The days went on rather quickly after that. The sweater did not annoy the Tramp as much. He learned to obey it, to respect its authority. It still pricked and itched but only when he thought of getting rid of it. The Tramp was careful near sharp corners beginning then and got used to the bad dreams. The sweater had disciplined the Tramp; never again had he schemed against it.

The sweater kept Darling happy. Lady was not entirely pleased with the situation, but it contented her enough. Darling did love her and did give her treats and pats, and Jim Dear did not have to cook for himself any terrible meal. Although there were unaccountable moments when she wished she had enough courage to go and tear the sweater herself.

A slight coolness had sprung up between her and the Tramp after the day of his failure. Lady had noticed he had lost his cheery demeanor and she hurt. The sweater must have obscured it. During their games out in the yard, often he lagged behind; other times, he would not even come out when she barked an invitation to a romp, preferring to snooze instead, not really wanting to play. And she was missing his hug when they settled by the hearth and he should have nestled into her; it was gone, only present in her memory.

She blamed Darling and she blamed herself. Lady was no longer glad for love. During her quiet moments with Darling, instead of perking up and panting merrily each time she would call her name, Lady would ignore, hoping and begging that soon Darling would be through with sweaters.

But then came another Sunday. The first day of October and, no mistake, the blackest. Everything was to turn for the worse that day.

It was Darling's idea—naturally—to take Lady out for an afternoon stroll. It had been so long since she walked her last. That Sunday was the first day in many when it did not rain and the clouds had scattered enough for a bit of sun to squeeze in. The birds were out, it wasn't too cold. Children sang and played through the autumn leaves. It would be a pity, Darling said, to spend such a pleasant day at home.

A wonderful idea—of course, they all seem wonderful at first—except Darling was not one to foresee or, as it seemed to Jim Dear and Lady, learn from past mistakes, for it struck her to do yet another thing she should never have done.

Inside the basket Darling kept Jim Dear's hats, she always kept Lady's leashes. There were two; Darling did not always prefer red, often she preferred blue. On that particular Sunday, Darling had preferred them both. Her wonderful idea was to take the Tramp along with Lady. On his very first walk. Out in the town where everybody could see him and, needless to say, admire his sweater.

Lady loved the walks with Darling. The sight of her leash always got Lady most excited. But Lady, on that Sunday afternoon, rather wished that it started raining again, that it thundered, or that the baby would start wailing. Anything to make Darling reconsider. The mere mention of a walk sent shivers down her spine. She was afraid for Darling, of what the Tramp might do if someone saw him. Even the Tramp had warned against it, hidden behind chairs, growling and barking whenever he saw the leash.

"After all, he's a mutt, darling," Jim Dear would comment, "You never know; he might snap at children or tear away after someone else's dog."

But the sky was as clear as the baby was happy sitting in the perambulator and Darling could not have been quicker to reassure Jim of the nonsense he'd just spoken. There wasn't any way Jim Dear could have gotten around her. Her mania had already taken its toll.

If only Darling knew her luck had long since ran out...

"I'm sorry, Tramp, but please, don't pull on your leash," implored Lady, "I thought she'd be through with the sweater by now."

"Say, Pidge," the Tramp would return a grin, "but how far do you suppose Darling can run in those heels?"

Lady gawked in panic. "Don't you be doing anything hasty! It will be a short walk, I promise."

"Well, it better be a short one, Pidge," warned the Tramp, "'cause if not, I'll take her for a walk, all right. And I'll make sure she won't forget it."

For much of their stroll, Lady was all tense on her paws. Now and then she glanced over her shoulder at the Tramp who sulked quietly in anger. No human had made any mocking comments toward his sweater when they passed by, but the three cats perched upon the fence that did had all but made him lose his temper.

