"Believed what?"
"The face and the shape——"
"There's nothing the matter with the shape," was the tart response; "Dick's a Daschund."
"A what! Oh! Gee! Say, my tongue always rolls around like it had no roots when I strike a word like that."
"No wonder; a boy of your age should be at school."
"School! not for mine, lady. I've gotter make a livin'."
"A living—you! What are you doing here?"
"I'm the office boy."
"Office boy! Whose office boy?"
"Mister Whimple's."