I
“Want to buy him?” asked the stableman, including both boys in his glance, but appealing more particularly to Jonesie, a healthy, rosy-cheeked youth of fourteen with a countenance that fairly radiated candor and innocence. Jonesie viewed the man with polite indifference.
“What for?” he asked. The stableman, tipped back in his chair by the door marked “Office,” shrugged his shoulders and gave the straw between his teeth a new tilt.
“Thought maybe you’d like a good sporting animal,” he responded. “In my time it was considered very swell for young gentlemen to keep dogs.”
“What do you mean ‘sporting animal’?” inquired Jonesie coldly. “Can he hunt?”
“Can he! Say, son, that dog’s the finest pup on—on rabbits and coons and—and——”
“Bears,” suggested Pinky helpfully. He was a slim youth with a freckled face and carroty hair.
“Huh!” Jonesie refused to be impressed. “Any old dog can hunt. Question is, can he catch anything except fleas.”
“What are you talking about?” asked the man with a show of anger. “Have a look at that coat on him, son. If you can find a flea——”
At that moment the dog, who had been sitting in the doorway interestedly following the conversation, turned his head suddenly and began a hurried and very earnest search along the inch and a half of tail that the dictates of fashion had left to him. Jonesie chuckled.