“You ought to call him Robinson Crusoe—Crusoe was wrecked on an island, you know,” suggested Hal.
“Or ‘Bob’ for short,” cried Ned, the idea appealing to him. “All right—you name him and I’ll have him.”
“I suppose so,” admitted Hal, ruefully.
When they parted at the street corner, the dog hesitated, uncertain which to accompany.
“Come on, Bob,” called Ned.
And Bob, quickly deciding, followed him.