"I can get my automobile and take you to the bank," suggested Dick.
"No, you might burst a tire, and that would cost something to fix."
Dick could hardly repress a smile at the idea of a possible injured tire standing in the way of an auto ride.
"What's that girl walking back and forth so much for in the next room?" asked Uncle Ezra suddenly.
"That's the maid, clearing away the breakfast things."
"Hum! She'll wear the carpet out," commented the old man. "I must speak to Mortimer about it. I think I'll caution her now."
He rose, to do this, but accidentally stepped on one of Grit's legs, as the animal was reposing under a chair, where Dick had sent him to get him out of the way. The dog let out a howl, and then a savage growl, and made for the man he felt had purposely injured him.
"Hold him! Catch him!" cried Uncle Ezra, as he sprang away. "Hold him, Nephew Richard!"
"Grit!" called Dick. "Come here!"
But the dog refused to mind. Growling and snarling, he ran after Uncle Ezra. The latter did not stop to speak to the maid about wearing out the carpet. Instead he kept on to the front hall, and to the entrance door, which was, fortunately, open. Down the steps, three at a time, jumped Mr. Larabee, the dog close behind him.