“I’m so sorry,” Doris apologized, “but I’m afraid it must be Wags.”
“Wags?” Azalea asked, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes.
Doris nodded unhappily.
“He’s the cutest little brown dog you ever saw—I know you’ll just love him! Kitty and I picked him up on the road this afternoon and brought him along. We didn’t want to leave him out in the storm, so we tied him up under the porch. I don’t know what set him off like that.”
Before either of the women could reply, Wags again let out a series of savage yelps and Doris heard the sound of a man’s voice. Hastily, she pushed back her chair.
“I’ll see what is the matter,” she said, excusing herself.
Hurrying to the door, she opened it and stared straight into the face of the man who had made such a disturbance at the aviation meet! Wags, still securely tied under the porch, had taken exception to the appearance of the stranger and continued to bark excitedly.
“Be quiet, Wags!” Doris commanded.
“So that’s your mutt, eh?” the stranger asked unpleasantly. “Vicious dogs shouldn’t be at large!”
Doris stifled a sharp retort. Now that she saw the man at close range she was more unfavorably impressed than before. He was dressed in a new suit of loud pattern, and carried a cane. His face was hard and cold and his eyes had an unpleasant way of boring into one.