"Do wait a minute, Pop," said Junior. The lame boy evidently was used to being indulged, and he saw no reason for leaving Nan abruptly. "See the dog. See Buster, will you? Why, he's just in love with this girl."
"I tell you to come on!" complained Mr. Bulson, Senior. He was really a slave to the crippled boy's whims; but he disliked being near Nan Sherwood, or seeing Junior so friendly with her. "You can't know that girl, if the dog does," he snarled.
"Why, yes I can, Pop," said the lame boy, with cheerful insistence. "And
I want to hear about her being snowed up in a train with Buster."
"Your father can tell you all about it," Nan said, kindly, not wishing to make Mr. Bulson any angrier. "He was there in the snowed-up train, too. That's how I came to be acquainted with your little dog. He was with your father on the train."
"Why, Pop!" cried the eager boy. "You never told me a word about it. And you must know this girl."
Mr. Ravell Bulson only grunted and scowled.
"What's your name, girl?" cried the boy, curiously.
"I am Nan Sherwood," the girl said, kissing him and then giving him a gentle push toward his father's outstretched and impatient hand. "If I don't see you again I shall often think of you. Be good to Buster."
"You must tell me about being snowed up, Pop," urged little Junior, as
Nan turned away. "And I like that girl."
"That isn't much to tell—and I don't like her—nor any of her name," snapped Mr. Bulson.