Uncle Dick and Lisa's Old Time Animal Tales

He would Swallow Anything That Would Ring, but Counterfeit Money Was a no go.
Like Ursus and Homo, Billy and Danger were good friends. Billy Wright is a man and Danger was a dog. Billy Wright is running a saloon on Wabash avenue and Danger is dead. He was blown up in an explosion in a manhole the other day. He was a sagacious animal, and Billy often said that he knew more than half the men who came in to take a drink over the bar. Danger’s name did not fit him for the reason that he was not dangerous. On the contrary, he was the most forlorn-looking cur that ever escaped the poundmaster. One ear was gone, he squinted in his left eye, a section of his tail was missing, he limped badly owing to a dislocation in his right leg, and at some time in his life a beer-wagon had run over his back, completely marring what ever little beauty he might have possessed. Then someone scalded him. Nobody ever knew where Danger got his food. Billy said he guessed the dog had a meal ticket over on the West Side. At all events Danger never ate anything around the saloon except money. It may sound strange, but it is a fact, nevertheless, that Danger would swallow anything in the shape of money from a one-cent copper to a silver quarter. He seemed to have a penchant for small coin, and never lost an opportunity to gobble up whatever came his way. If a customer chanced to drop some of his change on the floor Danger was there, literally speaking, with four feet. Before the astonished patron knew what had happened his nickels and dimes had disappeared down Danger’s canacious throat. Then the bank would be closed for a time, and Danger would crawl off to his corner and pretend to sleep, looking out of the corner of his eye for another opening.
“The funny part about it all,” Billy used to say, “is that you can’t fool ‘um with counterfeit money. They often try it on ‘um with lead nickels and tin beer tabs, but he is to wise.
Shorty before Danger died, a stranger entered the saloon. He called for a drink and in receiving the change dropped a quarter on the floor. The echo of the ring had not died away before Danger had snapped the coin up and sneaked behind the stove.
“Here! How’s this?” gasped the man as his eyes bulged out like the bull’s-eye front to a watchman’s dark lantern. “Where’s that money gone?”
“Dog swallowed it,” replied Billy, nonchalantly polishing a wine-glass with his apron. “Dog swallowed it! O,I guess not.” “Well, I guess yes,” returned Billy, carefully replacing his glass back of the bar. “What! a dog ate money?”
“Sure.”
“No O,no.”
“try ‘um with a silver dollar,” said Billy, complacently drawing himself a “snit” of beer.
The man looked at the remaining change in his hand, looked at the homely cur apparently asleep.
“Not in a thousand years,” he said.