Chapter 3

And so, quick and without notice, two weeks had passed since then. By the first cold drizzle and the first fallen leaf, September made its way through and autumn had settled herself over the town.

This year, though, autumn seemed to have forgotten her mercy. Surly were the winds and rains, and the sun was as rare as a unicorn spotting in the wild. There was an apparent bitterness in the air, and the weather was of an unusual bleakness more specific to mid-winter.

Darling detested autumn no matter how tame it could have gotten. Morose weather meant she could not tend to her garden as much, and now taking the baby outside for a roll in the perambulator as she had promised was out of the question. No more visits from her faithful confidantes either. Who would risk an elegant pair of sandals on such weather?

Though, Jim Dear was having it worse. Autumn, for him, was the season of colds. His unparalleled stubbornness would attract them all upon himself like dog attracts flea. Sometimes he would say "it's not cold enough for the scarf, darling." Other times he'd go "I don't need the tablets, darling," But sure enough, cold would strike him right to bed with the vengeance of a thousand, and who would always nurse him back to health afterward if not Darling herself?

"You never learn! Why must you be such a goose?" she would reprove. "And if you aren't going to stop smoking that hateful thing this once, I'll telephone Aunt Sarah to come over!"

That was Darling's yearly warning and last resort, one that Jim Dear had always submitted to and responded with "Heaven forbid!" for Aunt Sarah's ways of curing colds have scarred him like would war scar a soldier.

Yet, even when Jim was back on his own and the weather was a sight more pleasant, things wouldn't get better by much or at all. The chores were more tiresome, the leaves had to be raked. But greater was the pain when Darling would hear the clock ring for five and she'd remember that Jim would not be back until after seven. She would be all alone most days.

Such was autumn every year for them. A dire nuisance. Autumn was the telephone that rang at the wrong moment, the letter that made Darling sigh, the mention that made Jim Dear growl. Autumn, in event or thought, was simply bad news.

And, normally, such was autumn for Lady. Though Lady was safe from the man's curse of doing chores, autumn was a time when she had to stay away from trouble more than ever. Autumn was a time of infrequent pats, of uncertain meals, and threatening remarks of being sent to the kennel. It was the bowl of cereal without sprinkled sugar and the bathtub with no hot water. It was as bad news for her as it was for them.

But this year was different for Lady. There have been changes around her that made nothing short of a happy Christmas out of this gloomy autumn. It wasn't the furniture that changed, and Jim and Darling were more or less the same.

The changes were in Lady, for she was a loved dog in the James Thurber sense.

It was as though Jim Dear's cooking now seemed appetizing, as though the lonely, cold nights were warm and pleasant. Sun shone brightly even during the autumn shower, and the fireplace strewed homeliness even without fire.

And be it harsh scold or punishment, Lady was nothing but merry, with a tail that never stopped wagging, for it was the second autumn with her humans, but the first one with the Tramp.

That marked a little less than a month since they brought the Tramp in, during which he has known a true family and only love. Hands have brushed him with kindness unlike any other human's, and a tongue has licked him with care even greater than his own.

Where formerly there were cold rainwater and pesky fleas, now flower-scented soaps and a nice comb were in their place. No longer did the Tramp hide from the Sunday bath, and the brush, he learned, that it wasn't an enemy. The first time was a bit terrifying, but once getting used, what sport! He would enjoy it as much as Jim Dear when he sang under his shower.

His wandering ways seemed to have died away. He seemed content to roam the house and keep the humans company. And the baby did not seem that much of a pest anymore. When Darling eventually took him out on that rare sunny day, the Tramp was glad to sit and sleep beside his cradle. As he said, it was his duty now to guard him, too.

And he liked running and loafing beside Lady in the yard, and playing ball with her and Jim has become a favorite. His only memento to the bird of passage life were the stories he told her every now and again. And Lady, having heard for most of her dog life the same tale about Old Reliable over and over, loved to listen to his stories on every occasion.

His life had changed. The Tramp was a changed dog. Maybe his lucky getaway from a tragic end had done it. Maybe Darling's fulsome kindness had touched his heart. Or perhaps Lady herself was the one to strike the change in him. She was the first to notice the changes that gradually began in the Tramp, and they delighted her greatly, although there were unaccountable moments when she wished the Tramp had stayed as he was in every respect.

