Graeve, Oscar (ed.) / Delineator
Vol. 119, No. 1 (July, 1931)
[Continued articles and works], pp. 46-71 PDF (15.7 MB)
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IllRno0-. ----------------------* DELINEATOR NO DOGS ALLOWED Continued from page 54 very nice to Binks when he stopped them to inquire, but no one had seen Pat O'Reilly, and they were all very busy about their own affairs, except one bustling, stout lady angel, who put down a huge harp to straighten his tie and smooth back his hair. "It's funny," he hazarded a little breath- lessly, "but I don't see any dogs around here." "Well, I wouldn't worry my head about that if I were you, dearie," said the stout lady angel. She felt his forehead and changed the subject with suspicious abruptness. "Dear me, you must have been playing too hard. Mark my words, you'll have a tempera- ture if you aren't careful. Now wouldn't you like to come with me and have a nice glass of milk and a nap?" "Oh, no, thank you," he said, and went along very quickly, looking for Pat O'Reilly and asking more questions. SUDDENLY he stood still. If he could only tind God, of course He would know all about Pat O'Reilly. Binks hurried back to the pearly gates. "Oh, it's you, is it?" murmured Saint Peter. "I began to think you were lost." "I b'lieve," observed Binks, "if you'll tell me where God's house is, I'll go talk to Him. I bet He knows where Pat O'Reilly is." Saint Peter looked up again in a dazed way, as if he had already forgotten Binks' existence. Then he put his pen behind his ear and looked at Binks over his glasses. "God," he said very gravely, "is every- where." "Oh," said Binks, and looked hopefully about him. "But," went on Saint Peter, "no one of us has ever seen Him. His radiance would be too much even for our eyes. We know that He is here, and that is enough." Never had God seemed quite so mysteri- ous and inaccessible and Binks, himself, so very' small and unimportant. He glanced at saint Peter's bowed head and cleared his broat. "I don't proberly s'pose," he began, "that di have any idea why Pat O'Reilly hasn't cme vet?" " Well, no. I haven't," said Saint Peter. "I've been wondering," Binks began again ,f ter a long silence, during which he was busy with many thoughts, "how you get your robes off over your wings." A little general conversation might help to engage Saint Peter's attention. But Saint Peter seemed not to hear this at all, and again Binks was thrown back upon his own thoughts. "I was just wondering," said Binks in a small, small voice, "it isn't-it isn't true, is it-that God doesn't want dogs in Heaven?" "Upon my word," said Saint Peter, "you ask more questions than any little boy I ever knew. As you ought to see, I am very busy, and! there are more souls coming now. You-" "Oh, all right," said Hinks hastily, "but can I stay here and see if Pat O'Reilly comes?" "You may stay," answered Saint Peter very, very patiently, "if you won't ask any more questions for ten minutes." "Oh, all right," said Binks again. There was a bank of flowers just inside the gates; he sat down on it and clasped his hands about his knees. Presently he coughed deprecat- ingly. "There's-there's just one more thing," he almost whispered. "How am I going to know when it's ten minutes?" Saint Peter sighed and passed a hand wearily over his brow. "I will tell you," he said. It was a very long ten minutes. Binks must have drowsed. Awakening to a murmur of voices, he lay listening sleepily with his eyes shut. "THERE'S that noise outside again," breathed one voice. It was a very soft voice. You knew at once that it belonged to a golden-haired lady angel with a lovely smile. "What can it be?" "It sounds-why, it really sounds like a dog, doesn't it?" said another voice, a brisk, business-like voice. "I believe in my soul it is!" That sounded like the stout lady angel who had talked about milk and naps. "Why, it can't be-oh, poor creature! He must have crawled all the way up here on those broken hind legs." "Oh, I hadn't heard. Was the dog struck. too?" asked the soft voice pitifully. "They found him in a ditch, hours after the-the accident." The stout lady angul choked and blew her nose. "We did what w could for him; then we put him in the sheltei down by the side entrance. It doesn't seem possible-" "Well, he'll have to go right back there, if