The young one in a rage, smashed him in the face. “There’s one for you, you old bluffer. You never bit me before. Keep your old dog—I don’t care, but I’m on to him when he makes his exit.”
Gringo was shaking with laughter, when they all went away. “There’s a long feather in your cap,” he said.
“A feather I could have done without,” I replied ruefully. “It means I must skedaddle.”
“Not without your dinner,” he said kindly, and he started to shuffle toward the back door of the red brick house. “Bark twice, if the angel re-appears,” he said over his shoulder.
Thank fortune she did not, and soon Gringo returned, carrying his food dish between his huge jaws. He set the dish in front of the kennel.
“I often feed here,” he said under his breath. “Take what I chuck you. The angel has her eye at a crack in the fence.”
As he ate, he carelessly tossed into the kennel, toast scraps soaked in nice chicken gravy, and some delicious steak bones with the tenderest part of the meat clinging to them. What a good dinner I had! But I was nearly choked with thirst.
I told him about my parched throat, when he finished his dinner, and came into the kennel.
“You’ll have to wait,” he said, “till the angel folds her wings. She’s the cleverest young one on the Bowery. Usually I like her, but to-night I wish she was in——”
“Yes, yes,” I said, “in bed. Well, she’ll have to go soon.”