The stranger waited a moment, then inquired:
“Mr. what, Bonny-Gay? I wonder if you know my name.”
“Not your truly one, but that doesn’t matter.”
“What do you happen to call me, if you ever speak of me when I’m not here?”
The little girl hesitated an instant, then frankly answered:
“Why, just the ‘Gray Gentleman.’ ’Cause you are all gray, you see. Your hair, and your moustache, and your eyes, and your clothes, and your hat, and your gloves, and—and—things.”
“Exactly. Trust a child to find an appropriate nickname. But I like it, little one. Go on, about Max and the best thing yet.”
“That splendid dog has—saved—his—master’s life! As true as true!” cried Bonny-Gay, impressively.
“Indeed! Wonderful! How was it?”
“It was pay-day night and Mr. Weems, that’s his name, had a lot of money. And some bad men knew it. And they came, do you believe, right in the middle of that night, and broke a window in Mr. Weems’s house; and Max heard them and flew—and flew—”