"Foolishness, all foolishness!" snorted Mr. Larabee, feeling in his pocket to make sure he had the sandwiches. "You had better think twice about wasting money on that touring car, too, Nephew Richard. Don't take it—take the money and invest it."
"I would rather have the car, Uncle Ezra. Remember me to Aunt Samanthy."
"Um!" mumbled Mr. Larabee, as he walked off in the direction of the railroad. A trolley car was coming, and it was quite a distance to the station, but he did not signal for it to stop.
"He's happy," mused Dick. "He didn't have to pay for his lunch, he got his supper for nothing, and he's saving a nickel carfare. Oh, he's happy all right. But, excuse me!"
Just then Grit, who had been released from his kennel near the stable, came rushing out to meet his master. Then the dog caught sight of the vanishing figure of Uncle Ezra, and with a growl sprang in that direction.
"Here! Come back, Grit!" yelled Dick. "Come back!"
The bulldog paused. Mr. Larabee looked back. The temptation was too much for the animal. He made another rush.
"Call him back! Call him back!" yelled Mr. Larabee, breaking into a run. "If he bites me, Nephew Richard, I'll sue your father for damages! Call him back!"
"Grit!" called the cadet, and the dog knew the consequences of disobeying that voice. Reluctantly he turned, but he sent menacing growls and barks in the direction of his traditional enemy. Mr. Larabee was still running as Dick turned back toward the parade ground, with Grit following reluctantly.
"Grit, have you no manners?" asked Dick, but he could not help smiling. The dog wagged his tail, as though answering that he had not, and was glad of it.