 

 presently was a round pasteboard box 

 that the porter set down under his very 

 nose. It was torn a little at one side 

 and what was in the box began to melt 

 and run down to the pavement. 



Whitey moved his ears a little at the 

 sight. It actually looked eatable. He 

 doubted if it was, but he put out his 

 tongue and touched it. 



When Lizzie and Mattie turned again 