It was a rare occurrence, but Lady believed that this new life might have done him more bad than it did good. Sometimes it seemed to her that, along with his wandering ways, the Tramp might have thrown away his faithful buzz too, that, even when they played, at times he was forgetting his thrill. She couldn't believe his thrill could even go away. When the wind brought interesting smells from all directions and Lady was ready for a romp, there were moments when the Tramp instead preferred to lie in Jim's leather chair and snooze.

"What is this all about?" she would ask herself. Maybe Darling has given him a treat that she shouldn't have given. Maybe when Jim scrubbed him in the tub, he scrubbed too hard and the water washed his thrill away.

But Lady tried not to grieve too much. His wickedness never seemed to have betrayed him. Gladly Lady watched when the Tramp loitered around her humans, but she much preferred when he was being a rascal.

It was oddly soothing to Lady knowing that neither Jim nor Darling could teach him manners as they did to her. He would not sit, nor heel, nor give the paw. He would only be stubborn.

"I guess you really can't teach an old dog new tricks after all." would say a defeated Jim Dear.

And as she once believed that this new life might have gotten to his head sometimes, the same she suspected that his dog devilry was getting to hers.

She had done things during those weeks that her etiquette would otherwise not allow.

Sometimes the Tramp might have heard a strange dog run by the gate, or a loud jalopy with a busted drive that boomed nearby, and, as to all dogs of his kind, his first instinct was always to bark and to tear at it.

In the face of such extravagance, Lady always said, and rather primly, "That's unbecoming in dogs like us."

Until she gave herself away to her impulses and joined him in the supposed improperness. Great was the fun, but eerie was the feeling that there was someone in the bushes always watching and judging her.

Then, when the night came and it wasn't too cold, the yard was their stage, and the neighborhood their loyal onlooker.

It was an unwritten rule for Lady to be quiet during the night, for Jim Dear and Darling would have been groggy in the morning would she howl like other, less respectable dogs. But, lately, she did not mind if she, too, was a little less respectable. And the Tramp was happy to howl alongside Lady during the nightly concert. Maybe together they could hold their song against the Samoyed a few houses up north.

And it often appeared as though some of his old manners have snuck into her. Now it was Lady who would sometimes swing an albeit dainty glance outside for dogs she might find alluring. And a gentlemanly dog eventually trotted by the fence one day and tossed her a come-hither wink, to which Lady had all but responded with a wink of her own would the guilt and shame that stopped her not exist.

Lady was self-conscious of her newfound demeanor, and her ways frightened her when she pondered on them because she could not recognize herself in any. Not when she brawled the Tramp when he was sleeping in peace, and not when she stole his biscuit from Darling in guilty hope he would chase her around.

But over time, she grew to be fond of them. For Jim and Darling, who had become cantankerous as of late, seeing her impish acts sparked joy and laughter in-between their quarrel. And as she grew more spirited, so the Tramp grew sweeter on her and said so; there has always been a soft spot in him for frolic in ladies.

And with that rapturous sentiment and a bundle of good spirits, Lady was on to spend what she had in prospect to be a wonderful autumn. Only seldom a lingering suspicion that she was forgetting something or someone followed her around like a gust of cold wind, but one that faded away too soon to be worth worrying over. She did not know what or who, and the Tramp did not even mind or notice. Perhaps, she thought, it was some lark she had done and forgotten about, or simply just another trifle.

But meantime it wasn't unpleasant to be a little more light-hearted. Not fretting over the smallest baby cry or the littlest insignificance for once seemed like a welcomed breath of fresh air. And she has been more lenient regarding the house rules. Though Lady was an orderly dog and neatly minded her p's and q's, not even she could resist the temptations when it came to a dog's greatest joy. She always was the first to say, "It's all right to break a rule or two every so often," for it was no way to stop a dog when it came to playing in the freshly raked piles of leaves no matter the punishment.

That was the state of things for the weeks that passed and the days that followed. Yet the situation concerning Jim Dear and Darling has been more akin to the gloomy weather outside, Lady and the Tramp were as sunny as the blue sky during summer. There was an unmistakable emptiness, or rather lack of affection coming from the humans lately, even so, it was a lack that has hardly been noticed.

