“Oh, Amarilla,” I said earnestly, “do come with me. If you don’t, I shall go home and dream of your misery, and cry in my sleep.”
That touched her a little, for she always was an unselfish little doggie. “Do come,” I begged.
For a few minutes she held out, and I was in an agony. Any minute, her master might come and find me there, and I should be trapped, too.
“Oh, Beauty,” she said despairingly, “I’d love to go, but he would run after me, and then he would nearly kill me.”
“Well, I’ll lie down, and let him catch me, too.”
“No, no,” she said wildly. “You wouldn’t last any time—a dog of your spirit.”
My threat decided her, and she consented to follow me to the door.
Waiting there in wild anxiety, I thought it would never open. We had to hide in a corner, and the trainer was actually marshalling the other dogs down from the stage to their travelling boxes, before a stage hand came along and, opening the door, stepped out in the street to get a breath of air.
I thought he would never move away from the open door. Finally a German band struck up on Broadway, and he moved a few steps toward the corner.
I gave Amarilla a push, and didn’t we fly out! Most unfortunately, as we scuttled along toward Riverside Drive, he turned and saw us. He stepped back quickly into the doorway, and I knew he had gone to give the alarm.