“I do, for one,” said Nellie Agnew.
“Me, too. He was pushed overboard by Purt, 77 and it just served Purt right that he went into the water,” Bobby declared.
The mongrel cur had swum nobly for the shore. Before Purt was dragged aboard by Art the dog was nearing his goal.
They were well above the town of Lumberport now, and the shore along here was a shelving beach. After fighting the current the dog would have been unable to drag himself out had the bank been steep.
“He’s done it!” exclaimed Liz, eagerly. “Well! I declare I’m glad.”
“Gladder than you were over Purt?” chuckled Bobby.
“Well, if you ask me,” drawled the maid-of-all-work, “I think the dog’s wuth a whole lot more than that silly feller in the green pants.”
“How horrid!” ejaculated Lily.
“Gee!” said Bobby. “Don’t you know, Lizzie, that there is only one Pretty Sweet? I don’t suppose you could find another fellow like him if you combed the zones of both hemispheres.”
“Hear! hear!” drawled Jess. “How many zones do you suppose there are, Bobs?”