"Steve, which do you think most of? Dog or boy?"
Earle laughed. "Hard to tell, Bill. On the whole, Tommy takes precedence."
"Ever find out where the dog came from?"
"No; and that's not all, Bill—I don't want to. All right, young man, let's get back home."
Frank sprang out of the door and ran for the buggy. His fears had vanished with the turning of his back on this reminder of things past. But when Earle and Tommy did not follow, he came dejectedly back. Tommy wanted to wait and see the train; he had never seen but one, he pleaded—that was a "fate" train. Far down the track a fateful whistle blew. Above them, the semaphore dropped with a clang.
"Come, F'ank!" shouted Tommy, dancing with excitement.
On the platform the boy took firm hold of providence as represented by Steve Earle's big forefinger with one hand and clutched the dog's mane with the other, lest the "suction" all children fear draw him under the grinding wheels. He felt the solid earth under his feet tremble as the great hissing engine rolled between him and the sun, the rod rising and falling on the terrible wheels, the engineer high above in a window. Then the long black baggage car—and in the door a man in a cap, who looked at them with open mouth as if he knew suddenly who they were. As the train stopped, the baggageman jumped to the ground and came running back to Earle, all out of breath.
"That your dog?" he demanded.
"Sure, he's my dog!"
"Where'd you get him?"