“You haven’t told us what you’ve got to go back to the cavern for,” Mr. Havens reminded him.
“Well,” Terry began, dropping his glance to the ground, “the fact of the matter is that I left a—a—a—dog fastened up in a hole in the wall back there, and he’ll starve to death if I don’t go back.”
“What’d you go and do that for?” demanded Jimmie. “Why didn’t you let him out before you came away?”
“When we came away,” Terry replied with a ferocious wink, “we wasn’t thinking about dogs packed away in holes in the walls! I was fuller than a goat, anyway, and I wouldn’t have thought of—of—this dog if I’d been walking away under a peaceful summer sky with no danger in sight.”
“Perhaps the fellows we left on the shelf will find the dog and feed him,” suggested Mr. Havens.
“No, they won’t find him!” declared Terry. “When I hide a dog, they don’t everybody come along and find him!”
“If you fellows’ll fix up a nice breakfast for the dog and take me up in the machine, I’ll go and feed him!”
“What should you say this imprisoned animal would like for breakfast?” asked Jimmie.
“Well,” Terry went on with another elaborate wink, “I have an idea this dog would like some broiled ham, and some fried eggs, and some German potatoes, and some bread and butter, and a quart or two of coffee. You see,” he went on, “this dog didn’t have any supper last night, on account of my getting a skate on, and he hasn’t had any breakfast this morning because I eloped from the whiskey den last night, and he’ll be pretty hungry.”
Jimmie caught the crook by the arm and led him away to the other side of the fire, winking in the direction of the others as he did so.