We wrote our triumph to our Uncle Peter and asked him to send us the fifty dollars.
Our Uncle Peter came instead in an automobile and took Tiger Lily and Carol and me to the city.
"Of course he isn't exactly a 'little dog,'" we admitted. "But at least he's a dog! And at least he 'can't sleep'!"
"Well—I wonder," said our Uncle Peter. He seemed very pleased to wonder about it. He twisted his head on one side and looked at Tiger Lily. "What do you mean,—'doesn't sleep'?" he said.
Because my brother Carol is dumb and never talks I always have to do the explaining. It was easy to explain about Tiger Lily.
"Why when you're in bed and fast asleep," I explained, "he comes and puts his nose in your neck! It feels wet! It's full of sighs and a cool breeze! It makes you jump and want your Mother!—All the rest of the time at night he's roaming! And prowling! And s'ploring!—Up the front stairs and down the back—and up the front and down the back!—Every window he comes to he stops and listens! And listens!—His toe-nails have never been cut!—It sounds lonely!"
"What does he seem to be listening for?" said our Uncle Peter.
"Listening for gun-bangs," I explained.
"O—h," said our Uncle Peter.
The city was full of noises like gun-bangs. It made Tiger Lily very nervous. He tried to get under everything. It took us most all the afternoon to get him out.