She opened it slowly and spelled out carefully: “G-r-i-t.”
“Ho, Grit, that is my choice!” shouted Natalie, clapping her hands. As if the dog was pleased with his name, he jumped around madly and barked shrilly.
“He seems to like his name,” said Janet, laughing at the way the animal tried to lick Natalie’s face.
“Maybe it sounds something like his real one,” suggested Mrs. James.
“Wall, whatever it is, I says he oughter have a pan of water to drink. Affer all dis excitement he needs refreshin’,” remarked Rachel, going to the kitchen and calling the dog to follow her.
He went obediently, and just as the girls began to plan the sign, and what to write thereon, the gate clicked. Mrs. James leaned over the piazza rail to see who was coming in, and saw a short, fat, colored youth of about eighteen, approaching.
“It must be Sam,—Rachel’s nephew,” whispered Mrs. James.
The expected chauffeur saw the party on the piazza and removed his cap politely, but his face expressed trouble, and he sighed as he stopped at the foot of the steps.
“You are Sam, aren’t you?” began Mrs. James.