Sprules rubbed the top of his head. Mr. Banks patted the dog, and tried to induce it to stand on its hind legs.
“Then what’s to be done with this yer animal? I’ve got no use for him. ’Sides which, he tried all he knew just now to bite me.”
“I’ve got an aunt living down the line,” said young Banks, regarding the dog critically, “and I owe her a birthday present. I had intended to give about five shilling for something.”
“The dog’s yourn!” said the blacksmith promptly.
Mr. Banks carried the portmanteau off in good time for the 6.37, and the dog, with a label bearing the address of his relative, went with him. At the station, he made an alteration in the wording of the label, and took the ticket for it that is furnished when a dog accompanies a passenger. There were no other customers for the train, and he and the one porter had an animated discussion concerning the new minister whose name was on the plan to take up duties shortly. The train came in; the porter went to the brake van to see to arriving luggage.
“You dear old Fuzzy!” cried the girl delightedly, as the dog with a single bound jumped into her compartment. “Mr. Banks, how can I thank you, and how much do I owe you?” She took charge of the portmanteau, and opened her purse.
“You don’t owe me nothing,” replied young Banks, reddening. The engine whistled. “But if you want to pay me, and you think your friend Captain Stamford wouldn’t object, you might—you might jest blow me a kiss as the train goes out!”
V—LOOSE CASH
A Prince of Wales was born, and Mr. Rollinson re-christened a row of houses which he had acquired. The original builder had gone incautiously on a certain evening in the early part of ’41 to inspect his property—an act nobody else thought of performing—and stumbled into one of the numerous holes that lined the approach. His widow found herself unable to carry on the building operations, and Mr. Rollinson, who, owing to popular prejudice, had just given up a career on the turf and some profitable transactions near the prize ring, offered her two hundred pounds ready cash for the lot.
“Could you make it two fifty, Mr. Rollin-son?”