So there was Darling on her merry arrival home that rainy autumn evening; a wet raincoat and a heavy umbrella, but a beaming smile so bright to drive away any black cloud in the sky.
"Dear me," she breathed out tiredly, shaking the rain off her clothes, "what terrible weather."
The Tramp and Lady panted happily around her as she walked into the parlor, peering at the neatly wrapped paper bag she was holding tight.
"My dears, did you come to welcome me?" she spoke cheerily. "Come along! I can not wait to show you what I've got in here."
A flicker of eagerness overcame both dogs when they saw the bag clearly. It was not impressively large and had a color as bland as the autumn sky, but it seemed stuffed with things; with what Lady hoped was a new toy for her or treats as per the Tramp's wishes. The bag occupied a table in the parlor and Lady and the Tramp the space around it where they admired its mystery and made appetizing guesses. The suspense shook them with anticipation.
But there was something odd about that paper bag. A strong, silly smell that itched the nose and killed the appetite came from inside. Whatever it was, they thought, must have spoiled on the way home. The pair of black circles sniffed it from all directions. Lady let out a sneeze. The Tramp, who could reach the bag, dared to nudge it open.
There was no treat or toy. Nothing but a small buttoned sweater, silly small. The Tramp plucked up courage; the sweater tasted as silly as it looked.
Darling took it out hurriedly with a child's excitement in her manner. Whatever smell it might have had—likely mothballs—she paid it no mind. But for no reason that the Tramp could discover, Darling fidgeted and played with the sweater as though she wanted to wear it on herself, which was comical yet odd; the sweater clearly was not made to fit her.
It wasn't. But Lady knew what the sweater was for. Tail frozen, body stiff; at the sight of the sweater Lady shrunk. She remembered her early days with Darling when she was given a sweater of her own, just as silly, and the dreadful aftermath of her itching teeth tearing into it.
The sweater meant bad news and Lady knew what was to come. With fresh shock and pity, she gazed at the Tramp, who merely tilted his head.
"I dearly hope it fits," Darling muttered to herself, turning the sweater on all sides.
Lady took a wary step back. She would have wanted to run away and hide. But a guilty interest held her. Yet, the Tramp, most unsuspecting, was still lost in wonder at a Darling who might try putting the silly thing on.
The hour grew late when Darling arrived home. From all the barking and the thrilled pattering of feet, Jim Dear woke up. Curiosity drove him downstairs.
"I thought I heard a noise." he yawned.
"Look!" Darling cried out, holding the sweater in both hands. "Isn't it sweet? With buttons, too."
Jim Dear did not answer right away. He rubbed his eyes wearily with the back of his hand. "What's that?"
"Why, it's a sweater," she said plainly as if nothing was more obvious. "What else?"
Jim gazed at the sweater and then briefly glanced at Lady, who could read the stunned look in his eyes.
"A sweater? For the baby this time, right darling?" he hoped to confirm, "Darling, it looks quite silly. Where in heavens did you get it from?"
Darling was a little offended.
"It's not silly!" she almost raised her voice. "And it's not for the baby, either. Can't you see it is too big and has no sleeves? I bought it for him," then she stooped to pat the Tramp.
Her audience fell silent in the face of such extravagance.
"Well, I got to thinking-" Darling tried to explain, "with this awful weather- and the rains- and the cold; he might get sick- anything could happen!"
The Tramp sprang away from Darling to the safety of a nearby chair. Lady was relieved her fate was spared of another sweater but she was sorry for him.
Yet, Jim Dear could only sigh. "Again? Darling! Very important business, oh, give me another one! I thought you'd stopped with this foolishness."
"But whatever is the matter? Really, it's a pretty sweater." she defended. "It was her first sewing, too. It belonged to her dog before it passed away. Did you know that? She could not have entrusted it to anyone else—she said it herself! Besides, she offered me a bargain price for it."
"Who? That seamstress?" Jim Dear scoffed then rubbed his eyes again. "Oh, I'm sure she did, darling. That very honest woman and her very honest prices. What would America be without her kindness? Darling, after all the commotion with the other sweater and that raincoat you bought Lady last spring—you just never learn, do you?
Darling struggled to riposte. "But look how he shakes and trembles of cold."
And the Tramp did shake and did tremble, shake and tremble of fear and dread and anything else but not of cold.
"He's unhappy. This will do him good. And if you can not trouble yourself to care, please be on your way back upstairs."
Jim Dear did not bother to retort. Reasoning with her any longer, he thought, would have been nothing short of hopeless. He complied with a conceding shake of his head then dragged himself to the bedroom with Darling's snort of indignation following close behind him.
