“Look at ’em, gents. Seventy-five cents; an’ take your choice—a bargain.” He dropped the first specimen back, then took out another and held it up at arm’s length. “Ain’t it handsome—now, I asks you?”
“Never saw such an ugly pup in my life,” answered Joe Preston.
“It isn’t very much on shape,” laughed Jack Lyons.
“Shape?” The man’s tone was reproachful. “Well, maybe it ain’t the purtiest-lookin’ dorg you ever see jist now, but I miss my guess if that ain’t what it grows up to be. Not one of ’em but hain’t got a pedigree. Now, gents, which one is it?”
“Let’s get a mascot for our trip,” remarked Joe Preston. “It’ll be lots of fun.”
“That it will, gents. Goin’ over to Europe?” And the big man grinned.
“Maybe—if we can reach Jersey first,” answered Jack. “Hurry up, fellows; pick out our mascot. My choice is the largest and fiercest of the bunch.”
One with a very black spot on its nose and a very white spot on each foot was finally chosen and placed on the table.
“You won’t never regret a-takin’ of ’im, gents,” said the man, as he turned to leave. “He’s got as good a pedigree as any of ’em.”
“There’s one thing we might have done, Jack,” said Fred, solemnly, when they were again alone.