“Poor little fellow,” she said, “I believe you’re lost, and I just happened to see you.”
I didn’t say anything to this, though I might have told her that most things are arranged. They don’t happen.
“But perhaps you knew me,” she went on. “Maybe I’ve worked for the lady that owns you.”
Maybe she had. I didn’t know.
“And you smelt my tracks and followed me,” she continued. “I’ve heard that some dogs are mighty clever. Bless your little heart. You want me to take you to your home. Come right along with Ellen, and we’ll telephone to the address I see on your collar. I’ve just got a nickel left.”
I felt badly to have her spend money on me, still it does us all good to be benevolent—dogs and human beings too—so I said nothing, and followed her to the telephone booth in a drug store.
I thought I would die laughing to hear her telephoning. “Is this Riverside twenty twenty?” she asked.
Yes, it was.
“Oh! ma’am, I’ve found your dog.”