“Don’t play any tricks with me, doggie,” he said in a hateful way, and he half pulled a neat little revolver from his pocket.
“Please put that back,” said Granny Gorman, “I hate guns.”
“I’ll not hurt you,” said Tike, “if you don’t hurt me.”
“Why should I hurt you?” asked the widow mildly.
“I don’t know,” said Tike sullenly, then he went on, “I’m off for home.”
The widow detained him. “Promise me you’ll be kind to the dog in future,” she said.
Tike made this promise readily enough, then he tried to escape. He was reassured in his own mind. The widow knew nothing of the value of the dog in his arms.
He found it hard to get away. Mrs. Gorman took him by the sleeve. She poured out a perfect volume of talk about dumb animals, and the importance of being kind to them.
At last Tike said rudely, “Lemme go,” and he pulled away from her.
Just as quickly as he pulled away, he shrank back. The milkman, who was a big husky countryman, had just drawn his wagon up before the little garden, and was coming up the walk to the front door with two bottles of milk in his hand.