“Please, sir, I want Lola's little brown dog. He's all the dog she has, and she earns money with him. He does funny tricks for ten cents.”
“How do you think I know whether I've got a brown dog in there or not?” growled he. “You'd better run home to your mothers, both of you.”
At this Lola began to cry again, and Dicky said quickly:&&
“Oh, you 'd know him soon as anything,—he has such a cunning curly tail and long silky ears. His name is Bruno.”
“Well,” snapped the man, “where's your money? Hurry up! I want my breakfast.”
“Money!” cried Dicky, looking at Lola.
“Money!” whispered little Lola, looking back at Dicky.
“Yes,” said he, “of course! Give me a dollar and I will give you the dog.”
“But,” answered Lola, “I haven't a bit of money; I never have any.”
“Neither have”—began Dicky; and then his fingers crept into his trousers pocket and felt the two silver half-dollars that were to buy his tool-box. He had forgotten all about that tool-box for an hour, but how could he—how could he ever give away that precious money which he had been so long in getting together, five cents at a time? He remembered the sharp little saw, the stout hammer, the cunning plane, bright chisel, and shining screw-driver, and his fingers closed round the money tightly; but just then he looked at pretty little Lola, with her sad face, her swollen eyes and the brave red lips she was trying to keep from quivering with tears. That was enough; he quickly drew out the silver dollar, and said to the pound-man:&&