For Lady, there was little time to really feel and mourn their absence, as the Tramp's mirthful antics had always found ways to keep her mind away from it. And so was true of the Tramp. Though he was well accustomed to the lack of affection from humans before, Lady made sure to offer it, and often in suffocating amounts, should he ever feel its need.

Between them, there wasn't any room for anything other than love. It was there when they slept, when they ate, even when they crossed fangs. And they crossed their fangs a considerable number of times. It is always the other's bone that seems juicier or the other's chewing toy that might bring greater pleasure to the teeth. But even then, love was still present. It was there in Lady's growls and the Tramp's bites, for the bites were mere nibbles and the growls were little yaps.

Sad though it was for Lady, whenever she took a break from love and a more thorough look at Jim Dear and Darling. For those same following days, they were not what they once were. That apparent bleakness lurking outside an endless race seemed to be lurking now around them too. That, however, at this point in time, was a common going-on.

It was the undeniable coolness that had sprung between them that was not.

At the outset, it did not look like more than just another bad day for them. Bad days had come before. Lady had seen them, but she'd seen worse. Yet, no bad day seemed quite like those past ones, for not once in all bad days did they forget each other.

Lady has been watching, in shock she has been spying. When there should have been a laugh or smile, there were only sighs and grim silence. And the glimmer in their eyes, once the flaming sun on the sky, was now just a candle struggling in the ruthless winds out there. That alone was fairly dismal, but the real tragedy came after.

Jim Dear, no matter what great the hurry he was in, never he forgot to wish Darling a good morning before rushing away. He'd forgotten to now. Nowadays, he seemed like nothing more than just a ghost. Sometimes, he did not even touch his breakfast or the cup of coffee on the table. And the door; it was the wind that would close it behind him at a long minute after he was gone. Nobody would notice when or if he had left.

And Darling would forget to welcome him back when he came home. It was her trait to help him take his coat off, then throw a silly remark his way to which they would both giggle at. Instead, Darling was somber most of the time. "Sit down and I will get your supper ready" was all she would say.

Even the baby seemed to have had some kind of connection with all this. The door to his room was shut at all times now, but even when it wasn't, Lady and the Tramp weren't allowed in and no one ever stated a clue why.

They were becoming dingy and cheerless, sometimes worse than the weather outside. Still, little of this made sense to Lady. Autumn should not have taken such a toll on them. They weren't mad or upset at each other, it did not seem to be the case. It was as though something in their bearings had gone missing all of a sudden, as if love had vanished all over again.

So Lady listened for love when they spoke; the note was faint, she listened wistfully again and the note grew fainter. That's when tragedy came. Lady wasn't sad because there wasn't any love for her and the Tramp, but because there wasn't any left between them. The mystery was that these bad times appeared to have no reason that she could discover, it was as if they simply just stopped loving each other.

Then she remembered that time a few days back when Darling made a fuss over something regarding the telephone. The reason could not have been dating from that, but possibly from a strange call that Jim had gotten just a couple of hours later.

There was nobody else about at that moment, not even Darling. Jim sat in the parlor dozing off in his leather chair with Lady spraddle-legged at his feet. The clock pointed just a little after eight. Normally, nobody would call or expect to be telephoned at such long of an hour, thus why Jim Dear, when the main hall echoed in that awful, blaring sound, jerked out of his chair in unclear string of mutters, or what Lady had worked out as swears and curses.

But Jim cleared his head quickly and hurried away. Lady steadily behind him. She listened while he answered the call.

Of what has been said then, she did not recall much. Jim mostly said "uh, huh; uh, huh," and sometimes he went "I understand." Except once, when he turned all pale like a peeled onion suddenly and spoke in stutters "it is unfortunate, indeed."

But what stood out to Lady was Jim Dear after he hung up. He crashed in his chair with his head held in his palms just like Darling that one time when she'd begun to cry. Lady did not know what it was that the telephone told him. She was as concerned as she was confused. But one thing that wasn't clear then had become clear as day now. Only something exceptionally dire could have changed them this much. And if she could not discover that from Jim, perhaps she could from Darling.

The Tramp always seemed to have loved Darling a little more than he loved Jim. Before this dilemma happened, most of the evenings that he did not spend with Lady, he spent upstairs with Darling and Darling was glad each time she saw him creep into her room. He was her good boy, and, to a certain degree, always listened to her word.

