Kind Old Gentleman. "What a delightful little pet! I have always a soft place for animals."
A LOST LEADER.
"Enid," I said, "we must offer something to somebody."
"You don't mean Squawks?" she pleaded piteously.
"I wish I did," I sighed. Squawks is a Pomorachshund—at least I think so; though Enid inclines towards the Chowkingese theory. Anyhow, he himself has always realised that someone had blundered, and has worked steadily to make a dog of himself.
"Well, if it's not Squawks, I don't care," remarked Enid.
"I wish you'd take some interest."