"Hello, yourself," I said, stopping and edging toward the stone.
"Where do you think you are going?"
"North Adams."
"What for?"
"Oh, just for fun."
"Huh!" said he. "Ain't the trains runnin'?"
"I've got something that's better than trains. It's legs."
"What's the uniform for?"
"Anything the matter?" I asked, after I had told him that I was a Boy Scout, for I could see that he was feeling badly about something.
"It's my dog," he told me, rubbing his sleeve across his eyes. "Somebody broke his leg with a stone and I've got to kill him. He's all I have."