The Mystery of the Disappearing Dogs. Arthur Hammond
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of the Spadina Gang nodded thoughtfully. “I guess it is, at that,” he said.
But the little blond boy hadn’t finished yet. Now he spoke up again. “Well, if the dog-catcher has got the dogs,” he said, “you’d better hurry up and get them back again. Otherwise the Humane Society might electrocute them.”
Several of the kids who were standing around laughed at this, and Red said indignantly, “Are you nuts?” He turned to the others. “I tell you, this kid is nuts! Who let him in here anyway? Throw him out!”
The small blond boy got very red in the face at this and clenched his fists, as if he were going to take a swing at Red. This made everyone laugh even louder, because Red was about a foot taller and thirty pounds heavier.
It was Red’s Sister who came to the small boy’s rescue again and spoke to him kindly.
“Let him tell what he knows,” she said, looking around. “You’re not so smart, the rest of you. What do you mean, kid, they might electrocute them?”
“Well,” he said, “when we got our dog back, the man told us all about the Humane Society, and what they do is, if they find a stray dog and nobody comes to claim it, they try to sell it. But if they can’t sell it, they have to get rid of it, because they can’t afford to keep all the dogs that get lost. So they electrocute it.”
“You mean in the electric chair, like a gangster?” Red said, laughing out loud. “You’re nuts, kid. You really are, honest!”
“Say, can’t you see the big headlines?” Fatty said, joining in the mockery. “Big Buster Goes to Chair. Brutal Baby-Biter Burns!”
Everybody started laughing and jeering at the small boy again, and he got so angry and so upset that his eyes filled with tears. He could hardly keep himself from crying.
“You wait and see, that’s all!” he shouted. “If you don’t go down and get your dogs, you wait and see what happens!”
Now the room was in an uproar, with everyone laughing and shouting and talking at once, making jokes about the ridiculous idea that dogs could go to the electric chair, like gangsters.
The Professor’s voice suddenly cut across the noise, shouting for silence.
“Quiet!” he shouted. “Quiet! Have you all gone nuts or something? This isn’t getting us anywhere. You all seem to have forgotten what we’re supposed to be worrying about already! Let’s get organized, for Pete’s sake! If there’s some chance that Sput and Buster are down at the Humane Society, let’s go down there and see. We don’t know what else to do, and it’s certainly no good standing around here, laughing and shouting at each other. Come on. Who’s coming down to the Humane Society with me?”
“I will,” the leader of the Spadina Gang said loudly.
“So will I,” Red’s Sister said, and in a minute everyone else in the room was shouting their agreement and streaming out of the basement of the empty house, heading for the Humane Society.
The only trouble was that when the first group reached the sidewalk, they suddenly realized that they didn’t have the least idea where the Humane Society was, or whether it would still be open at that time of night. Immediately another racket started up, as everyone began asking everyone else if they knew where they were going, and giving contradictory directions about how to get there.
It was only when the leaders of the two gangs reached the sidewalk, with the Professor leading the small blond boy firmly by the arm, that any kind of order was restored.
“It’s at number 11 Wellesley Street West,” the Professor said. “Blondie here says it’s open twenty-four hours a day. Everyone know how to get there?”
Several people said they didn’t, so he gave them clear directions.
“Gee, these kids are a rabble if they’re not properly organized,” he said to the leader of the Spadina Gang, as the crowd went streaming off again in the direction he pointed out. “It’s taken me months to get my gang to follow any kind of discipline. I guess you have the same kind of trouble?” He paused, as the leader of the Spadina Gang nodded, and then went on, watching the other boy carefully. “You know, I’ve been thinking—oh, by the way, my name’s Tony Felucci. Everyone calls me the Professor.”
He held out his hand, and the other boy shook it. “I’m Kingston Elliott,” he said. “Just call me King.”
“Okay, King,” the Professor said as they went on walking. “Well, as I was saying, I’ve been thinking that if the two of us got together and got our two gangs organized into one big group, instead of fighting each other all the time . . .”
They remained deep in conversation, with the other leaders of the two gangs walking behind them and the small blond boy sticking closely to the Professor’s side, until they reached the door of the Humane Society on Wellesley Street some fifteen minutes later.
The rest of the group, who had hurried on ahead, were all standing around in front of the building looking at a new half-ton Ford panel truck, with the words CITY OF TORONTO—ANIMAL CONTROL painted on it.
“That looks like it, King,” one of the boys said to the leader of the Spadina Gang, as he came up. “That’s what the dog-catcher took our dogs in, I bet.”
“Okay, okay,” King said to the excited group. “You kids simmer down a bit, hey? Me and the Professor here and Blackie’ll go in and see if they know anything about our dogs. The rest of you wait here. Don’t anyone go away, because we may have an important announcement to make when we come out, whether the dogs are here or not. And don’t make a lot of noise and start attracting attention to yourselves either.”
In fact, several passers-by on Wellesley Street had already stopped to look at the crowd of girls and boys who were standing around outside the Humane Society, staring at its empty Ford panel truck. The Spadina leader glared round at them all again and then went and stood beside the Professor as he rang the Humane Society’s bell.
After a few minutes, the door was opened by a man in a long white coat and, when they had spoken a few words to him, the Professor and King and Blackie went inside. The man stared at the group on the sidewalk for a moment and then the door was closed.
Five minutes later the three boys were out again, shaking their heads at the eager questions of the gang members who crowded around them.
“No, the dogs aren’t there,” the Professor said. “In fact the truck hasn’t been anywhere near our part of the city today. Anyhow, the man said that as long as the dogs have got their tags on, we’ll be notified if they’re brought in. They’ve got a record of every licensed dog in the city. I guess Sput had his tag on all right, didn’t he Blackie?”
Blackie nodded.
“So did our dog,” King said. “So we don’t have to worry about that.”
“What about all that stuff about electrocution?” Red said, looking at the small blond boy scornfully. “Did you ask about that?”
“Well, Blondie just got his facts mixed up a bit, that’s all,” the Professor said. “He’s right, they do have a machine for electrocuting dogs. It’s a big kind of a box, not an electric chair. It’s the latest kind of humane killer. But they only use it when there’s nothing else they can do for a dog. Even if a dog’s brought in without a tag on, they always keep it seven days to give the owner a chance to claim it. Then, if no one has claimed it, they try to get it adopted by a new owner.”
“What do they suggest we do now?” Red’s Sister said. “Do we just have to wait and see if the dogs are brought into the Humane Society? Isn’t there anything else we can do?”
“They said we could advertise, if we were really worried,” Blackie