He tried to follow Stubby; not in the trusting, bounding manner of the collies—not happily, but hopingly. Stubby, true to the ethics of his profession, chased him back where he had come from. That there might be nothing whatever on his conscience, he even threw a stone after him. Stubby was an expert in throwing things at dogs. He could seem to just miss them and yet never hit them.
The next day it happened again; but just as he had a clod poised for throwing, a window went up and a woman called: “For pity sake, little boy, don't chase him back here.”
“Why—why, ain't he yours?” called Stubby.
“Mercy, no. We can't chase him away.”
“Who's is he?” demanded Stubby.
“Why, he's nobody's! He just hangs around. I wish you'd coax him away.”
Well, that was a new one! And then all in a heap it rushed over Stubby that this dog who was nobody's dog could, if he coaxed him away—and the woman wanted him coaxed away—be his dog.
And because that idea had such a strange effect on him he sang out, in off-hand fashion: “Oh, all right, I'll take him away and drown him for you!
“Oh, little boy,” called the woman, “why, don't drown him!”
“Oh, all right, I'll shoot him then!” called obliging Stubby, whistling for the dog—while all morning long the woman grieved over having sent a helpless little dog away with that perfectly brutal paper boy!