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ALL FOR HUMANITY'S SAKE

A Story Told to Show the Good Which Comes of Good Action.

The Cruelty Practiced Against Dumb Animals -- Mrs. Peattie Writes of Something of Keen Interest.

Fanny was a gay little dog. She knew her lawny fur curled in ringlets all over her fat little body, and was quite aware of the fact that when she looked up at you quizzically from under her yellowish-brown bangs that you were sure to laugh.

In short, Fanny realized perfectly that she had in her the elements of popularity. She liked life, and her only grief was that she had not seen enough of it.

To be sure, wherever her Boy could take her he did. Fanny had noticed that almost every dog has a Boy, made, most obviously, to take the dog around and make fun for it. The trouble about Fanny's Boy was that he was away so much at school, and that after school, when any dog might expect that she would be taken out for a play, this Boy sat with his nose in a book. He managed, now and then, to stop long enough to scratch Fanny's ear, or feed her a lump of sugar. But this was but strifling to stop a gay spirited little dog who wanted to see life.

It never occurred to Fanny that it was just as hard for her Boy to stay in as it was for her, or she might not have been so foolish as to lose her temper. Perhaps none of us would ever find it worth while to lose our temper if we knew all the pros and cons of the things that vox us. However that may be, Fannie got in a passion over her Boy because he was so slow; and because he seemed to prefer books to dogs -- although there was not a book in the whole library that could wag its tale, and stand on its hind legs and bark -- and so it came about that Fanny deliberately turned her back on the house where the Boy lived, and started off down the street.

The Boy's house was on one of those quiet streets in South Omaha, which look away over the river, and the groves of willows on the bottom lands, and, higher up, the groves of puny oaks upon the Nebraska hills.

Fanny cared nothing for this. She ran as hard as she could for the busy streets where the motors were, and where men and woman walked about in an excited way, and all sorts of delightful noises were going on. Fanny was so angry with her Boy that she made up her mind to look out for a new Boy, and when she saw a tall fellow, with a swagger and a cigar, come along, she decided at once that he was the sort of person who was likely to see life and that she would follow him. She had no sooner made up her mind to this than she saw him run and jump on one of those fascinating motor cars and a second later the car was whizzing away down the track, and Fanny was running after in a perfect gale of excitement.

On and on she went, like a puff ball of fur. How delightful to have got rid of that stupid Boy! At last she came to a sort of bridge. The cars made a hollow sound as they went rolling over, and Fanny could feel the bridge shaking under her. It frightened her a little, and she ran over onto the other track in her alarm, and then! -- Then for Fanny the heavens and earth came together, and a hell of a pain tore at her tender body, and she heard the noise of the car stop.

"What is it?" said a voice.
"Run over something'?"
"Nothing but a dog."
"Throw it over the viaduct."

A man with a black face took Fanny by one of her torn legs and threw her down, down, till her crushed, cut body fell on the paving.

It was dusk already,, and the night soon fell. Men and women passed the little dog. Children came and looked at it.

Fanny screamed and screamed with the awful torment. She writhed back and forth like a worm in the dust. The night came. 'The trains thundered by. This little dog in her torment of thirst licked at the dew on her shaggy coat. Ah, the hours of torture! With morning a young man stooped over her, touching the broken limbs with tender hands. Then he left and returned with the water of which Fanny had been dreaming through those miserable hours. But now she was too weak to drink it. She could only look at it with agonized eyes. The young man understood. He lifted up the fainted head and poured water down the swollen throat. He put water on the little dog's forehead.

"Poor little wretch," he said, "I wish I had something to shoot you with."

Then he went away and the horrible torment went on. And at last, after hours of waiting there came a sudden sharp, [?] noise and shock, and the pain was over for gay little Fanny.

* * * * * * *

When the young man left the dog, which had been thrown from the viaduct, he telephoned to the police station:

"A dog was run over on the Sixteenth street viaduct last night. Some one threw it over the viaduct, and it has been lying there all night. It is suffering terribly. Can't you send a policeman down to kill it?"

The answer from the police station was:

"There is a policeman on that boat. It's his business to attend to it."

"But he isn't there," the young man answered. "I can't look all over for a policeman. I should think it was your business to --"

Whirr, whirr, whirr! The connections was rung off at the station, and the young man had to give up his attempt to relieve the little creature's sufferings, for he had to go to work. How much longer the groaning little dog laid there is not known.

* * * * * * *

But this much is known. If we had an operative society for the prevention of cruelty to animals, such suffering could be avoided.

* * * * * * *

The other day two drunken men drove a fine horse in front of a motor on Farnam street. The men were not injured. The big body of the faithful animal was almost cut in two. But with its splendid vitality it could not easily die. For hours it laid on that traveled thoroughfare, rocking its head back and forth in speechless agony, and now and then giving a sudden, awful scream of agony.

Why was it not shot?