So it was natural that Lady went to him with her worries when the great mystery began. She hoped that perhaps he knew something she did not. Later that day, Lady called for a meeting in the hall while Jim and Darling dinned in the kitchen together.

"You've noticed it too, didn't you?" whispered Lady.

"Noticed what?" asked the Tramp.

"Jim Dear and Darling." said Lady a little surprised that she even had to point out.

"The humans? What about them?" he demanded.

"They're acting so different recently."

"How - different?" he inquired.

The surprise in Lady grew stronger. "Well, it is that they're behaving just like two strangers would," she remarked with unease. "They're completely different from what we knew. Look for yourself."

The Tramp was a little confused, but her tone arose a slight alarm in him. He looked through the door at the humans for a rather long second, a second that, at first, appeared hopeful to Lady. But she was also a little bit tense.

"Well?" she questioned impatiently.

"I don't see it." he said plainly.

Lady's ears jolted, she was perplexed. "You don't see it?"

The Tramp simply stared at her. Her reaction puzzled him. "Uh-uh. You sent me a little at sea there."

Lady softly pushed past him and took her turn looking at them.

"He must have been inattentive." thought Lady. That coolness stood like a thick wall of ice between the humans. And yet she was amazed, for it was as clear as day. How was it that the Tramp did not see it?

Not once since they settled in the kitchen they had spoken to each other or even exchanged glances. Other times, the sound of their dishes would not even have been heard like they were lately, as Jim Dear's and Darling's lively gossip and chatter would have filled the whole house. Was it not proof enough for him?

"But look again," insisted Lady, "look how distant they've become. They hardly even look at each other and are unbearably sad and quiet. It's like all that love between them simply disappeared. Can you not see it?"

The Tramp sighed. Lady seemed more unsettled than before. Again he watched through the door. He looked and he looked again. He gazed at the way they ate and sipped from their respective plates and cups, and the way they sat on their chairs. He studied their gestures until his forehead wrinkled itself.

But nothing appeared to have changed. He just could not understand what was the tragedy that Lady kept describing, or if there even was any at all. As far as he could see, they were two humans peacefully enjoying their supper. Were they or were they not a bit morose, that should not have mattered. Judging by what Lady had told him, that was a normal happening for them when autumn arrived. So, it could have meant but only one thing.

"I think I know what the problem is here." said the Tramp. He stepped away from the door and began to scratch leisurely.

"You know?" suspense arose in Lady.

"Uh-huh." then he bumped her gently on the head. "'Scuse the expression, Pigeon, but I don't think you're right upstairs. Think they've strapped you the collar a little too tight. A sniff of fresh air might loosen it."

Lady stared vacantly for a hot minute. His comment gravely astounded her. Though it wasn't too serious of an affront, it was the last thing she would have expected from the Tramp to say, especially concerning this pressing situation they were in.

"And besides-" he continued, but a Lady's growl, one without love this time, stopped him in his journey.

"Oh, you shameless, shameless dog!" snapped Lady.

The Tramp stepped one back. A frenzy of dismay that he might have said something wrong seemed to fill the air around him.

"I worry myself sick over Jim Dear and Darling, and you? You think I'm silly! I am not silly!" her scowl was as gentle as it was fearsome. "As far as I'm aware, now they're your humans too and you should be worried about them!"

The Tramp sat quiet, his tail scurried beneath his rear in the face of such earful.

"But if you aren't willing to help, you can go! You can go to another room and see to whatever matters concern you because I don't want you here anymore!" she dismissed him sternly, then she pushed with a paw on the kitchen door, willing to go inside.

And the Tramp, whether it was by instinct or because he felt remorseful, followed along, albeit with shilly-shally steps. Or just in case that there was even the slightest possibility that she might be kidding-.

"I am not kidding! Go! Go away, I say!"

Lady did not stop defending the kitchen door, nor did she lower her snarl, until she saw the Tramp take his leave, which he did shortly. He dragged himself to the spare room nearby where he might have spent the night in afterward because he did not show himself in the kitchen for bedtime later. She felt a little guilty then, for she might have gone a little overboard. And now next to her slept curled only the fleeting sensation that he was there. She was all alone and cold.

Eventually, things somewhat returned to their usual between them as the morning passed. Only that the situation concerning Jim and Darling seemed to have worsened since yesterday.

