“Now what have you got on your mind, No. 8?” Sam asked, quick to note the change on the boy’s face.
“I was wondering—I thought—I don’t suppose you’d want to take Fluff, Mr. Hardy. He’s been in a boat very often, and knows how to behave himself.”
“Afraid Maje will make trouble if you leave him behind?”
“No, sir, it wasn’t that; but you see he won’t have many chances to go away from the station, and I want him to show his collar and medal whenever it’s possible. He had a bath yesterday, and is as clean as a whistle.”
“There’s no reason why he shouldn’t go, an’ I’m not certain but Mr. Bradford would like to see him rigged out in his finery.”
Benny no longer gave any heed to his breakfast, but spent all the remaining time in combing Fluff’s silken hair, and when Sam Hardy announced that he was ready to start, the dog was looking his best, with the medal hanging in the most conspicuous position.
“He’s looking a good deal finer than you are, No. 8,” Joe Cushing said with a laugh. “That gorgeous collar don’t correspond with your old pea-jacket and sou’-wester.”
“It don’t make any difference about me, so long as he’s the way Mrs. Clark always wanted to see him,” Benny replied, choking back a sob as his mind thus involuntarily went into the past. “Folks wouldn’t notice a boy like me, but they always stare when Fluff walks along looking like everything belonged to him.”
“Wait till you’re togged out in a uniform, No. 8, and then I’ll answer for it you get as much attention from the people as does Fluff. I’m going into town with you then, and what a dash we’ll cut!”
Joe Cushing laughed in anticipation of that moment, and while he was thus amused Sam beckoned Benny to follow him.