“But Hiram is better than any veterinary surgeon that every lived!” I cried. “We were so thankful that he was at home.”
“He has ‘a tarlent for combernations,’” quoted Rob, with a little gleam of humor, although his voice was like a growl, “but I wouldn’t trust him with a sick sparrow. But there are such a lot of people who haven’t any feeling for animals!”
“You can’t accuse us of that,” I said with some heat. “We sat up nights with Gyp, and he got well.”
“God made them tough; he knew how people were going to treat them,” said Rob sharply.
I so far sympathized with him as to almost forget that I was trying to discover the secret that was ruining Dave’s life.
“I know you always were kind to animals, Rob,” I said heartily. “You never wanted to kill the forest things or catch them in traps, like other boys.”
“Dave didn’t either—though he always would go fishing,” said Rob reflectively. “I don’t suppose Dave would neglect anything—any animal when he ought to see that it was well-treated, do you?” he asked wistfully.
“I am sure he wouldn’t,” I answered heartily.
“But he behaves queerly, all the same,” repeated Rob, with his anxious frown deepened.
“Why don’t you tell me all about it, Rob? Perhaps I could influence him,” I said, with what I felt to be Machiavellian diplomacy.