“I thought so,” says his pa, but didn't say what he thought right away. Then pretty soon he says: “Those ears have been washed since that neck has.”
“Yes, sir,” says Freckles.
“Did you do that in your sleep, too?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you always do that when you have those spells of yours?”
“Yes, sir, I always find my ears have been washed the next morning.”
“But never your neck?”
“Sometimes my neck has, and sometimes it hasn't,” said Freckles.
“Uh-huh!” says his father, and took notice of me. I wagged my tail, and hung my tongue out, and acted friendly and joyful and happy. If you want to stay on good terms with grown-up humans, you have to keep them jollied along. I wasn't supposed to be in the house at night, anyhow, but I hoped maybe it would be overlooked.
“Did you paint and dye that dog up that way?” asked Freckles's father. For of course the paint and dye they had put on me was still there.