All excited, he came out of the house, hurried to the kennel, and turned Frank loose. Frank had caught the contagion. Frank knew there was something sub rosa about what was going on, and his eyes were glowing. Likely they would shine like a cat's eyes in the dark cave at night—and maybe there would be other wild eyes shining in the recesses that led off here and there and dripped with water!
He hesitated a moment, trying to think of some other spot where they might run, some spot less suggestive of shining eyes. And while he hesitated there came steps on the front porch, and around the house, pipe in mouth, his father sauntered, as fathers have a way of sauntering, just at the wrong time.
"What're you doing there, Tommy?" he demanded.
The cave and the wild life vanished like a bubble that has burst.
"Pete ate my crumbs, Papa!" he cried.
For a moment his father hesitated, looking down into his eyes as if he were perplexed and worried and did not know what to do. Then once more he chained Frank up.
"You mustn't turn him loose again," he said sternly.
"I tol' him to kill Pete! I tol' him to!"
"And he did it?"