“But you’ll bring the matter up before the boys to-night, won’t you, Hugh?” Billy insisted. “Because Lieutenant Denmead is down to Boston, won’t make any difference. We can undertake the work by ourselves without consulting anybody. And once we concluded to make the dust fly, you could partition the whole town off between the different patrols, and offer a prize to the one that showed the cleanest streets and yards two weeks later. How’s that for an idea, Hugh?”
“It sounds good to me, Billy, and to tell you the truth, I’m thinking more and more about going into the scheme, as we get to talking about it. I know my folks would be glad to see the place look halfway decent. If public sentiment can only be waked up, the thing is as good as done in spite of Lige and his gang.”
Billy was all animation now. The heat of the afternoon seemed to have passed entirely out of his mind. As was always the case when he went into any scheme, Billy was ready to throw himself heart and soul into the fray.
He was just about to say something further along the line of their interesting conversation, when a sudden wild racket arose, in which the yelping of a dog vied with loud laughter and hoots from around the corner.
Hugh and his fellow scout scrambled to their feet, wondering what was coming, possibly with half formed visions of a mad dog scare in their minds.
CHAPTER II.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
They were not long in discovering the cause of all that commotion. A yellow dog of no particular breed but of the kind generally denominated “cur,” came tearing around the corner of the street. He had an old rusty tin pan tied to his tail, and as this struck him at every jump, he was yelping like mad and trying every way possible to outrun the strange thing that rattled and banged at his heels.
People thrust their heads out of windows and doors. Most of them smiled or laughed outright at the spectacle. It was a time-honored custom, and naturally all stray curs must expect to be treated this way on occasion, to make a holiday for thoughtless boys.
Around the corner several half-grown lads came into view, evidently those who had been the cause of the wretched dog’s dilemma. They were apparently enjoying the sight of the poor creature’s fright and antics about as much as was possible. Several of them nearly doubled up with the excess of their hilarity.
There is an old fable about what great fun boys have stoning frogs, but as a moral it is hinted that what is “sport to them is death to the frogs.”