Only Darling was all cheery in her walk and merry in her voice, pushing the pram with one hand and holding the two leashes with the other, as she hummed her song and greeted her acquaintances when they crossed her way. One went through the trouble to compliment the Tramp's sweater and even bothered to pat his head. The Tramp sneaked a smile behind his surly mustache, and Lady was pleasantly surprised, for the compliments seemed truthful.

They visited the zoo—or what the entrance had permitted them to see. Darling had debated with herself whether to go in but they had not removed the sign. Dogs were still not allowed. Lady nudged the Tramp with her nose and he returned a roguish wink. They left soon and Darling was a little put out, but she stopped by the hokey-pokey man for a strawberry ice cream and that drove her displeasure away.

As a final treat before they turned for home, Darling took them for a saunter along the riverbank. They stopped at a bench shaded by a merciful tree and Darling snapped the remaining of her ice cone in half, letting Lady and the Tramp enjoy the rest. They watched the ducks swim as they indulged in their dessert, and Darling rocked the pram in peace.

The Tramp almost forgot about the sweater—or rather that he took a break despising it. After all, it won him ice cream and an honest pat from a stranger. For the hours they had been outside, nothing bad or particularly unpleasant happened; nor did he see or smell those cats again. He had stopped pulling on the leash and was cheery toward Lady when they hunted for fireflies in the nearby bush. When Lady peeked at him as they sat side by side under the shade, she saw that he was smiling and his tail flapping.

"Maybe walks aren't all bad," he turned to her and said.

Lady leaned into him and they watched as the sun set ahead of them. Perhaps, Lady thought, a walk was all that was needed for the Tramp to make peace with the sweater at last.

When time came for them to leave, the sky was an orange ceiling covering the town. They hadn't been gone for too long and the hour was still reasonable enough. But Darling thought it wouldn't be a bad idea if they cut through a few streets nevertheless.

The shortcut Darling chose to follow was a long alley obscured by bushy trees rising from yards extending on both sides. Though it was well-lit and pleasantly quiet. Convenient enough for the baby, she had decided, who had just fallen asleep.

Yet, the Tramp approached it apprehensively. He knew those parts better than they did for all the reasons they would not understand.

"Is something the matter?" Lady turned to ask.

The Tramp did not answer and Darling had to strain the leash to make him walk again.

He began to paw the ground anxiously. Nose up, ears perked. He hoped, tense and nervous in his trot, that nobody was awake. Lady watched him gingerly.

For half of that long alley, the air only hummed with cricket noise. But perhaps the pram squealed too loudly. Maybe they heard the baby sneeze. The Tramp watched how pairs of eyes emerged from their dark kennels. Dogs everywhere. The note of ire and unease in his growl could not have been more certain, for they all knew of the Tramp, and the Tramp knew them all.

"Wow, wow!"

"Well, what do you know!"

"Handsome!"

"Dearie!"

"Sweetheart!"

Every dog had begun to yelp when they caught notice of the Tramp. Darling hurried her steps. Lady hugged close to her legs in terror.

"Blimey!"

"Lookit!" yelled one in particular, "It's him! It's him!"

"The Tramp!"

"The Tramp?"

"What's the jazz, sport?"

"Crack my cuspids, but how you've changed!"

"What's he wearing?"

"'S that a collar?"

"It's a leash!"

"Well, I'll be damned!"

"It's a sweater!" they all laughed.

The long alley echoed with the mocking bay of dogs. They yowled and howled and one or two of the more reckless were snapping at the Tramp through the iron bars. Darling shook with fright and the baby squirmed uneasily in his nest.

The Tramp boiled with rage and chagrin alike. His throat vibrated like a volcano of snarls ready to erupt at any moment.

Lady begged him to ignore them.

But he did not listen. The Tramp bared his teeth, all riled and ruffled like a turkey.

"The next one who laughs is gonna get the works!" he muttered a threat.

And he did hear not one but two dogs laughing, concealed behind a trash can under the only lamp post that did not shine a light. One small and one big. The Tramp glowered at them savagely. To him, they must have laughed the hardest.

