Russ laughed and leaned over to stroke the animal’s glossy black coat. “Pound for pound the Doberman is the strongest canine bred. One of the most intelligent, too. We use them as watchdogs at the plant. I brought this fellow up as a Christmas present for the cook two years ago. Prince, meet Sandy.”
Promptly, the dog turned to Sandy and raised his right paw.
“How do you do, Prince,” Sandy said solemnly, taking the paw and shaking it. “Say, he is smart.”
Jerry and Quiz came out on the porch a few minutes later, and Russ entertained the boys by putting Prince through some of his tricks. But the dog was temporarily forgotten when a rangy, string bean of a man arrived with a huge tray piled high with sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade.
“This is Lars Johannsen,” Russ introduced him to the boys. “He’s my cook and caretaker. Lars used to cook in a lumber camp, so he’s used to chow hounds. Dig in, fellows.”
Johannsen, who had lank blond hair bleached white by the sun, and a drooping mustache, flashed a snaggle-toothed grin. “Ya, you eat all you want,” he said with just a trace of a Scandinavian accent. “Plenty more to eat in kitchen.”
“You don’t have to coax me,” Jerry said, grabbing a big, two-inch-thick sandwich in each hand. “I’m famished.”
“Didn’t they feed you on the plane?” Russ asked.
“Sure,” Sandy told him. “We had a big breakfast just before we landed. But Jerry is the hungriest man alive.”
“If he keeps it up, he won’t make the football team this year,” Quiz said dryly. “He’ll be too fat to bend over to center the ball.”