“Just look at him!” says one of those I had beat. “What's he giving hisself airs about?”
“Because he's got one blue ribbon!” says another of 'em. “Why, when I was a puppy I used to eat 'em, and if that Judge could ever learn to know a toy from a mastiff, I'd have had this one.”
But Jimmy Jocks he leaned over from his bench, and says, “Well done, Kid. Didn't I tell you so!” What he 'ad told me was that I might get a “commended,” but I didn't remind him.
“Didn't I tell you,” says Jimmy Jocks, “that I saw your grandfather make his debut at the Crystal—”
“Yes, sir, you did, sir,” says I, for I have no love for the men of my family.
A gentleman with a showing leash around his neck comes up just then and looks at me very critical. “Nice dog you've got, Miss Wyndham,” says he; “would you care to sell him?”
“He's not my dog,” says Miss Dorothy, holding me tight. “I wish he were.”
“He's not for sale, sir,” says the Master, and I was that glad.
“Oh, he's yours, is he?” says the gentleman, looking hard at Nolan. “Well, I'll give you a hundred dollars for him,” says he, careless-like.
“Thank you, sir, he's not for sale,” says Nolan, but his eyes get very big. The gentleman, he walked away, but I watches him, and he talks to a man in a golf-cap, and by and by the man comes along our street, looking at all the dogs, and stops in front of me.