"What's it, scrapper?" said one of them with a chortle, "who's rattled your cage? Did they not comb you today? Come on, give me what for! I dare you! I double-dog-dare you!"

For the Tramp, red in his eyes, had made a lunge with such strength that the leash broke in Darling's grip. There was no more laughter. The strange dogs charged forward. The Tramp took up the hunt.

"Stop!" shouted Darling, "Get back, boy!"

The alley rang of baby cries, growls and snarls and the clang of a trash can knocked aside in the confused scuffle. Nearby dogs stirred the battle with their barks and Lady could do nothing but watch and yap vainly from her slender safety the swirl of dogs clashing. Darling held her leash much tighter.

It was rush and pounce and yelp of pain, and suddenly, it was horror—horror was all that could be read on Darling's face when she saw the strange dogs who were blocking their way home pile up on top of her Tramp. Then, they did something even more terrible, and Darling all but shrieked. Torn-up buttons and pieces of fabric; they snatched and pulled on his sweater! They pulled and snatched and viciously shook it off until the sweater became a mishmash of wool and buttons in the wind's blow and the Tramp even more vicious than them. The sweater was no more.

And Darling, panic-stricken and shaking in her shoes, though she wished with all her might to find a small rock or stick or anything to save her own dog, could not bring herself to let go of the pram or Lady.

Yet, they had never stumped the Tramp. In their tumult, they had long looked to scramble away but, until the Tramp had scathed them to limping, he did not let them go. A jumble of yelps and yowls was what became of them as they faded into the night.

When it was over, not one dog was laughing or yelling or passing any teasing comments. Whispers and mutters stretched on as the alley was long. In the middle of it, the Tramp turned abruptly and growled defiantly. He had silenced them all in an instant.

He returned to Darling with the single piece of sweater he could find in the wake of his victory. Head lowered, tail drooping between his legs. When he could see her shoes, he rose and whined long and painfully. He sought forgiveness, for it was during the walk he had dreaded so much that he understood, at last, what the sweater meant to her.

Lady was all over him with worry.

Darling stooped quickly. She wasn't angry.

"My goodness!" she exclaimed as her hands searched him for bruises, "Thank heavens for your sweater. Those bad dogs didn't hurt you."

The other dogs watched from their yards in utmost stillness.

Darling wasted no time. Pram and leash held firmly, she urged him and Lady out of the alley. The Tramp led the way. They arrived home shortly.

Their lives resumed their usual course following that episode. When Darling told Jim Dear of her adventure, it led him to believe it might have very well been the scare that woke her up from her dog sweater sickness. She did not appear nearly as upset as he thought she would be; quite the contrary.

"Well, the sweater was not all bad after all," Jim Dear said, patting the Tramp on the head, "And he's a fairly good guard dog to have around."

Then it contented him to hear that she would not be buying any more dog clothes. The seamstress stopped making them, she told him. But Darling had omitted to tell him of the hats, although she knew very well Jim Dear was a dedicated hat lover, almost as dedicated as she once was. Darling confessed but only to herself that she had done it out of spite.

Lady sat by the fire and listened to them with a smile. Darling's decision contented her, too. But then the Tramp stretched in a weird manner and sighed in such way, it nearly made her wonder.

"And just when I began to like the thing," said the Tramp with a half-laugh when he came over and nestled into her.

Lady licked his ear gently. "Do you miss your sweater?" she asked him.

"No," he said quickly.

"But didn't you like walking with Darling?" Lady pretended to be sad.

"That I did," the Tramp assured her, "Almost as much as that little bit of rough and tumble with my old pals," he added with a chuckle, "I know who to call on next time she brings another thing like that."

Lady sank her teeth into his ear enough to make him yelp a reappraisal.

Short story inspired by "Lady's sweater" — deleted scene from the 1940s Lady and the Tramp story board.

Thank you for the read!