“So you do—so you do. Well, here it is, as I must be getting on. But be careful he doesn’t snap. Can’t tell about toy dogs. They’re not hounds, you know,” and he handed first to Dorothy and she in turn handed back to Tavia, the little, silken animal that Jake had picked up on the lonely road.
Jean was piqued. She intended to conquer even Jake, and she really did like a white toy dog. First she had been obliged to go to Glenwood in the motor, when she had been all settled for the night, and wanted to wait for the morning train. Next, she sat outside with the driver and he refused her simplest request.
“It’s all because of that Dale girl,” she muttered to herself, while she smiled at Jake. “Won’t you let me drive the car a little way, please?” she asked. “I am used to motors, and I love to drive on these hard clean roads.”
Jake looked at her keenly. “I’ve no doubt but you can drive,” he replied, “but you see I’m responsible to Mrs. Pangborn, and it would be a queer story for me to tell, if anything happened, that I had let a school-girl run the big car at this hour of the night.”
Of course the front windows being down, and Jake speaking with unmistakable distinctness, everyone in the car heard the reply to Jean.
Tavia was too busy with the poor little white dog to notice. She had made a bed for him, and indeed the little thing unmistakably needed rest. He sighed and panted, then he licked the girl’s hands.
“Poor, little thing,” said Edna, “do you suppose some chauffeur dropped him, and never missed him?”
“They go so fast, over country roads at night that there is no telling what happens,” replied Tavia. “But he’s mine, or Doro’s. She has a dog so much like him at home that he may help to cheer her.”
“But won’t Jake want him?” whispered Edna.
“Jake would eat out of Doro’s hands,” answered Tavia in low tones. “Don’t you remember, last Winter, how she saved his children from that fire in the auto house? How she went up the ladder——”