There simply was no clear cause or motive, even less when the sun beat down this pleasantly. It was such nice weather for once that week, and yet, Darling preferred to brood in her book instead of singing in her garden. And Jim did not rush away that morning despite it being the middle of the week. He'd rather play that confounded piano. Lady hated the piano. He could have come out to play with her and the Tramp, but that seemed too much to even think about.

Nevertheless, Lady sat outside and drowsed by the door of her kennel for most of that pleasant day. She moped, as she had given up. The mystery now appeared as an enigma impossible to be solved, and nobody seemed to have been willing to help her.

But the truth was that there were a bunch and for a long time that could have helped, yet pitiful it is to admit that Lady had long forgotten about them. Her idyllic life of guiltless romance and playing in the leaves did not seem to have been roomy enough for anyone else.

But little did Lady know; they had been watching from their yards all this time and sometimes when Lady barked relentlessly at the moon, or heaps, or other dogs, they stalked in the bushes near by and conferenced about what she's done. She might have felt that she had been judged - she was right. And they were disappointed by her manners.

They half-blamed it on that vagabond. He had stolen their lassie and abducted their miss Lady away from them. He might have protected a baby one day, but he was too much of a bad influence to look the other way.

Yet in sooth, they felt left aside, dispensed of like a bone Lady's been through with. Though for her, they've become far less than that. They were the lingering suspicion that seldom slinked about, the lark she's done and forgotten of, and that countless other trifle.

A few hours had flown by since. Lady had fallen asleep at the mercy of her thoughts. Nobody seemed to have bothered her the entire time she had been there, but that somehow seemed to have saddened her more.

It was before five and the sun still beat partly. No master or dog around at that hour. Jim and Darling were most certainly inside, and the Tramp was snoozing somewhere. The yard was peaceful. Pigeons came to flutter and coo overhead. One of them flew down and alighted beside Lady. It sang softly as it pecked gently at her idling ear. The leaves sang with it. Lady quivered lightly. She was almost smiling.

Later, someone called lowly. Lady rose an ear and opened a wary eye. She heard paws and a snuffle. There was someone blundering at the kennel door. A slender, shadowy figure.

It was Trusty, that long-forgotten trifle, nosing her awake in the dim sunlight.

"Had a time getting through the fence." he rumbled. "Is there someone else about? I thought I smelled another dog."

A hindrance left Lady unable to reply for a moment. There was a tight feeling in the pit of her stomach, and her heart seemed to weigh more than she could handle. She had not talked to him or Jock in weeks, and it was at the worst possible moment that she'd discovered her mistake.

"Oh, no," Lady stammered, "Tramp is sleeping someplace."

Trusty allowed himself to sit.

"I noticed you've been sitting here for a little over a few meals." he leaned his big head closer to her. "Is something wrong?"

Lady looked at his saggy eyes then down at the ground. "I've been a little sad is all."

"Well, if there is anything I can do to help," he began a little slow, "you can call on me even though, as appeared lately, miss Lady, you need no advice from old friends."

Lady rose and sighed. She has been expecting it since he'd begun talking. She turned to him with her solemn, brown eyes and apologized, for she had been a bad neighbor but a more terrible friend. But surely he must understand how it is during autumn. And then the Tramp, and Jim Dear and Darling-.

Trusty interrupted with a reassuring nod.

"I understand. You don't have to explain, miss Lady." he said kindly. "You're still young and- uhh, certainly we aren't quite as peart as- well, some other individuals. Why, I myself am very happy you've found love." he stated with a paternal kind of pride. "It is just that- uhh, that- uhh, a brief visit from time to time-" but he could not bring himself to continue, as Lady looked so ashamed and wretched that it began to hurt him.

Lady sniffled once but she did not falter. A quick peek wandered about Trusty's leg and she noticed a fresh wrap of bandages. Lady's worries grew greater then. "Your leg - does it hurt bad?"

Trusty rose his leg in deliberate laxness and scoffed. "This? Why, I hardly notice it! You don't have to bother yourself over me." he said bravely but Lady knew he was bluffing a little. He coughed deep in his throat and started over. "Now, miss Lady, what I actually came over to ask," his voice flowed gently, "Would you mind telling what really is it that keeps troubling you, my dear?"

