“He got into the basin where I mixed it.”
My visitor picked up the dish of soft Sal, and held it near the light for examination.
“Godfrey Cordial!” he remarked, “it's an awful-lookin' mess! What do you call it?”
“Sal,” I answered.
“Sal!” he exclaimed. “I'm sorry that you an' Sal ever lit in my family tree. You're a fine pair o' birds.”
I explained to him that the hired man had promised to take the puppy out-of-doors, but had forgotten to do so, and he left me.
I went to breakfast soon after daylight in the morning. When I returned to my room the Sal was gone. Some one had carried the bowl away with its contents. I went below to look for the proprietor. I found him shovelling dirt in the garden.
“Somebody took my polish,” I said to him, as pleasantly as possible.
“Yes, an' I'm about to bury it an' the dog, too.”
“Is the dog dead?” I asked, with a pang of regret.