“Oh, Uncle Joe! couldn’t you?”
“No,” he declared, wagging his head decidedly. “And what she’ll say to that dog——”
“Oh” Carolyn May cried again, and put both arms suddenly about the neck of her canine friend.
“Prince is just the best dog, Uncle Joe. He never quarrels, and he’s almost always got a pleasant smile. He’s a universal fav’rite.”
Prince yawned again, showing two perfect rows of wolflike teeth. Mr. Stagg cast a glance upward at the perturbed tom-cat.
“I can see he’s a favourite with old Jimmy,” he said with added grimness.
It must be confessed that Carolyn May was nervous about Prince. She was eager to explain.
“You see, we’ve had him a dreadfully long time. Papa and I were taking a walk on a Sunday morning. We ’most always did, for that’s all the time papa had away from his work. And we walked down towards the Harlem River—and what do you s’pose, Uncle Joe? A man was carrying Prince—he was just a little puppy, not long got over being blind. And the man was going to drown him!”
“Well,” said Mr. Stagg reflectively, still eyeing the dog, “it could not have been his beauty that saved him from a watery grave.”
“Oh, uncle! I think he’s real beautiful, even if he is a mongorel,” sighed Carolyn May. “Anyway, papa bought him from the man for a quarter, and Prince has been mine ever since.”