Lady breathed out long. She had a lot to say. "Oh, Trusty! A great deal of things!" she moaned.

Then she went on a whine that seemed endless and worse with every second passing. But he listened earnestly and with utmost attention until it ended. Lady did not skip a detail, though she chose not to disclose anything about yesterday's insolence of the Tramp.

Trusty muttered something and shook his head with pity. It was a nasty business and one that looked hopeless in the foreseeable future what Lady had told him.

"Anything at all that it could be the cause?" Lady asked with sober hope.

Trusty shook his head again and now he got up.

"I'm sorry, miss Lady. I have little clue." he nosed her again encouragingly. "But I assure you that there isn't such a thing as your humans not caring about each other. They have you and the baby, miss Lady." he said with confidence. "Give it a little bit of time. It is like how my grandpappy, Old Reliable said once-" then he fell into sudden silence.

Lady smiled at him briefly.

"But- uhh, if you discover anything regarding your matter, please inform me. I'd dearly want to know myself." he concluded faintly.

Lady nodded. They exchanged their respective goodbyes then Trusty faded darkly under the sunset with his heavy steps and now Lady was alone again with her worried heart. But not for long. She saw Jock trotting his way to her soon after and with him, the tight feeling and heavy heart from before.

"Hear you're in trouble." Jock said. "I slipped out to see if there's-a anything I can do."

Lady sighed and laid on her paws desolate.

"Well," he murmured through his mustache, sitting down. "It's a bit of a shame. I've thought it was a shame for a long time but- well, I didn't have the chance to-a tell you. Been sort of neglecting your old pals, haven't you, lassie?"

Lady was aware, she apologized. But because of the circumstances, there was little she could do to make it right except compliment his knitted sweater, albeit on a tone Jock recognized as not entirely sincere.

"Anyhow," Jock looked away. "Trusty clued me in about what happened at your home, and, lassie, I thought you would do a-well knowing-" he hesitated.

"Yes?" encouraged Lady with her eyes wide open.

"Well, I heard my family talking about it and- you see, lassie, I don't know the whole lot of details, but it-a seems that Jim Dear might have lost his occupation. And the baby has gotten sick, I hear."

The news brought Lady to her knees, largely the latter, for it wasn't that clear to her what an occupation was. So Jock explained loosely, and it was then when she realized why Jim Dear and Darling had been so depressed and distant, and why they wouldn't let anyone near the baby.

"Oh, dear!" said Lady in distress. "What ever can I do?"

Jock sunk his head, her situation dispirited him. "I'm afraid you cannot do much. But," he rose a brow, "perhaps you could-a start by not howling during night. After all, at times like these, they need their sleep the most. And- and besides," he was reluctant, "it's not becoming in you, lassie. You're respectable. As for your friend, well, less so." Then he fell into a short whisper. "He's not around, is he?"

Lady nodded an agreement that she will stop howling, but not before the knowledge cut deep that she had indeed been watched and most likely judged. She was embarrassed and began to hate all the changes in herself that she'd come to love. Though she could not understand why he and Trusty earlier have hinted at the Tramp for.

Shortly, a shrill whistle from Jock's yard brought them on their all-fours, ears cocked, tails tilted. They both looked. It was Jock's master.

"Oh," Jock rustled his mustache, "it's my human. We'll be a-goin' on a walk together." there was a vague hint of enthusiasm in his tone that upset Lady a little. "It has been a while since we've had one. My paws were beginning to get stiff lately."

But poor Lady has forgotten since long what it means to go on walks.

"I must go." said Jock. "I apologize I cannot do more for you, lassie. But you must stay strong!" he tried to hearten her. "Do what you have to keep your home and your humans together. You wouldn't want to-a lose them."

Lady watched as he ran to his yard and with him went her last glint of hope left. With the most dreadful thoughts Jock left Lady inconsolable at the kennel door. At long last, she had uncovered the mystery, but the truth behind was so painful that it was too much for her to bear. The baby has gotten ill, Jim has lost his post, and now she was likely to lose the only home she'd known. For the first time since she was little, Lady hid away and sobbed.

Author's note: As a fun fact, for those that did not catch it when reading;

"A loved dog in the James Thurber sense," refers to a quote by the golden age cartoonist James Thurber that goes like this:

"I am not a dog lover. A dog lover to me means a dog that is in love with another dog."