"The dandiest dawg that ever stood on four legs," answered Link, afire with the zeal of ownership. "Why, that dawg of mine c'n—"
"What breed is he?" asked the postmaster, not interested in the dawning rhapsody.
"Oh—breed?" repeated Link. "Why, I don't rightly know. Some kind of a bird dawg, I guess. Yes. A bird dawg. But he's sure the grandest—"
"Is he the dog you had down here, one day last month?" asked the postmaster, with a gleam of recollection.
"Yep. That's him," assented Link. "Only dawg I've got. Only dawg I ever had. Only dawg I ever want to have. He's—"
But the postmaster was not attending. His time was limited. So, taking out a fountain pen, he had begun to scribble on the blank. Filling in Link's name and address, he wrote, in the "breed and sex" spaces, the words, "Scotch collie, sable-and-white, male."
"Name?" he queried, breaking in on Ferris's rambling eulogy.
"Huh?" asked the surprised Link, adding: "Oh, his name, hey? I call him 'Chum.' You see, that dawg's more like a chum to me than—"
"No use asking about his pedigree, I suppose," resumed the postmaster, "I mean who his parents were and—"
"Nope," said Link. "I—I found him. His leg was—"