Lucien brushed William's hand off his shoulder and blurted out angrily, "You're crazy."
"Well, I'd sooner be crazy, if I am crazy, than be sane the way you are," returned William loftily. "'Chuck' Epstein says everybody's got a looney streaker some kind; else, he says, they'd all die young. It's a tough outlook for you, Lucien," he added as he departed.
Ten minutes later William returned, bringing with him a fine bulldog attached to a stout string. William's eyes were shining, and his lips were parted in a wide grin of delight. "Say," he cried to Lucien, "get on to the pup."
Lucien didn't like the looks of the dog, and backed hastily away.
"Aw gee, he won't eat you," said William disgustedly. "He's a good one, a prize winner; and the cop says Briscombe the banker owns him."
"Well, what are you doing with him?"
"Me! The dog just nat-ur-ally adopted me, Lucien. I was standing looking at the bulletins—and the Torontos is leadin', don't you forget it—when I feels something rubbing at me leg, and here's his nibs making up kinder friendly like. So I takes hold of the string and hunts up a cop and tells him about it. And I says, 'He looks like a good dog,' I says, 'I s'pose you can take him over to the station and leave him till the owner's found.' And the cop says, 'Not for mine,' he says, 'I ain't going off my beat to be a godfather to no dog. It belongs to Mr. Bill Briscombe,' he says, 'and I'll bet he'll give you a two spot if you take it to him.' So I goes along to Briscombe's bank, and the place is shut up tighter'n a drum. Say, but them bankers has the classy hours. And Briscombe lives about a mile north of the city limits, so I guess I'll have to take the dog up there to-night."
"Well, where are you going to put him in the meantime?"
"I'll just hitch him up to Mr. Whimple's table. He won't be in till near closing time, and then he'll just tell me I needn't stay, like he usually does."
And forthwith the dog was hitched. He did not display any decided signs of displeasure, though evidently ill at ease. Lucien could not be persuaded to go near the dog, but William was quite solicitous for the animal's welfare. He fed it on tea biscuits, surreptitiously abstracted from Lucien's luncheon box—that worthy being somewhat partial to the delicacy. Also overlooking the formality of asking permission, he used Lucien's cap as a holder for a liberal helping of ice water from the office jug. The dog ate the biscuits, but spurned the ice water, which William promptly emptied from the open window. Then things happened.