I'm to be responsible for this child." That crisp voice, Hinks decided, must belong to his truant guardian angel. "But that would be a little cruel, wouldn t it?" objected the soft-voiced angel. "Aftei he's dragged himself all the way here?" "And this poor lamb crying out for him every few minutes for the past three hours, protested the stout lady angel. Hinks could hear the sounds now, outside somewhere; a feeble scratching and a series of faint whines, mounting to a shrill crescendo of yelps. It was Pat O'Reilly. It was Pat O'Reilly! It was Pat O'Reillv! "Well, it does seem hard," agreed the guardian angel. "But you see my position. I shouldn't dare let him stay. There! You see-" Binks was struggling to speak and open his eyes, but all his members were held in nightmare bonds-"you see? He's stirrino now, and he should have perfect rest for hours." The yelps outside grew more insistent. "Will you call someone to take that dou away, or must I do it myself?" demanded thc guardian angel. "What is all this noise? We can't have this, you know." That was Saint Peter coming up in a great hurry. "Bless my soul! It must be that dog he's been talking about all after- noon." "I've been trying to tell them that he must be sent away or we can't be responsible for the consequences," said Binks' guardian angel hastily. "Well, mark my words, you send that dog away now, and the poor creature'll die of a broken heart. And I-" the stout lady angel seemed to be breathing hard-"I wouldn't like to be responsible for the consequences of that when this poor lamb misses him." The frantic scratching and barking con- tinued. "Well, I must confess," said Saint Peter, "in all my experience this is one emergency I've never been called upon to deal with. I must insist-" But another voice broke in. It was not a loud voice, yet it seemed to Binks to fill all Heaven with its authority, with its ring of understanding and compas- sion. "Of course Pat O'Reilly must come in," said the voice. Binks got his eyes half open, only to have to shut them against the blinding radiance all about him. He stopped struggling to open his eyes and listened. Now Saint Peter was talking again. "I didn't tell you before," he said, "but this child is with us only by a miracle. There was a time this afternoon when I was sure we had lost him. Now the least excitement . . ." "WE'LL lose him if anything happens to Pat O'Reilly. You don't understand. Nothing in Heaven or earth matters quite so much to the boy as this dog. Bring Pat O'Reilly in at once." Something warm was by Binks' side, some- thing whimpering and quivering with eager- ness. A cool nose and a wet tongue touched his arm. Then again everything was still. "You see," said the compassionate voice, "he knows he must be quiet, don't you, Pat, old man?" When Binks finally was able to open his eyes, the blinding radiance had subsided. Why-God must have gone! Saint Peter was gone, too. Heaven was gone. But beside him lay Pat O'Reilly, his wise, bright little eyes never leaving his master's face. Binks was back on the couch in his father's library as if he had never been away. Over by the window his father was talking to a uniformed nurse, and by his side Mrs. Olmsted's golden head gleamed above a white gown. "That's funny," said Binks drowsily. He considered, frowning. "Well, anyhow, you can tell Lilian Anne she's all wrong-about God I mean. He's not-like that." "Of course He's not," said Lilian Anne's mother. This summer, keep the family together by telephone! "Now lift Betsy up to the tele- phone, dear. . . . Hello, honey. Dad's sort of lonely for you. . . . Well, just keep on splashing and you'll learn to swim I" f f 0 SUMMER often scatters the fam- ily far and wide. Junior's away at a boy's camp. Mother and the twins are at seashore or lakeside. Dad holds the fort at home and slips away week-ends. But all of the family are likely to miss each other sometimes. Then there's nothing so satisfying as a telephone call. Today, you can talk as easily and clearly across the country as across the street. It's inexpensive too. To most places 25 miles away, the station-to-station day rate is about 25 cents; 40 miles away, 35 cents; 75 miles, 50 cents; 150 miles, 80 cents. Many rates are even lower during evening and night periods.
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