“I say,” he exclaimed hopping after me, “I don’t want to be torn to pieces.”
“How can you be,” I retorted, “you’re perfect—being a super-dog, you’ll find a way out.”
“If that mastiff hurts me, the police dog will kill him,” he said angrily.
“Ah! perhaps,” I observed. “Of course the police dog is a good size, but an English mastiff——”
The Dachshund looked still more thoughtful. “I believe I’ll let the griffon have the sunny corner in future,” he said. “After all, I’m not living in Germany. I’ll tell the police dog I’ve got to be American, as long as I’m here. If I go back to Germany, I can be German.”
“All right,” I said heartily. “That’s a wise dog. Now why don’t you run right on to the griffon’s house, and tell him that? Get your story in before the mastiff arrives.”
Off hopped Mr. Dachshund across the Drive, keeping a bright look-out for policemen, and I felt that in future he would be friendly with the griffon.
I chuckled to myself, as I ran on to the Bonstones, for that was my objective point. Evil communications corrupt good manners even in dogs.
The air was delicious. I had no muzzle on, so I went slowly, and with a wary eye for those nice men the police, who would be our best friends if it weren’t for the health commissioner. It is a great fashion with some persons to run down policemen. I always like them and firemen, and have no admiration whatever for soldiers. I hate to see things torn and mangled. Policemen and firemen try to keep things together, and I believe if every policeman in every big city had a good police dog, there would be less killing and wounding of human beings.
The New York policemen are sharp, so I had to do a good deal of dodging behind pillars and in shrubbery, and twice I had to run away down to the river bank to elude them. It was close on dinner time, when I reached the Bonstone mansion.