“Have you seen that pup over yonder? He’s sure some pup! Ha, ha! He’s the whole show. Better have a look.”
A crowd collected to watch the tiny joyous thing: the old-timers who studied the want and employment “ads”; the other shabby ones who were busy swapping politics; the still shabbier ones who slept there with their arms folded, their stubbly chins on their soiled shirt-fronts; the casual passer-by,—even the policemen strolled up,—with an eye to preserving peace and order, but remained to enjoy the fairy-like antics of this new dweller in the world. Everybody forgot for a little while that there were such words as “Keep off the grass.”
Van leaped for a June beetle,—missed it; a night moth winged by him,—he chased it on flying feet, although his legs were still so young and uncertain that he tumbled over every hummock in his path. A child rolled a rubber ball toward him; he seized it and bore it to the feet of his master, and lay down to demolish it. Bob rescued it, and Van attacked a stick that a bent old man poked at him.
“You’re a bit of all right, and no mistake!” said the old man. “I bet you can read the papers. Want to try?” He pulled the evening sheet out of his pocket, and presented it to his young acquaintance.
Van closed his teeth on it, dragged it after him across the walk, and sent the fragments flying far and wide.
Through the thickest of the crowd a seedy young man with a furtive eye sidled to the inner edge of the onlookers. His hand flashed out as Van gamboled near, and then—there was no Van on the dewy grass.
For a moment no one understood. It was all so sudden that no one could tell who did it.—Yes, there was one who did,—a policeman who was there to watch for just that very thing. The seedy young man had reached the outer edge of the group and in an instant more would be speeding down Twenty-fourth Street.
A big hand landed firmly on his coat-collar, another went into his pocket, and out came Van,—dazed, but thinking it all part of the great game the world was playing for his benefit. It was so quickly done that the crowd hardly knew anything had happened, until those nearest saw the thief wrench himself from the detaining hand and disappear in the darkness. The policeman, glad of the chance to be so near the small performer, held Van in the flat of one palm, and stroked him with the other, as he passed him over to Bob.
“Here’s yer white elephant, young feller, and a foine wan he is. Ye’re lucky to git him back. Them dog-pinchers is mighty handy with their hooks.”
“You’re right,” said Bob. “They know a good thing when they see it. A little more, and he would have been lost.”