“Go on! Go on!” cried the policeman. So Don kept on across the street. He was almost at the other curb, when another auto came along so swiftly that one of the wheels hit Don, and knocked him down. But the man steering the automobile turned it out of the way just in time, and Don was saved. He scrambled to the sidewalk, his heart beating very fast.
“Well, well! That was a narrow escape you had!” said a voice in his ear, and, looking up, Don saw another dog. This dog was what we should call a “tramp” dog. But he spoke kindly to Don.
“You came near being run over,” said this dog, wagging his tail.
“Yes, I guess I did,” agreed Don.
“What’s your name, and where do you live?” asked the tramp dog, wagging his tail some more, to show that he was friendly.
“My name is Don,” said Bob’s pet, “and I did live on a farm. But I ran away, to have some adventures, and—”
“Well, if you’ll take my advice you’ll run back to that farm as fast as you can,” said the tramp dog. “I lived on one once, and it is much nicer, for dogs, than the city. You’d better go back.”
“I would, if I could, but I can’t find my way,” sorrowfully said Don, and he told of having been locked in a freight car.
