In this instance, the wretched cur, thinking that his escape was cut off by the appearance of the two boys just in front of him, ran into a fence corner and began to lick his wounds.
Billy Worth had a big heart. He was always ready to take the part of the oppressed, whether it chanced to be a weak boy being set upon by a bully or a miserable dog abused by its tormentors. So he immediately advanced toward the fence corner, followed by Hugh, who was anxious to see what his tender-hearted chum meant to do.
Billy snapped his fingers and spoke gently as he advanced. The boys near the corner hooted derisively, and then watched, half expecting that Billy might be only intending to get within striking distance and then to throw off the mask and give the wretched dog a sudden kick in order to start him running afresh.
The dog himself possibly doubted the sincerity of the approaching lad. He had received little save kicks from human kind in times past, and must have come to look with more or less suspicion on such apparently friendly overtures that might only hide further ill-treatment.
The poor little beast raised a pair of brown eyes beseechingly toward Billy. He even vainly tried to wag his tail, though this proved to be a physical impossibility so long as a piece of cord kept the tin pan hitched in place.
Billy had his hand extended. The yellow cur winced as he felt a touch on his head, and then proceeded to lick Billy’s hand. This act quite completed the conquest of the boy’s heart.
“You poor little runt,” said Billy tenderly, as he continued to stroke the badgered beast’s quivering head, “it’s a shame the way they’ve chased you just because you’re nobody’s dog. I’ve got a good mind to adopt you right now. Look at his face, Hugh, and tell me if you ever saw a more intelligent one? And his eyes are soft and brim full of friendliness. Yes, I’ll do it! We lost our dog last month, and an empty kennel is something I don’t like to see around.”
As he spoke Billy took out his knife. The dog possibly feared that some new torture was in store for him, because he continued to lick Billy’s hand, as though hoping in that mute fashion to plead with the boy not to hurt him.
One slash of the sharp blade severed the torturing rope and the tin pan fell away. Immediately the dog started to jump about joyfully, evidently trying to prove how grateful he felt. He did not attempt to run away, and when Billy held out his hand and spoke to him, he acted as though fairly wild with delight.
“Say, do you really believe the little critter ever had a kind word said to him before,” Billy asked, as he kept on patting the head of the yellow cur. “Just remember that you’re my doggie now. You want to trail along close to my heels till we get home, when I’ll find a good bone for you, all right. And I’d like to see anybody try to abuse you after this, that’s what.”