“See if you can see Fido,” counseled Chub. Roy raised the shade at one of the windows on the front of the house and looked out. Beneath was a bed of purple phlox and beyond was a walk and a little space of grass. At the right was the lane—and safety.
“He isn’t in sight,” Roy answered in whispers. “But he may come.”
“That doesn’t matter,” answered Chub, recklessly. “I want to go home to supper. Push up the window.”
Roy obeyed. The sash creaked and screamed as he forced it up and they paused and held their breath, expecting to see the dog come bounding into sight. But nothing happened.
“You go first, Roy,” said Chub. “Dick and I can run faster than you.”
“Want me to have the first bite, eh?” laughed Roy, as he put a knee over the sill.
“Be quiet! Don’t make so much noise,” said Chub. “Get on out.”
Roy was sitting on the sill, his feet dangling above the flower bed.
“That’s all right,” he muttered, “but—say, Dick, go back and take a peek out of the window and see if he’s still there.”
“All right.” Dick tiptoed back to the kitchen.