"I know," cried his wife, inspired, "I'll send for a veterinarian. He'll know what to do."
"A veterinarian!" he protested loudly. "Five bones a visit, and us the joke of Granville."
But he could suggest nothing better and presently an automobile discharged a sleepy and disgusted dog-doctor at the Pottle homestead. It took the combined efforts of the two men and the woman to entice Pershing away from the door long enough for Mr. Pottle to slip into his house. During the course of Mrs. Pottle's subsequent remarks, Mr. Pottle said a number of times that he was sorry he hadn't stayed out among the petunias.
In the morning Pershing greeted him with an innocent expression.
"I hope, Mr. Pottle," said his wife, as he sipped black coffee, "that you are now convinced what a splendid watch dog Pershing is."
"I wish I had that fifty back again," he answered. "The bank won't give me another extension on that note, Blossom."
She tossed a bit of bacon to Pershing who muffed it and retrieved it with only slight damage to the pink roses on the rug.
"I can't stand this much longer, Blossom," he burst out.
"What?"
"You used to love me."