Bill's hands came out of his pockets all in a hurry. Like all people who have anything to conceal, he felt as if everybody must guess his guilty secret.
"Hullo!" said the artist. "I should come through feet first next time, if I were you. Where's all chair? Wouldn't they give it you?"
Bill was one of those unscrupulous people who are never at loss for an answer.
"Dog's got loose," said he.
"Ah!" said the artist, glancing uncomfortably at the gap through which Bill had just come. Where a boy could get through, a dog could also. "A savage brute, is he?" asked he.
"Well, rather," admitted Bill. "I'd sooner you met him than me," he added, feeling his injured eyebrow tenderly. "I ran agen' the shed, I did."
"He isn't likely to come through after you?" asked the artist, still with an uneasy eye on the gap.
Bill shook his head.
"Couldn't say for positive," answered he. "Dogs is wonderful keen. But I could go round to the front and tell 'em to chain him up."
"Do so," said the artist promptly.