The Barker Street Regulars

fact, they still haven’t graduated. I persist nonetheless. After all, everyone assures me that I can do anything with dogs. I can’t, of course. For instance, I can’t keep the dead alive. With Vinnie, I no longer try as I once did.
    Rowdy now has his Rx.D. title. We continue to visit the Gateway. We have lost a few of our people. We have gained a few. One is a woman who speaks to no one except Rowdy. Another is a man who used to run a dog team in Alaska. We see Helen Musgrave now and then when she isn’t bustling to or from her activities. She has a new roommate, a woman who is afraid of dogs. Helen does not miss Althea. She doesn’t remember her. Every time Rowdy and I visit the Gateway, I miss our visits with Althea. We still enjoy her company, of course. Now, we see her at home. The celebration at Ceci’s was a homecoming of sorts. Althea has moved. When we visit, we sometimes find her in her own private room, which is on the ground floor and was originally her brother-in-law’s library. The bookshelves that line the walls hold the late Ellis Love’s collection as well as Althea’s own volumes and the bits of Sherlockiana she kept at her bedside at the Gateway. On chilly days, however, Althea sometimes sits beneath the portrait of Lord Saint Simon to enjoy the warmth of a cozy fire.
    And speaking of fires, kindled by Hugh and Robert, my own interest in the Master is blazing. I have even been invited to present a paper at the Red-headed League of Boston. The paper isn’t finished yet, but I am working on it. The evidence is overwhelming. Let me summarize for you the detailed presentation I made to Althea one sunny April morning as she and Rowdy and
    I sat among the potted palms in the alcove, which Ceci has thoughtfully rearranged to accommodate her sister’s wheelchair.
    So here’s the gist: In “The Resident Patient,” Holmes says to Watson, “What would you say to a ramble through London?” And this is how Watson describes his walk with his Master: I was weary of our little sitting-room and gladly acquiesced. For three hours we strolled about together.... His characteristic talk, with its keen observance of detail and subtle powers of inference, held me amused and enthralled. The walk together? Master and...? For three hours, during which Watson, instead of getting bored or irritated the way a person would, remains amused and enthralled in the manner of a...? Or let me quote Holmes to Watson. Off on a little adventure, Holmes says to his loyal companion, “ There is no prospect of danger, or I should not dream of stirring without you.” Then there’s Watson’s unusually keen sense of smell. “The Devil’s Foot”? And in that same adventure, his declaration that helping the Master is his greatest joy and privilege. The clues are everywhere. In “The Illustrious Client,” Watson comes close to spilling the truth. By long experience, he informs us, I had learned the wisdom of obedience. And the telegram that Holmes sends to Watson in “The Creeping Man”? Come at once if convenient—if inconvenient come ail the same. From whom does Holmes demand a reliable recall, for heaven’s sake? From a woman? Surely not. And look at the dialogue! In “The Naval Treaty,” Holmes says, “ Come along, Watson. ” The response? The telling response? A human, “Oh, no, I don’t feel like it”? Of course not. What the loyal Watson replies is, “Where are we going now?” I know that response perfectly. I get it every time I pick up a leash. I know that eagerness to accompany me, that enthrallment with my every word, that attitude of unconditional loyalty. I virtually speak the words Holmes spoke: “Rowdy, come! Kimi, come!” Except, of course, that Holmes doesn’t call Rowdy or Kimi. No, no. He calls his own Best Friend: ” Come, Watson, come! The game is afoot.”
    That bull pup that appears in “A Study in Scarlet” and never again? “I keep a bull pup,” Watson tells Holmes. Watson keeps a bull pup? He assuredly does. He keeps that pup well hidden between the lines of every adventure. Watson was a woman ? Certainly not!
    When I had finished my presentation, Althea nodded solemnly. “When you have eliminated the impossible,” she quoted, “whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” And the truth is...? Watson was the bull pup! Elementary? “Indeed,” agreed Althea, “Watson assuredly was a dog.”
     

About the Author
     
    Susan Conant, three-time recipient of