“I guess I’d better tie him up,” said Leroy. “He doesn’t like Mr. Anderson.”
“Why, how very strange!” Mrs. Granger exclaimed.
Leroy did tie him up to the leg of a table.
“But why doesn’t the poor little doggie like Mr. Anderson?” pursued Mrs. Granger, and there was something in her voice that dismayed the young man.
“I don’t know,” he replied, briefly.
“It’s very strange,” she remarked. “Very! But sit down, Mr. Anderson. Perhaps you were just a little bit rough in handling him—without meaning to be.”
“No, he wasn’t!” Leroy asserted, indignantly. “He—”
At this point the dog broke loose, flew at Anderson, and would have bitten him if Anderson had not prevented him—with his foot.
“Oh!” cried Mrs. Granger. “Oh, Mr. Anderson, how could you! You kicked the poor little doggie!”
“I—I simply pushed him—with my foot,” said Anderson. “He’s a bad-tempered little brute.”