It was hopeless indeed. Hopeless then and hopeless now. No doubt about it; she must have passed by the Pet Shop. She must have seen it through the window and something in her head clicked. In vain and tiresome futility Jim Dear struggled to make sense of it. The same old story - Darling's mania; for doggie clothes, no less. No telling when it would end this time either. Might linger for weeks. And that silly excuse about the weather—Jim Dear all too well knew it; the seamstress had enticed her into it again.
Well, no point crying over spilled milk. She will eventually come to her senses. With that hopeful thought Jim Dear fell asleep that night. Only Lady had one wish; that the Tramp won't break Darling's heart in too many pieces when the inevitable will happen.
"Nope."
"Please? You can have my biscuits."
"Sweeten the pot all you wish, Pigeon. But I'm not buyin'." said the voice under the chair. "I will accept a collar. Maybe even a leash for a change. But a sweater? No, sir. She isn't putting that dingus on me."
That was another problem. A dog such as the Tramp would have never allowed himself to be dressed by humans. Especially with a silly sweater. Lady feared the Tramp might chew on his sweater just as she once did, but him not wanting to even wear it would have had consequences far more dreadful. Who knows how many weeks of sadness that would make of Darling? Something had to be done. If, now, she could only convince him.
"But why not? It's a nice sweater, really," Lady assured him but he knew she was not believing her own words either. "And you should stay warm with this awful weather going on."
The Tramp scoffed. "Don't kid yourself, Pigeon. Humans toss nicer things in the bins outside. And besides, cold never bothered me anyway."
"At least try it," she insisted. "It won't hurt you. What are you so afraid of?"
"Maybe she should try it," he barked, "seeing how she keeps fiddling with the thing 'stead of throwing it away."
"But will you look? Darling seems so eager to try it on you," returned Lady. "Do you not want to see her happy? You love Darling, don't you?"
The Tramp hesitated for a moment. A chuckle escaped his whiskers. "Well, I wouldn't say I love Darling-"
"Oh," Lady furrowed her brow, "you wouldn't? After all the things she has done for you? Well, that is quite a crude confession to make. Then I suppose all those times you've followed Darling around the house like a shadow for attention, and all those times you wagged your tail and moaned like a puppy whenever she stroked your fur were make-believes? Tramp, have some dignity. I don't recall marrying a liar. The very moment Darling stepped into the house earlier, you were all over her."
The Tramp eyed her uneasily with his ears lowered and his tongue only halfway out.
"But if that isn't enough for you," Lady went on and her voice was a sight louder, "why won't you wear that sweater simply because I asked you to? Why, I'd be happy a great deal if you did. Or will you say that you don't love me either?"
Lady's glare and her canines were threatening as they were pretend. The Tramp did not dare to interrupt.
"Listen," she breathed out, and now she spoke with a warm gentleness particular only to herself, "Tramp, enough jokes, please. It's very important to Darling that you wear the sweater she bought for you."
"But why?" the Tramp crawled out. "It's just a silly, dumb sweater, Pidge," he remarked a little miffed.
"It's not just a silly, dumb sweater, Tramp." Lady shook her head. She hoped with all her heart for him to understand. "It's Darling's sweater. Her gift for you."
"Lucky old me," he began to scratch. "Look—the doggone thing is making me itchy just thinking about it. How come you get to walk free?"
"Oh, well-" Lady stuttered, "Darling would never put anything on me again, you see."
"Why's that?" he quizzed her. "Doesn't seem like Darling to pamper anyone else with fancy get-ups 'cept her precious little Lady."
Lady only blushed a little. "She did buy me many things when I was younger," she revealed. "I had a sweater and a raincoat. Even my own tiny shoes, but-"
Lady faltered. Grievously she remembered all the clothes Darling had so happily gotten for her and how inconsiderately she treated each one. But she hated confessing an old naughtiness in order to explain.
"But?" inquired the Tramp.
"Well, I did not know, then, what those meant to Darling. So I chewed them; I was only a puppy! I chewed them until they were good only for tossing. And I thought it was great fun. But then Darling got so upset when she found out that, for a whole week, she stopped loving me; for minutes on end I would beg her to pat me, but she would behave as though I was never there! She would not take me for walks, and I had all but forgotten what treats were. It was as though those things were sacred to her. Honest! I thought I would die of sadness!" spoke Lady, all but brittle in her voice, and the Tramp could tell a tear lingered on her cheek. "And then Jim Dear-"
"Jim Dear?"
"It was an accident! It was his turn to clean my raincoat. In his clumsiness, I think, he must've torn it up. Darling wouldn't talk to him for a good few days after that. He had to make his own breakfast and coffee. And Jim Dear never makes his own breakfast," her tongue ran out in disgust, "or any other meal; Darling never lets him. She never bought me any more clothes since."
