“You needn’t call me sir,” replied the young man; “my name is Reordan.”
“You don’t intend to have the kid eat all that stuff, do you, Reordan?” asked one of the other firemen.
“Why, he hasn’t eaten anything since morning, and this such a cold day,” replied Reordan.
“That’s no reason why you should kill him. He ought to come around to it gradually. That’s the way they do when people are starved.”
So the boy was given another sandwich followed by a glass of milk, and the firemen and Jack made a lunch off the rest. Then a bed was made up for the boy in a snug corner, and he was covered with plenty of warm clothing. He was so comfortable, from the warm air of the room and the hearty meal, that it was not many minutes before he was in a deep sleep. The Fire-Dog seated himself near by and watched him earnestly.
“I’d give a good deal to know what Jack is thinking about,” said one of the men.
“He’s probably thinking over what’s best to do for the kid, and will settle it in his mind before he goes to bed himself,” replied Reordan.
Jack responded by an appreciative glance and a wag of his tail, that said as plainly as words could have done,—
“That is just it!”