Billy Jr. stayed with Ned for about a week and every day they had a race, or the boys played they were firemen and harnessed Billy to their hook-and-ladder wagon and made him pull it to where they played the fire was. After a day or two, Billy thought this was too much like work; there was no fun in it for him, besides Hero would not speak to him since he had beaten him in every race they had run, so he decided to go away and look for another home.
It was three nights after this before he found a chance to slip out, as he was shut in the stable every night in one of the box stalls. This night the coachman forgot to latch the sliding door to his stall, so when the man went to supper Billy pushed it open and slipped out into the coach-house where, as luck would have it, he found the door open into the alley, and out of it he went, not stopping or turning around until he reached the stable where Hero lived. He would not have stopped here, but Hero smelled goat as he passed and barked to Billy, “Is that you, Billy Jr., out at this time of the night? You must be running away.”
“You are right, I am running away and I’m never coming back, so good-bye, Hero; when I see you again I expect you can beat me, for by that time I shall be so old that any dog can do so.”
“You impudent goat, I shall not wish you good luck after that remark.”
Billy, chancing to look back down the alley, thought he saw a boy running in his direction and, for fear it might be Ned, he hurried on and turned out of the alley into the first street he came to. He had gone but a few feet when he saw one of the boys that always played with Ned coming in his direction, so he dodged into the next alley and hid behind a garbage box until the boy had crossed out of sight, then he came out and began to look for some friendly stable that he could enter. It was beginning to storm and soon the rain came down in torrents. Vivid lightning flashes were followed by loud rumblings of thunder, and although Billy was a hardy goat, still he was deathly afraid of thunder storms. He quickened his pace, passing stable after stable, but all were closed to keep out the rain and not even a back yard gate was open so he could run in and get under a wood-shed or porch.
It grew darker and darker each moment; the lightning became more frequent and more vivid, until poor Billy was all in a tremble. Suddenly he spied an over-turned packing box lying close to a stable, with just room enough for him to squeeze in between. “Well, this is better than nothing,” he thought, so he squeezed himself in and was about to lie down when he heard a low growl, and the next flash of lightning revealed to him another occupant of the box—a little yellow dog with a stubby tail and blazing eyes.
Billy and Stubby.
WELL, what are you doing here?” said Billy.