II. The Policeman’s Story
“Good morning, Mr. Burke,” I said, for I knew the officer’s name. “Will you tell me about the little dog?”
“Why,” answered the policeman with a smile, “don’t you know about Cheesey? Come here, Cheesey, the lady wants to see you!”
Cheesey looked up at the speaker and wagged his tail.
“Cheesey was born on Race Street pier,” went on the policeman. “Nobody knows how he got his living after his mother died; but one thing is sure, he was not treated very kindly by the men who loaded the boats and swept the wharves. To this day Cheesey growls at the sight of one of those men.
“After a while Cheesey found a little playmate, but the playmate was run over by a fire engine. All night long Cheesey lay in the spot where his little mate had been killed.
“Weary and lonely and hungry, he crept back to the old cheerless corner of Race Street pier, which was the only place he knew as home.
“There he lay with his head on his paws, not noticing anything until one of the men kicked him out of the way.
“Cheesey ran out of the pier and down Delaware Avenue, not knowing where he was going; but he went just the right way, for he ran into Officer Weigner, one of the four of us who watch this crossing.
“He spoke kindly to the little fellow, and gave him something to eat.
“From that time, Cheesey seemed to think he belonged to the policemen on this crossing. Then we gave him his name.”