Description
Short Story Collection Vol. 044
THE ANARCHIST: HIS DOG
by Susan Glaspell
Stubby had a route, and that was how he happened to get a dog. For the
benefit of those who have never carried papers it should be thrown in
that having a route means getting up just when there is really some fun
in sleeping, lining up at the _Leader_ office–maybe having a scrap with
the fellow who says you took his place in the line–getting your papers
all damp from the press and starting for the outskirts of the city.
Then you double up the paper in the way that will cause all possible
difficulty in undoubling and hurl it with what force you have against
the front door. It is good to have a route, for you at least earn your
salt, so your father can’t say _that_ any more. If he does, you know it
isn’t so.
When you have a route, you whistle. All the fellows whistle. They may
not feel like it, but it is the custom–as could be sworn to by many
sleepy citizens. And as time goes on you succeed in acquiring the easy
manner of a brigand.
Stubby was little and everything about him seemed sawed off just a
second too soon,–his nose, his fingers, and most of all, his hair. His
head was a faithful replica of a chestnut burr. His hair did not lie
down and take things easy. It stood up–and out!–gentle ladies couldn’t
possibly have let their hands sink into it–as we are told they do–for
the hands just wouldn’t sink. They’d have to float.
And alas, gentle ladies didn’t particularly want their hands to sink
into it. There was not that about Stubby’s short person to cause
the hands of gentle ladies to move instinctively to his head. Stubby
bristled. That is, he appeared to bristle. Inwardly, Stubby yearned,
though he would have swung into his very best brigand manner on the spot
we
Product ID: 9781776779475
Sku: 9781776779475
