“Don’t own any—— Say, didn’t you and that friend of yours buy my fox terrier a while back and pay me five dollars for him and agree to pay me four dollars a month for boarding of him? Didn’t you and he——”
Jonesie shakes his head gently and passes by.
“I don’t know anything about any dog,” he says. “Must have been someone else.”
“Ain’t your name Jones?”
“Oh, yes, but it’s quite a common name.”
“But—but didn’t you buy my dog? You and that other feller?”
“Certainly not!” replied Jonesie in pained protest. “We are not allowed to keep dogs at Randall’s. I wouldn’t think of transgressing the rules of the school, you know.”
The liveryman studies Jonesie’s guileless countenance for a moment, and his mouth slowly falls open. Jonesie looks dreamily up the street.
“Of course if you have a dog, though, I’d advise you to keep him away from rats,” he says kindly. “They might bite him.”