Because a policeman is not allowed to use his judgment about shooting valuable animals, but must see the proper authorities to obtain permission first. And where "only an animal" is concerned a policemen is not apt to keep dinner waiting till he relieves such torture.

* * * * * * *

But if we had a society for the prevention of cruelty to animals the members would be possessed of both authority and gumption enough to shoot a horse, a part of whose entrails lay out upon the pavement.

ALL FOR HUMANITY'S SAKE

A Story Told to Show the Good Which Comes of Good Action.

The Cruelty Practiced Against Dumb Animals -- Mrs. Peattie Writes of Something of Keen Interest.

Fanny was a gay little dog. She knew her lawny fur curled in ringlets all over her fat little body, and was quite aware of the fact that when she looked up at you quizzically from under her yellowish-brown bangs that you were sure to laugh.

In short, Fanny realized perfectly that she had in her the elements of popularity. She liked life, and her only grief was that she had not seen enough of it.

To be sure, wherever her Boy could take her he did. Fanny had noticed that almost every dog has a Boy, made, most obviously, to take the dog around and make fun for it. The trouble about Fanny's Boy was that he was away so much at school, and that after school, when any dog might expect that she would be taken out for a play, this Boy sat with his nose in a book. He managed, now and then, to stop long enough to scratch Fanny's ear, or feed her a lump of sugar. But this was but strifling to stop a gay spirited little dog who wanted to see life.

It never occurred to Fanny that it was just as hard for her Boy to stay in as it was for her, or she might not have been so foolish as to lose her temper. Perhaps none of us would ever find it worth while to lose our temper if we knew all the pros and cons of the things that vox us. However that may be, Fannie got in a passion over her Boy because he was so slow; and because he seemed to prefer books to dogs -- although there was not a book in the whole library that could wag its tale, and stand on its hind legs and bark -- and so it came about that Fanny deliberately turned her back on the house where the Boy lived, and started off down the street.

The Boy's house was on one of those quiet streets in South Omaha, which look away over the river, and the groves of willows on the bottom lands, and, higher up, the groves of puny oaks upon the Nebraska hills.

Fanny cared nothing for this. She ran as hard as she could for the busy streets where the motors were, and where men and woman walked about in an excited way, and all sorts of delightful noises were going on. Fanny was so angry with her Boy that she made up her mind to look out for a new Boy, and when she saw a tall fellow, with a swagger and a cigar, come along, she decided at once that he was the sort of person who was likely to see life and that she would follow him. She had no sooner made up her mind to this than she saw him run and jump on one of those fascinating motor cars and a second later the car was whizzing away down the track, and Fanny was running after in a perfect gale of excitement.

On and on she went, like a puff ball of fur. How delightful to have got rid of that stupid Boy! At last she came to a sort of bridge. The cars made a hollow sound as they went rolling over, and Fanny could feel the bridge shaking under her. It frightened her a little, and she ran over onto the other track in her alarm, and then! -- Then for Fanny the heavens and earth came together, and a hell of a pain tore at her tender body, and she heard the noise of the car stop.

"What is it?" said a voice.
"Run over something'?"
"Nothing but a dog."
"Throw it over the viaduct."

A man with a black face took Fanny by one of her torn legs and threw her down, down, till her crushed, cut body fell on the paving.

It was dusk already,, and the night soon fell. Men and women passed the little dog. Children came and looked at it.

Fanny screamed and screamed with the awful torment. She writhed back and forth like a worm in the dust. The night came. 'The trains thundered by. This little dog in her torment of thirst licked at the dew on her shaggy coat. Ah, the hours of torture! With morning a young man stooped over her, touching the broken limbs with tender hands. Then he left and returned with the water of which Fanny had been dreaming through those miserable hours. But now she was too weak to drink it. She could only look at it with agonized eyes. The young man understood. He lifted up the fainted head and poured water down the swollen throat. He put water on the little dog's forehead.

"Poor little wretch," he said, "I wish I had something to shoot you with."

Then he went away and the horrible torment went on. And at last, after hours of waiting there came a sudden sharp, [?] noise and shock, and the pain was over for gay little Fanny.

* * * * * * *

When the young man left the dog, which had been thrown from the viaduct, he telephoned to the police station:

"A dog was run over on the Sixteenth street viaduct last night. Some one threw it over the viaduct, and it has been lying there all night. It is suffering terribly. Can't you send a policeman down to kill it?"

The answer from the police station was:

"There is a policeman on that boat. It's his business to attend to it."

"But he isn't there," the young man answered. "I can't look all over for a policeman. I should think it was your business to --"

Whirr, whirr, whirr! The connections was rung off at the station, and the young man had to give up his attempt to relieve the little creature's sufferings, for he had to go to work. How much longer the groaning little dog laid there is not known.

* * * * * * *

But this much is known. If we had an operative society for the prevention of cruelty to animals, such suffering could be avoided.