‘No, did you really?’ said the boy. ‘I thought it was Mr. Trotteville that was the brains of the party. Coo, I’d like to meet him! Do you think he’d give me his autograph?’
The children stared at him, thinking that Fatty must indeed be famous if telegraph-boys wanted his autograph.
‘That was a dud telegram you brought,’ said Larry. ‘A fake, a joke. Did you fake it?’
‘Me fake it! Coo, I’d lose my job!’ said the telegraph-boy. ‘Look here, when’s this famous friend of yours coming? I want to meet him, but I can’t wait here all day. I’ve got to get back to the P.O.’
‘Well, the post-office can wait a minute or two, I should think, said Pip, who felt that none of them had got very much information out of the telegraph- boy, and was hoping that perhaps Fatty might.
A small dog rounded the corner, and Bets gave a yell. ‘Buster! Come on, Buster! Where’s Fatty? Tell him to hurry.’
Everyone thought that Fatty would come round the corner too, but he didn’t. Buster trotted on towards them alone. He didn’t growl at the telegraph-boy. He gave him a lick and then sat down beside him on the kerb, turning adoring eyes up to him.
Bets was most astonished. She had never seen Buster adoring any one but Fatty in that way. She stared at the little black dog, surprised. What should make him like the telegraph-boy so much?
Then she gave a loud squeal and pounced on the telegraph-boy so suddenly that he jumped.
‘Fatty!’ she said. ‘Oh, Fatty! What idiots we are! FATTY!’