“I’m not really a bit generous in giving him to you. My dog must like me better than anyone else in the world. That’s why I really don’t want Chubbie any longer. You’re first in his heart, and I’m second. And, though I’m quite selfish about 192 it, I know I’m doing him the greatest favor in the world—that is, if you’re willing to take him.”
“I’d shore be tickled to death to have him,” Zeke admitted. “But it don’t seem right.”
“Providence seems to have arranged it that way, anyhow,” Josephine declared, airily. “Perhaps, if a surgeon operated on him for the dent you put in his skull, he might cease loving you. But nothing else seems likely to stop him.”
The dog, thrusting its cold muzzle against Zeke’s palm, whined assent. Josephine regarded her disloyal pet a little regretfully.
“He’s a good dog,” she said, softly. “He deserves to be happy.”
“Plutiny’ll be plumb tickled to see the critter I’ve wrote sech a heap about,” Zeke remarked. His eyes were suddenly grown dreamy.
“You and your Plutina!” she railed. But her voice was very kindly. When she had learned of the young man’s prospects and the nearness of his return home, she uttered a remark that puzzled Zeke.
“You don’t need to envy anyone.” There was a light almost of jealousy in the blue eyes.
“Why, I never thought o’ sech a thing!” he answered indignantly. “Why should I?”
“Why, indeed?” Josephine repeated, and she sighed. She sighed again on taking leave, when she 193 observed that the bull-terrier made no movement to accompany her, but stood steadfastly by Zeke’s side.