The Tramp gave Lady a comical stare as though she had just told him a joke. Her misfortunes seemed to him so different and, at the same time, so senseless from all that he had ever known that her affairs, in a way he tried not to divulge, all but amused him.
"To tell you the truth," he spread himself on the carpet with a giggle, "I've run countless laps 'round this town but never bumped into a human this strange. You really have your ways of picking them, Pidge."
"Please, don't hate her," Lady begged. "You just don't understand. And, maybe, neither did I back then. She simply wishes that we're well groomed and, I suppose, tasteful. Others told me so." she said, thinking of Jock. "Although she does seem a little too lavish about it, doesn't she? I guess these things simply make her happy. When guests came over and they complimented my looks, Darling was all cheery after they had left. And never was there a time she wasn't smiling when we went for walks and I wore my sweater or my raincoat."
The Tramp struggled not to laugh. "Darling and her glad rags, eh?"
"She's only human, Tramp." Lady tried to reason. "Be thankful you only have to wear a sweater. You have no idea how much more I had to endure in my younger days. Once, a strange human wanted me to serve as a muse for his paintings. And Darling almost signed me up for a dog show one day! But, you know, Tramp, I would do it all over again if I know it makes her happy."
"Seems like a pain in the paw to me," he drawled.
Lady sighed. "Don't be so callous. Let her have her joy. It won't kill you. You never know, you might even like it. I know you're being a puppy right now; you'd do anything for Darling. Those times when she hugs you or when she kisses your nose or that time when she combed you after bath—you wouldn't give those up only cause of a sweater. Only I know how many cold nights you've left me alone to sneak upstairs into her bedroom. You love Darling."
The Tramp stood silent under her weighty allegations and over him crept a fit of shame because they were all true.
"Thought you wouldn't notice that one," he admitted and refused to meet her gaze.
"Your claws, Tramp," said Lady with a straight face. "They do make quite a noise on the kitchen floor."
The Tramp sighed. It was a battle lost before it even began. For Darling had won his heart the very moment she took him in her arms on the night when they brought him home with Lady. If Lady's mishaps were anything to go by, he thought, Darling's kindness was not worth sacrificing just for a silly sweater. Even then, it was only a sweater. Perhaps the sweater was more afraid of him than he was of it.
In cold defeat, the Tramp shook his head. "All right, all right," he stretched and scratched, "I guess I do have a soft spot for Darling."
Lady was overjoyed. But she tried to stay composed.
"But only this once," he warned firmly. "She better not be making a habit out of it."
The next morning, after breakfast, a ceremony was in order. Only Lady and, of course, Darling had attended it, but the Tramp was truly a handsome dog then. Combed prior to his dressing, now even his lack of a pedigree was unclear. One could mistake him for a purebred with an official entry in the American Kennel Club archives and, surely, one should. The sweater hid all imperfections his ancestors had passed down to him.
"So pretty," said Darling with a proud smile, "I'm sure Lady here would agree."
That was, naturally, all in Darling's head. But who would have dared ruin her fun? Surely not Lady, who, in her demure quietness, had playfully enjoyed the sight of Darling tying up the buttons on his sweater.
"Dear, did I tell you how gorgeous you look in it?" said Lady with superficial honesty. "It brings out your eyes and whiskers."
To their covert teases, the Tramp only perked an ear. A growl quivered in his throat, daring to escape, yet it was nevertheless collected. He did not wiggle or complain too much, and all was almost bearable, however, until Darling did something she should not have ever done.
As if dressing him in the sweater wasn't shame enough, Darling felt the need to show the Tramp his supposed good looks in the small mirror she was holding. But gravely she had discovered her mistake when, all of a sudden, he lunged at the mirror snarling, following a blaring bark that would have sent any threat and, no doubt, his own reflection scampering.
Under such a fright Darling shrieked and Lady sprang with a jolt.
"Tut-tut, boy," said Darling, "now don't get excited. It's only a mirror!"
The Tramp could stand this nonsense no longer. Teeth bared, he eyed Darling with a feral glower. He would have liked to punish her again, send her into a cold sweat, make her climb a chair and hold on to her dress for dear life. For all that she was putting him through.
But those were foolish ideas cooked in the heat of the moment, ideas that greatly disconcerted Lady who feared more for Darling than she feared for herself. Between her and the Tramp, Lady was smaller and weaker; she never dared a fight with another of her kind - much less with the Tramp. And yet, in that minacious instant, it seemed as though she could not have been readier to do so. When she snapped at the Tramp, she snapped sharply; she did not touch a strand of fur on him, but had he pounced on Darling then, nothing would have stalled her tearing at his neck.
For a shivering second, not even the clock dared to tick. Until the Tramp settled down, Lady had not put away her fangs.