“That’s good,” said Titus; “come on, boys. I’ll hold and you scrub. Brick, get on that bed and cover yourself with those horse blankets. We’ll attend to you presently.”
It took all three boys to manage the dog. His howls, his bounds, his cries were prodigious, but he did not once attempt to bite. He was as shrewd as most dogs, and he knew that the hand on his collar was that of a master.
He, unlike Brick, did not enjoy one minute of the bath. He did not care if the water was warm, and he struggled and kicked until the three boys were breathless.
“My! he’s a bounder,” exclaimed Charlie. “What a back! How many breeds are there in him, colored boy?”
“Don’t know, sah, but I’ve heard them say as knows that his fathah ought to ’a’ bin a bulldog, an’ his grandmothah were a pointah.”
“Let him out,” ordered Titus, “let him out; my back’s ’most broken.”
“So is mine,” laughed Dallas, but he ran after the dog, which was shaking violently, and began to rub him dry.
“Now for the fancy dress ball,” said Titus, and he began to pull at the heap of clothes that Dallas had brought out. “Stand up, Brick—here, put on that shirt.”
Brick, grinning like a Chessy cat, took up the pink and white cotton shirt and ran his arms into it.
“Here,” said Titus, and he threw him various other garments. “Not that way, owl—this way,” and he began to dress the boy himself. Then he turned to Dallas. “I say, old fellow, run in the house to my room and get that long mirror standing behind the door. I was trying a high kick the other day and broke it. Grandfather says he’ll get me another.”