Rub, rub, souse, souse!
Poor Sport shivered, and howled, and struggled, and looked as though he would never feel equal to his name again: but Chester splashed away.
His mother opened her window again.
"My son, you shouldn't have begun with the dogs this morning; you knew it was late. Let Sport go at once, and leave Beauty until to-night."
THE CAUSE OF A POOR ARITHMETIC LESSON.
"O, mamma! I cannot possibly leave Beauty. He looks worse than Sport did."
"Can't help it, my boy. You will be late to school, and have a poor lesson."
"I'm coming, mamma, right away."
Out went Sport to the piece of carpet with which he was rubbed; glad was he to get out of that horrible tub at any cost. But in went Beauty, and the soaping, and howling, and splashing, and scolding went on again. Chester worked fast, no doubt—although I suppose Beauty did not think so—but before his work was half done, the window of his mother's room went up with a click that meant business.