“The which?” asked Curious Jim, standing astride the seat.
“Lingerie, Jim. It’s precious.”
“How about Smoke?” David turned toward Bascomb.
“I’ll fix that,” said Wallie, calling the dog to him. “Up you go, old fellow. Now, you needn’t look at me like that. Great Scott! I’m not going to sell you—only lend you to Davy.”
The dog drew back and sprang into the wagon. It was a magnificent leap and Cameron expressed his admiration earnestly.
“Whew!” he exclaimed, “he’s whalebone and steel springs, ain’t he? Wisht I owned him!”
“Well, so-long, Davy.” Bascomb held out his hand. “Oh, by the way, I suppose the reason for your advent in this community is—back in Boston wondering where you are, isn’t she?”
David laid a friendly hand on the other’s shoulder.
“Wallie,” he said, speaking low enough to be unheard by the teamster, “you mean right, and I understand it, but it was a mistake from the first. My mistake, not Bessie’s. Fortunately we found it out before it was too late.”
Bascomb was silent.