"Name?" he queried, breaking in on Ferris's rambling eulogy. "Huh?" asked the surprised Link, adding: "Oh, his name, hey? I call him 'Chum.' You see, that dawg's more like a chum to me than--" "No use asking about his pedigree, I suppose," resumed the postmaster, "I mean who his parents were and--" "Nope," said Link. "I--I found him. His leg was--" "Pedigree unknown," wrote the postmaster; then, "What classes are you entering him for?" "Classes?" repeated Link dully. "Why, I just want to put him into that contest for 'best dawg,' you see. He--" "Hold on!" interposed the postmaster impatiently. "You don't catch the idea. In each breed there are a certain number of classes: 'Puppy,' 'Novice,' 'Limit,' 'Open,' and so on. The dogs that get a blue ribbon--that's first prize--in these classes all have to appear in what is called the 'Winners Class.' Then the dog that gets 'Winner's'--the dog that gets first prize in this 'Winners' Class'--competes for best dog of his breed in the show. After that--as a 'special'--the best in all the different breeds are brought into the ring. And the dog that wins in that final class is adjudged the 'best in the show.' He's the dog in this particular show that will get Colonel Marden's hundred-dollar cash prize. See what I mean?" "Ye-es," replied Link, after digesting carefully what he had heard. "I guess so. But--" "Since you've never shown your dog before," went on the postmaster, beginning to warm with professional interest, "you can enter him in the 'Novice Class.' That's generally the easiest. If he loses in that, no harm's done. If he wins he has a chance later in the 'Winners' Class.' I'm mailing my entry to-night to the committee. If you like, I'll send yours along with it. Give me a dollar." While Link extracted a greasy dollar bill from his pocket, the postmaster filled in the class space with the word "Novice." "Thanks for helpin' me out," said Ferris, grateful for the lift. "That's all right," returned the postmaster, pocketing the bill and folding the blank, as he prepared to end the interview by moving away. "Be sure to have your dog at the gate leading into the Craigswold Country Club grounds promptly at ten o'clock on Labor Day. If you don't get a card and a tag sent to you, before then, tell your name to the clerk at the table there, and he'll give you a number. Tie your dog to the stall with that number on it, and be sure to have him ready to go into the ring when his number is called. That's all." "Thanks!" said Link, again. "An' now I guess I'll go back home an' commence brightenin' Chum up, a wee peckle, on his tricks. Maybe I'll have time to learn him some new ones, too. I want him to make a hit with them judges, an' everything."