The dog, in seizing the cake, had taken Joel's thumb as well.
“Let go there,” cried Joel; “well, you can't swallow my thumb,” as the cake disappeared in one lump; and he gave a sigh for the plums with which Mamsie always liberally supplied the school cakes, now disappearing so fast, as much as for the nip he had received.
The dog turned his black, beady eyes sharply for more cake. When he saw that it wasn't coming, he licked Joel's thumb; and in his cramped quarters on top of a heap of shoes and various other things not exactly classified, he tried hard to wag his stump of a tail.
“Whickets! there goes that bell! Now see here, don't you dare to stir for your life! You've got to stay in this closet till to-morrow—then I'll see what to do for you. Lie down, I tell you.”
There was a small scuffle; and then the dog, realizing here was a master, curled himself on top of some tennis shoes, and looked as if he held his breath.
“All right,” said Joel, with an approving pat. “Now don't you yip, even if Dave opens this door.” Then he shut it carefully, and rushed off down to the long dining-room to the crowd of boys.
Joel ate his supper as rapidly as possible, lost to the chatter going on around him. He imagined, in his feverishness, that he heard faint “yaps” every now and then; and he almost expected to see everybody lay down knife and fork.
“What's the matter with you?” He was aroused by seeing the boy next to him lean forward to peer into his face. And in a minute he was conscious that on the other side he was just as much of an object of attention. He buried his face in his glass of milk; but when he took it out, they were staring still the same.
“Ugh! stop your looking at me,” growled Joel.
“What's the matter with you, anyway?” asked the other boy.