“Oh! What was Smith on?”
Rob found the remains of a baked potato within reach and scored against Malcolm’s neck. While the latter was wiping away the fragments Rob went on.
“Well, he walked that dog and walked him. Took him away out into the country and back again into town; pulled him all around the city; dragged him eight times up and down the City Hall steps. By that time it was about two in the morning, and Jones—”
“Smith,” corrected Evan helpfully.
“And Smith—hang it, his name was Jones, I tell you! Jones was pretty nearly dead for sleep. He’d taken naps as he went along. Finally he came to a lunch-wagon and went in and got a cup of coffee. He gave some of it to the dog—”
“Oh, come now!” Evan protested. “Dogs don’t drink coffee!”
“This dog was very fond of coffee,” replied Rob with dignity.
“Of course,” agreed Malcolm. “Did you hear Rob say he was a coffee spaniel?”
“Well, that woke them both up and they went on walking.”
“Say, for goodness sake, Rob, get through walking!” begged Malcolm. “My legs are just aching already. Have them sit down for a minute, won’t you?”