Rick and Ruddy Part 1

Rick and Ruddy.

by Howard R. Garis.

CHAPTER I

RICK WANTS A DOG

Rick Dalton sat on the sandy beach tossing white stones and bits of sh.e.l.l into the little waves that broke almost at his feet. The tide was just on the turn; soon it would come in, and the big, booming rollers would drive Rick farther up toward the dunes, where the wind was making a queer, whistling sound as it bent the long spears of saw-edged gra.s.s, whipping off venturesome, gray hoppers, that had boldly crawled up, perhaps to get a better view of the heaving ocean.

"I don't care!" murmured Rick, but, from the tone of his voice, and the look on his face, one might have said that he did care, and very much, too, about something. But still Rick said: "I don't care!" And he said it over and over, until it was almost like the song the waves seemed to sing as they swished up the beach, rolling over and over the white sand, pebbles and bits of sh.e.l.l, swis.h.i.+ng them along as if they, too, didn't care what happened.

"I don't care!" exclaimed Rick again, as he tossed a larger stone out so that it fell with a splash near a floating bit of wood, and frightened away an osprey that was about to swoop down and catch a sea ba.s.s which had ventured too near the surface. "I want a dog! I just want a dog, and I think mother might let me have one! I don't care!"

Just why he said that Rick didn't know, for he did care very much about something--and that was to have a dog. He dug his fingers deep in the sand, scooped up a wet ma.s.s of it in his palm, and tossed it high into the air. It fell about him in a little shower, and then, as Rick was about to repeat this, a wave, larger than any of the others, rolled up and nearly wet his feet.

And as Rick had on his shoes and stockings, he hastily scrambled back out of the way of the ocean, for salt water is bad for leather, as everyone knows who has ever been to the seash.o.r.e.

"Tide's coming in!" mused Rick. "Must be four o'clock. If I had a dog now----"

He rose slowly to his feet, looked up and down the beach and out across the sea. In the distance was a smudge of smoke from a coast steamer.

"Wish I was on her!" murmured the boy. "If I was maybe mother'd let me have a dog. There's most always a dog on a s.h.i.+p. Oh, why can't I have a dog?"

No one answered Rick Dalton. There was no one there to speak, unless, perhaps, it was the fish hawk, and, if he could have talked Rick's language he might have told the small boy what he thought about him for having spoiled his dinner. For the dinner of the osprey depended on his catch of fish--and, not only his dinner, but the dinner of the hungry, little whistling birds in the dead pine tree farther inland.

But all the boy heard was the swish of the waves as they whispered among the bits of sh.e.l.l and white pebbles--that and the whistle of the wind in the rank gra.s.s that grew atop the sand dunes.

"Tide's coming in," mused Rick. "Four o'clock, and I've got to go to the store. If I had a dog he could carry the things for me. Oh, I wish I had a dog!"

Rick dug the toe of his shoe into the sand, turned for a last look at the ocean and then trudged over the little hills that bordered the sh.o.r.e and soon was on his way to the village. It was when he was at home again, after having gone to the store, as his mother had told him to do at 4 o'clock--when the tide turned--it was then that Rick again voiced his wish.

"Why can't I have a dog, mother?" he asked. "I'm old enough now, and lots of the boys have 'em! Henry Blake, he's got a dog he says I can have. Why can't I have him?"

"Doesn't Henry want his dog any more?" asked Mrs. Dalton, as she took the bundle of groceries Rick had brought.

"No!" was the eager answer, and Rick seemed to seize on the question as a ray of hope. "Oh, can I have his dog?"

"No, Richard, dear," answered his mother gently. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but, really I don't want you to have a dog--just yet."

"But when may I have one?" he asked.

"Well, perhaps when Mazie gets a little older, so I could trust her around a dog. As she is now, she'd just as soon pull a dog's tail as not, or put her hand in his mouth, and she might be bitten. You wouldn't want your little sister to be bitten, would you?"

"No, mother! Course not! Henry's dog doesn't bite. And if I could have him I'd take care of Mazie so she wouldn't pull his tail, or anything!

Please, mother!"

Mrs. Dalton shook her head.

"You might think you could look after Mazie," she said with a smile, "but I'd always be afraid--for a while, at least."

"How long before she'll be old enough so I can have a dog, mother?"

asked Rick.

"Oh, in a year, perhaps. But I wish you wouldn't tease now, Rick, dear.

Bring me a few chips to boil the kettle. It's almost supper time and your father will be here soon."

"If I had a dog," said Rick, in a dull, sad sort of voice, "I could teach him to bring in a basket of chips every night. It would be a good trick for him!"

"Why, Richard, dear! You don't mind bringing me in a few chips; do you?"

asked his mother.

"Oh, no'm, course not!" he answered quickly. "But it would be a lot of fun if I had a dog and _he_ could bring 'em in; wouldn't it, mother?"

"It might, if he didn't run all over the yard with the basket, and spill my wood," she answered.

"Oh, my dog wouldn't do that!" declared Rick. "He'd be a good dog. Henry Blake's dog is a good one. His name is Spot and he jumps in Weed River and brings out sticks when Hen throws 'em in."

"Why does Henry want to give away his dog?" asked Mrs. Dalton, when Rick had set the basket of chips behind the stove.

"'Cause he's going to move away. Hen's father's going to work over in Bellport at the electric light place and Hen said I could have his dog.

He's going to get a new one. Please, couldn't I?"

"No, Richard, dear! I'm sorry, but really I'd be worried if you had a dog. I'd be thinking, all the while, that you or Sister were going to be bitten. After you get older, perhaps you may have a dog. Now go get Mazie for me, please. I want to wash her and get her ready for supper."

Rick found his sister playing in the front yard with Mabel Fenton, who lived next door. The two little girls had their dolls, and were dressing them up in green leaves, pretending they were new dresses.

"Oh, Ricky!" exclaimed Mazie (which was a pet name for Mary) as she walked around the side path with her brother. "Oh, Ricky! What you think?"

"What?" he asked.

"Why Mabel and I are goin' to have a doll party to-morrow, and you can come to it if you want to, Ricky!" invited Mazie.

"I don't want to come to a doll party!" exclaimed Rick, as he tossed a bit of stick up into the air, and then hit it with a swiftly-thrown stone. "Doll party! Pooh!"

"We're goin' to have _real_ things to eat--not make-believe!" went on Mazie.

"Honest?" asked Rick.

"Honest cross-my-heart!" exclaimed his sister. She was about two years younger than Rick, who was "nine-goin'-on-ten."

"Um! Well, maybe I'll come," said Rick, as if he were giving the favor, instead of getting it. "Could I bring my dog, Mazie?" he asked.

"Your dog!" exclaimed the little girl. "You hasn't _got_ any dog, Ricky Dalton!"

"I know I haven't got one _now_!" he admitted, very frankly. "But maybe I'll get one. I keep on asking mother, every day, and maybe she'll let me have one after a while. You wouldn't be afraid of a dog; would you, Mazie?"