“What you call him?” asked Sol.
“Smiler Hanson!”
Sol laughed.
“Aw, go on! You crazy! Smiler dam-fine little rotter all right, but he no good, no work, headpiece all shot toboggan to blazes.”
“Don’t you believe it? Why, he only wants to be given a show.”
Sol shook his head.
“Shake away!” continued Phil. “Smiler’s getting a big fellow and he is as strong as a bull. He is simply foolish over horses. Why––I can’t chase him out of this place at times.”
As Phil was going on with his eulogy, the head of the grinning Smiler popped round the door-post.
“Hi, there;––come here!” shouted Phil.
Smiler came in, tattered and unkempt as usual, but wiry and sinewed, as anyone could see at a glance. A different Smiler from what he was only a short year ago before he was regularly fed! The open air and the unfettered life, in conjunction with Mrs. Sol Hanson’s wholesome fare had worked miracles on his constitution.