“The Police Station!” repeated William hoarsely. “It’s not a lost dog. It—it jus’ doesn’t belong to anyone, at least it didn’t. Poor thing,” feelingly. “It—it doesn’t want much to make it happy. It can sleep in my room an’ jus’ eat scraps.”
Mr. Brown went out without answering.
“You’ll have to take it, you know, William,” said Mrs. Brown, “so be quick. You know where the Police Station is, don’t you? Shall I come with you?”
“No, thank you,” said William hastily.
A few minutes later he was walking down to the Police Station followed by the still eager Jumble, who trotted along, unconscious of his doom.
Upon William’s face was a set, stern expression which cleared slightly as he neared the Police Station. He stood at the gate and looked at Jumble. Jumble placed his front paws ready for a game and wagged his tail.
“Well,” said William, “here you are. Here’s the Police Station.”
Jumble gave a shrill bark. “Hurry up with that stick or that race, whichever you like,” he seemed to say.
“Well, go in,” said William, nodding his head in the direction of the door.
Jumble began to worry a big stone in the road. He rolled it along with his paws, then ran after it with fierce growls.