“I didn’t license him,” expounded Link, “and he ain’t a mutt. If that’s all you’ve stopped your trav’lin’ m’nagerie at my lane for, you can move it on as quick as you’re a mind to.”
He bent over his work again. But Eben Shunk did not take the hint.
“’Cordin’ to the laws an’ statoots of the Borough of Hampton, county of P’saic, state of Noo Jersey,” proclaimed the dog catcher with much dignity, “it’s my perk’s’t an’ dooty to impound each an’ every unlicensed dog found in the borough limits.”
“Well,” assented Link, “go on and impound ’em, then. Only don’t pester me about it. I’m not int’rested. S’pose you get that old bag of bones to haul your rattletrap junk cart somewheres else! I’m busy.”
"Bein’ a smarty won’t get you nowheres!" declared Shunk. “If your dog ain’t licensed, it’s my dooty to impound him. He—”
“Here!” snapped Link. “You got your answer on that when you tackled my wife about it down to her father’s store last week. She told me all about it. You came a-blusterin’ in there while she was buyin’ some goods and while Chum was standin’ peaceful beside her. You said if he wasn’t licensed he’d be put in pound. And if it hadn’t been for her dad and the clerk throwin’ you out of the store, you’d ’a’ grabbed him, then and there. She told you, then, that we pay the state and county tax on the dog and that the law doesn’t compel us to pay any other tax or any license fee for him. If your borough council wanted to get some easy graft by passing an ordinance for ev’ry res’dent of Hampton Borough to pay one dollar a year license fees on their dogs—well, that’s their business. It’s not mine. My home’s not in the borough and—”
"Some says it is an’ some says it ain’t," interrupted Shunk. “The south bound’ry of the borough was shifted, by law, last month. An’ the line takes in more’n a half-acre of your south woodlot. So you’re a res’d’nt of—”
"I don’t live in my south woodlot," contradicted Link, “nor yet within half a mile of it. I—”
“That’s for the courts to d’cide,” said Shunk. “Pers’n’lly, I hold you’re a borough res’d’nt. An’ since you ain’t paid your fee, your dog is forf’t to—”
“I see!” put in Ferris. “You’ll grab the dog and you’ll get your dirty dollar fee from the borough treasury. Then if the law decides my home is out of the borough, you’ll still have your money. You’re a clever man, Shunk.”