Then he paused. The silken head under his hand shifted, and the cold little nose again nuzzled his palm.
“If you ain’t buyin’,” retorted the farm-hand, “give him back to me, and I’ll take him to where I c’n git an offer on him.”
He snatched the rope before the tired-looking man was aware of the intention. But Buff was aware of it—well aware of it. As the rough fingers grabbed at his collar, the youngster growled fiercely and launched himself at the tyrant.
“Good!” applauded the stranger, catching the angry puppy in mid-air and holding him under one arm. “He’s got pluck! That means you haven’t had him long. If you had, you’d have cowed or killed him, or made him mean and savage. He’s thoroughbred, too. What do you want for him? If the price is fair, I’ll buy. If it isn’t, I’ll carry him to the nearest police-station. Which is it to be?”
Out of a volley of indignant denial, punctuated by such stock phrases as, “I’m an honest man!” and the like, came at last the grunted words:
“Thutty dollars. He’s wuth a sight more. But he b’longs to my boy, and we’re movin’, so I gotta sell him, an——”
“Here’s the cash,” interrupted the stranger, taking out some greasy notes. “But, next time you steal a dog of this kind, just remember that thirty dollars is a fool’s offer. It proves the dog is stolen. There’s no use asking whom you stole him from. If there were, I might be able to return him. I had no idea of cluttering my life with anything again—even with a dog. But if I don’t, you’ll maltreat him. And he’s too good for that. There are easier ways, you know, of showing how much inferior you are to a dog, than by kicking him.”
The stranger was doling out bill after bill from his thin roll. Finishing, he stuck the rest of his money back into his pocket, picked up Buff, and started for his car. Midway, he hesitated; and looked back at the gaping and muttering farm-hand.
“By the way,” he said carelessly, “think twice before you steal again. Not for the sake of your alleged soul, but because it’s liable to land you in a cell. Nothing is valuable enough to steal. A cell isn’t a pleasant place to live in, either. I know,” he added as an afterthought, “because I’ve just come out of one.”