But just then Purt felt something at his heels and turned swiftly. One of the homeliest mongrel curs ever seen was sniffing at Purt’s green stockings.
“Get out, you brute!” gasped the dude, rather frightened.
But the dog didn’t seem to have any designs upon Purt’s thin shanks. Instead, he jumped about, foolishly stiff-legged as a dog will when he thinks he has found a friend, and barked.
“Gee! he’s glad to see you,” said Bobby. “Where’d you find him, Purt?”
“Weally!” declared the dude, trying to shoo the dog off. “I—I never did see the horrid brute before—I never did.”
“Don’t call him names. You’ll hurt his feelings,” suggested one of the Lockwood twins, while Laura said, seriously: “That dog certainly does know you, Mr. Sweet.”
“I declare, I never saw him before,” said Purt, making frantic efforts to frighten the dog away.
He was a snarly haired dog, with one ear cocked up and the other half chewed off, his coat muddied, only half a tail, which he wiggled ecstatically, and the most foolish looking face that was ever given to a dog. 60
“Did you ever see such a looking thing?” gasped Bobby, half choked with laughter.
“And how well he matches Purt’s suit,” said Nellie, demurely.