It was easier to say this than to do it. Don was far, far from the nice farm, and he did not even know which way to start to get back there.
My! what a noisy place the city was. Trolley cars and automobiles raced through the streets, and there were many horses and wagons. And so many persons were hurrying here, there and everywhere.
Poor Don was very lonesome. He finished the last scrap of meat he had pulled out of the ash can, and walked on. He did not know where he was going, or what to do, but every one in the city seemed to keep moving, so Don did the same.
Don came to a street where there were many wagons, cars and automobiles. On the other side of the street he saw a butcher shop, with nice meat hanging in the window.
“Now,” thought Don, “if I could only get over there I might get a nice bone, or a scrap of clean meat. Guess I’ll try it.”
He watched his chance, for he was afraid of being run over, there were so many wagons and autos in the street. At last Don thought he saw an opening, and he darted forward.
But Don was not used to city ways. No sooner was he half way across the street than it seemed as if a dozen cars were rushing down on him. A policeman shouted at him, and blew a whistle.
[“Get out of there, dog!” cried the policeman.]
Don started to run back, but, as he did so two automobiles came past, with tooting horns, and he was afraid of them.