“Oh, you mean what I said about the butcher, huh? Oh, that don't do any harm. Everybody in Banbridge knows about those things. I don't see what difference that makes. Folks have to have things, don't they? I don't believe that dog would bite me. He is wagging just as hard as he can. Don't they?”
“Yes, of course,” agreed Anderson, “but—”
“And if they don't have the money to pay for things, what are they going to do? You wouldn't want all us Carrolls to die, would you?”
Anderson smiled, and stood between the boy and the kennel.
“I ain't afraid of him,” said Eddy. “You wouldn't, would you?”
“Oh, of course not,” replied Anderson.
“I shouldn't think you would, especially Charlotte. Say, I think Charlotte is a real pretty girl, if she is my sister. Say, why can't I pat him?”
“You had better not. He bit a boy about your size once.”
“Hm! I ain't afraid he'll bite me. Don't you think she is? I don't think you are very polite not to say right off.”
“Very pretty, indeed,” replied Anderson, laughing. Then he spoke to the dog, a large mongrel with a masterly air, and an evident strain of good blood under his white and yellow hide.