“’Cause that’s my father’s name.”
By this time Tim had released his hold of Tip’s neck, and the dog walked around Sam on a sort of smelling tour, very much to the boy’s discomfort.
“Don’t be afraid,” said Tim, “he won’t bite you. He’s the best and quietest dog in the world if you only let him alone.”
“I’ll let him alone,” replied Sam, still in doubt as to Tip’s good intentions. “I’ll let him alone, an’ I wish he’d let me alone.”
“He’s only kinder gettin’ acquainted, that’s all. Say, do you s’pose your father would let me sleep in his barn to-night?”
“I dunno. What do you want to for?”
“’Cause I ain’t got any other place.”
If Sam hadn’t been so fat he would probably have started in surprise; but as it was he expressed his astonishment by a kind of grunt, and, going nearer to Tim, he asked, “Where do you live?”
“Nowhere. Me an’ Tip are tryin’ to find some place where we can earn our own livin’,” replied Tim, in doubt as to whether he ought to tell this boy his whole story or not.
“Ain’t you got any father or mother?”