“Marian will be worried to death,” said Grandma, with an air of consternation.
“Of course she will,” assented Patty, cheerfully, “but that isn’t the worst of it. The thing is, what are we to do with him now? You know they don’t allow dogs on the train.”
“I never thought of that,” said Grandma, helplessly; “will he have to go in the baggage-car?”
“There isn’t any baggage-car on this train. We’ll either have to throw him out of the window or hide him.”
“All right; we’ll hide him,” and Grandma coaxed Brownie to jump up into her lap. Then she pulled her travelling-cloak over him, until he was entirely concealed from view.
But the inquisitive conductor insisted on knowing what had become of the dog that followed these particular ladies on the train.
“He’s here,” exclaimed Grandma, throwing open her cloak and showing the quivering animal.
“He must be put off,” said the conductor, sternly; “we do not want dogs on the train.”
“All right,” said Patty, cheerfully; “neither do we. And the sooner you put him off, and us with him, the better it will be all around. For you see, Grandma,” she went on, “we’ve got to take Brownie back to Vernondale. Marian will have four thousand fits if we don’t, and, besides, we couldn’t possibly take him to The Wilberforce.”
Grandma said nothing; the emergency was too much for her to cope with, and she was glad to depend on Patty’s advice.