James held out his hand and they shook seriously.
“Dog,” said James seriously, “you did what I’ve often thought I’d like to do—bite a policeman. I swore out loud in Mellon and Company’s office, and you bit a cop. We’re a disgraceful pair. I’m wondering if you’re a cattle dog—” James sighed heavily— “Well, anyway, you’re as much of a cattle dog as I am a cowpuncher. Sit down and make yourself at home.”
It was half an hour later that James Eaton Legg walked out of his room, carrying a heavy valise, while behind him came the dog, walking carefully, peering around the legs of his newly found master.
At the foot of the stairs they met the landlady. She stared at the dog and at James.
“That was the dog the policeman was looking for!” she exclaimed in a horrified screech. “Don’t let him come toward me! You get that dog out of here, Mr. Legg! You know we don’t allow dogs in here. Take him—”
“That dog,” said James calmly, “is very particular who he bites, ma’am. If my bill is ready—”
“Oh, are you leaving us, Mr. Legg?”
“Yes’m, me and—er—Geronimo are leaving. If any mail comes for me, forward it to Jim Legg, Blue Wells, Arizona.”
“Oh, yes. Blue Wells, Arizona. Are you going out there for your health?”
“Well,” said Jim Legg, as he paid his bill, “I don’t know just how it’ll affect me physically. It’ll probably be a good thing for Geronimo—give him a change of diet. And for the good of the police force I suppose I better phone for a taxi.”