“That is the question I was about to ask you,” replied the dog.
“I came in to get out of the rain because all the other places were shut,” said Billy Jr.
“And I came here because I live here. This is the only home I know,” answered the dog.
“Oh, if that is the case I will be going, as I do not wish to intrude.”
“You are perfectly welcome to stay and share the shelter of my home, poor as it is,” said the dog, whose name was Stubby.
“You are exceedingly kind,” replied Billy. “I will gladly stay if only for your company. I hate being out alone in a thunder storm.”
After this they became very well acquainted and prolonged their talk far into the night, exchanging confidences and experiences.
As you all know Billy’s history, I will not repeat what he told the dog, but will confine myself to the sad story of Stubby’s life.
Stubby was undoubtedly of common parentage with not a drop of blue blood in his veins, but he had plenty of good red blood, so he did not care, only he often thought it would be very nice to be petted and fed as thoroughbreds were. This wish, however, only came on days when he had nothing to eat but a piece of mouldy bread from the garbage box and nothing to drink but water out of a mud puddle. On other days he would not exchange his lot for that of a King Charles lying on a satin cushion on my lady’s lap, for what did the King Charles know of real life or freedom, shut up in my lady’s boudoir, or taken for a walk at the end of a silver chain?