There was at least one class that had no votes, and consequently little influence. Dogs could therefore be taxed. The rich could easily pay the tax, and if the poor could not, their dogs could be killed. Who stopped to think whether money raised through the sorrow of the poor, or the death of helpless animals, might prove a bane rather than a blessing? Who asked whether a dog did not love life as well as his master, and whether, for his devotion and courage and guarding of homes, he was not entitled to the consideration of the city and the State, rather than to be killed because his owner could not or did not pay a tax or a license fee? The dog had done no wrong, and though somebody loved him, as he could not earn the fee himself he must needs be destroyed. The tax-gatherer, endowed with power by the officials, came to the Conlon home. There was little that could be taken from so poor a place, thought the collector, until he espied the black dog beside the baby’s cradle. “Your dog, madam, must be paid for. The fee is five dollars.” “I haven’t the money,” said the woman. “Why, I couldn’t raise so much! I can hardly fill these four mouths with food.” “Well, madam, then you shouldn’t keep a dog.” “But she guards the children while I work, and she is such a comfort to them!” “The law doesn’t take sentiment into the account. If you were a man I should arrest you, and shoot the dog. As it is, I will only shoot the dog. Bring the animal out and I will call that policeman over.” “You wouldn’t shoot her before these crying children?”—for three of them had begun to cry, and were clasping the dog to their hearts, while the baby looked scared, and pressed his lips together, as though he realized that something was wrong. “As I said before, madam, the law has no regard for sentiment. The State must have money.” “I wish they would tax the saloons. If my husband hadn’t lost his money in them before he died we should have the money now to pay the tax for our dog. Could you wait a little for the money? I can give you a dollar, and perhaps I can borrow another, but I can’t possibly raise five dollars. Can you come to-morrow?” “Yes, I’ll give you a trial, but it’s a long walk here. I’m afraid you’ll turn the dog on the street and then say you haven’t any.” “Oh, no, sir, we are not as mean as that, even if we are poor! Pet would suffer and perhaps starve, and we all love her too much for that.” After the man was gone Mrs. Conlon put on her faded shawl and bonnet and went to her neighbors, as poor as herself. One loaned her a quarter, another a half, till the whole dollar was secured. When the assessor came on the following day, being somewhat impressed by the devotion of both family and dog, he took the two dollars and promised to wait a reasonable time for the remaining three.