CHAPTER II
SHOT AND SING WUNG
Whether the Rowes should decide to go to Europe or not, the Bradstreets were going; and Captain Bradstreet thought it high time to inform Paul of the plan. The boy had not been well for some days, and for change of air had been sent to the ranch of Mr. Keith, a relative, who had a warm regard for himself and his sister Pauline.
“Kirke,” said the captain, driving up that afternoon after school, “I’m going out to Mr. Keith’s to see Paul. Would you like to go with me?”
“Thank you, thank you, Captain Bradstreet, I’ll be ready in a second,” cried Kirke, rushing for his hat.
The spirited horse had been reined up to the hedge, where he pawed and champed the bit, till his passenger appeared and vaulted headlong into the phaeton.
In his haste, Kirke had forgotten to tie Shot, the fox-terrier, into his kennel.
“Weezy, Weezy,” he called over his shoulder, as the carriage started. “Look out for Shot, please, Weezy; don’t let him follow us.”
“I won’t let him,” said Weezy; “I’ll keep him.” And she drew him into the house and closed the door.
Having done this, she went back upon the veranda to finish her sewing. She was making a golf cape for her pet doll to wear at sea; and the work proved so absorbing that she failed to notice what Donald was doing. Before she knew it, the child had opened the front door, and run into the hall; and at the same time Shot had run out, and gone tearing after the phaeton.
Kirke looked rather crestfallen when the little animal came barking about the wheels.