Keystone Literature Item and Scoring Sampler—September 2019
7
LITERATURE MODULE 1
a gold band on his head and he would really have made an ideal concierge
1
. Even without the band,
he concentrated in his person all the superiority, the repose, and exasperating reticence
2
of hotel life.
Suddenly I noticed a more eager expression on his face. One ear was unfurled, like a flag, and
almost run to the masthead; the head was turned quickly down the road. A sound of wheels was
heard below the shop. His dogship straightened himself and stood on four legs, his tail wagging
slowly.
Another dog was coming.
A great Danish hound, with white eyes and black‑and‑tan ears—one of those sleek and shining
dogs with powerful chest and knotted legs, a little bowed in front, black lips, and dazzling, fang‑like
teeth. He was spattered with brown spots, and sported a single white foot. Altogether, he was a dog
of quality, of ancestry, of a certain position in his own land,—one who had clearly followed his
master’s mountain wagon today as much for love of adventure as anything else.
And with all this, and quite naturally, he was a dog of breeding, who, while he insisted on his own
rights, respected those of others. I saw this before he had spoken ten words to the
concierge,—the St. Bernard dog, I mean. For he did talk to him, and the conversation was just as
plain to me, tilted back against the wall, out of the sun, waiting for my cutlets and coffee, as if I had
been a dog myself, and understood each word of it.
First, he walked up sideways, his tail wagging and straight out, like a patent towel‑rack. Thenhe
walked round the concierge, who followed his movements with becoming interest, wagging his
own tail, straightening his forelegs, and sidling around him kindly, as befitted the stranger’s rank
and quality, but with a certain dog‑independence of manner, preserving his own dignities while
courteously passing the time of day, and intimating, by certain twists of his tail, that he felt quite sure
his excellency would like the air and scenery the farther he got up the pass,—all strange dogs did.
During this interchange of canine civilities, the landlord was helping out the two men, the
companions of the dog. One was round and pudgy, the other lank and scrawny. Both were in
knickerbockers
3
, with green hats decorated with feathers and edelweiss. The blue‑shirted porter
carried in the bags, closing the coffee‑room door behind them.
Suddenly the strange dog, who had been beguiled by the courteous manner of the concierge,
realized that his master had disappeared. The man had been hungry, no doubt, and half blinded by
the glare of the sun. After the manner of his kind, he had dived into this shelter without a word to
the beast who had tramped behind his wheels, swallowing the dust his horses kicked up.
When the strange dog realized this,—I saw the instant the idea entered his mind, as I caught
the sudden toss of the head,—he glanced quickly about with that uneasy, anxious look that comes
into the face of a dog when he discovers that he is adrift in a strange place without his master.
What other face is so utterly miserable, and what eyes so pleading, the tears just under the lids, as
the lost dog’s?
Then it was beautiful to see the St. Bernard. With a sudden twist of the head he reassured the
strange dog,—telling him, as plainly as could be, not to worry, and the gentlemen were only inside,
and would be out after breakfast. There was no mistaking what he said. It was done with a peculiar
curving of the neck, a reassuring wag of the tail, a glance toward the coffee‑room, and a few
1
concierge—doorkeeper of the entrance to a building
2
reticence—inclination to keep one’s thoughts, feelings, and activities to oneself
3
knickerbockers—short trousers gathered in at the knees