"Not after this blamed dog incident. Why didn't you have an eye on the brute?"
"Why should I? It was your affair."
"Oh, well, if that's the way you feel about it, don't come with me again!" snapped Porter, who was in ill humor.
The pound of the town was in a stable back of one of the police stations, and there Dick found Grit chained up with several other dogs of much lower degree.
"Hello, old boy!" greeted the lad, and Grit nearly broke the chain to leap upon his master.
"Be careful," warned the poundkeeper. "He's got an ugly temper."
"Not when he's treated right," was the answer. "I'll take him along. Here's his collar," for Porter had handed it over before parting from Dick. "I'll take him home. To whom do I pay the ten dollars?"
"To me. Half goes to the town and the other half to the man who caused the dog to be taken in. Rumcaster is his name, or something like that. He's been here several times since the dog was brought in, asking if the fine was paid. He wants his share, Mr. Rumcaster does."
"Duncaster is my name! Duncaster!" exclaimed a rasping voice, and the man who had been so unpleasant to Dick made his appearance. "And so the dog's owner is here, is he? I guess this will be a lesson to him. Where's my five dollars?"
"Here!" exclaimed Dick suddenly stepping forward.