“Come back!” he called after her.
“Sha’n’t!” declared Dot, who could be stubborn when she wanted to be.
“Say! that man won’t listen to you,” insisted Sammy.
Dot kept right on. The man had halted, and was clinging to a tree box, his head hanging down. His face was very much flushed and his eyes were glassy.
“But I s’pose,” thought Dot, “if I was carrying a brick in my hat it would make me sick, too.”
“Mister!” she said to the man, stopping in the gutter and looking up at him.
“Huh? What’s matter?” asked the man. His head jerked up and he looked all around to see who had spoken to him.
“Mister,” said Dot, earnestly, “I—I hope you’ll ‘scuse me, but there’s a brick in your hat. Sammy Pinkney says so. And I think if you take it out you’ll feel ever so much better.”
Sammy heard her. He actually grew pale, and, casting a startled glance around him, he ran. He ran all the way home, for he could not imagine what the man would say or do to Dot. Sammy was not a very brave boy.
The unfortunate man looked down at Dot, finally having discovered her whereabouts, with preternatural gravity.