Part 10 (2/2)

He saw Purt with the dog dancing about him.

”Here! this is no place for a circus. You and your dog get out!”

commanded the officer of the law. ”Move on!”

He flourished his baton; the horrified Purt made off around the nearest corner; the dog stuck like a porous plaster.

”If I only had a club!” groaned Purt.

He escaped the crowd and sat down upon a dwelling house stoop. At once that imbecile dog rushed upon him, leaped into his lap, and lapped Purt's face!

”Get out! You nawsty, nawsty brute you!” wailed the dude, beating the dog off weakly.

The latter considered it all in the game. He had taken a decided liking to the boy from Central High, and nothing would drive him away.

Purt had never really cared for dogs. Most boys are tickled enough to get a dog--even a mongrel like this one. But the dude found himself with a possession for which he had never longed.

The dog lay down on the walk in front of him, his tongue hanging on his breast like an inflammatory necktie, and laughing as broadly as a dog _could_ laugh. He evidently admired Purt greatly. Whether it was the Lincoln green suit, or the tam-o'-shanter cap, or the dude's personal pulchritude, which most attracted his doggish soul, it was hard to say.

Suddenly a window went up behind Purt and a lady put out her head.

”Little boy! Little boy!” she called, shrilly. ”I wish you'd take your dog away from here. I want to let my cat out, and dogs make her so nervous.”

”It isn't my dog--weally it isn't!” exclaimed Purt, jumping up.

Immediately the dog leaped about, barking fit to split his throat.

”You naughty boy!” gasped the lady in the window. ”I have seen you with that dog go past here hundreds of times!” and she immediately slammed down the sash before Purt could further defend himself.

However the lady could have made the mistake of thinking she had seen Purt before, is not easily explained. Perhaps she was very near sighted.

The Central High dude ”moved on,” with the mongrel frisking about him.

Purt heartily wished the animal would have a sunstroke (for it was high noon now, and very warm) or would be taken with an apoplectic stroke, or some other sudden complaint!

Purt wanted to get back to Main Street and rejoin the girls; but he knew it would be no use in trying that unless he could ”shake” the dog. The girls (especially Lily Pendleton, whom he so much admired) would not stand for that mongrel brute following in their train.

So, finding that the dog was fastened to him like a new Old Man of the Sea, Prettyman Sweet decided to sneak back to the dock, by the way of back streets, and escape the beast by going aboard the _d.u.c.h.ess_.

He set off, therefore, through several byways, coming out at last on a water-front street of more prominence. Here were stores and tenements.

The gutters were crowded with noisy children, and the street with traffic.

A fat butcher stood before his shop, with his thumbs in the string of his ap.r.o.n. When he spied Purt and his close companion, he gave vent to an exclamation of satisfaction and reached for the Central High boy with a mighty hand.

”Here!” he said, hoa.r.s.ely, his fat face growing scarlet on the instant. ”I been waiting for you.”

”Waiting for me, Mister?” gasped Purt. ”Weally--that cawn't be, doncher know! I never came this way before.”

”No, ye smart Ike! But yer dog has,” growled the man, giving Prettyman a shake that seemed to start every tooth in his head.

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