“Woof! Woof!” said an ingratiating voice near him, and there was the dog. He was of no special breed, just a lost-dog breed of mongrel, but he had the look in his eye that means a dog will do anything in the world for you if he loves you.
“Sit up and beg, old fellow,” commanded Wendell, and the dog sat up with an excited little bark.
“Heel,” ordered Wendell, who had no time to lose, and the two chased excitedly through the streets to the Common, and there, to Wendell’s relief, waited the impatient boy with his aeroplane.
“Here he is,” said Wendell. “Here’s your trick dog.”
The freckle-faced boy looked him over critically.
“He ain’t much to look at,” he said.
“Well,” said Wendell, “you didn’t say you wanted him to take a prize in a beauty contest. You asked for a trick dog.”
“What can he do?” asked the boy.
“You just try him,” said Wendell.
“Dead dog!” said the freckle-faced boy.