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Page 8
"Kill her, sir!" bawled the washerwoman, at sight of him. "Kill
her! She's a mad dog. She just tried to kill Miz' Hazen!"
"She didn't do anything of the kind!" wailed Dick. "She was
pertecting me. Ma hit me; and Lass--"
"Ed!" tearily proclaimed Mrs. Hazen, "if you don't send for a
policeman to shoot that filthy beast, I'll--"
"Hold on!" interrupted the man, at a loss to catch the drift of
these appeals, by reason of their all being spoken in a
succession so rapid as to make a single blurred sentence. "Hold
on! What's wrong? And where did the pup come from? He's a looker,
all right a cute little cuss. What's the row?"
With the plangently useless iterations of a Greek chorus, the
tale was flung at him, piecemeal and in chunks, and in a triple
key. When presently he understood, Hazen looked down for a moment
at the puppy--which was making sundry advances of a shy but
friendly nature toward him. Then he looked at the boy, and noted
Dick's hero-effort to choke back the onrush of babyish sobs. And
then, with a roughly tolerant gesture, he silenced the two
raucous women, who were beginning the tale over again for the
third time.
"I see," he said. "I see. I see how it is. Needn't din it at me
any more, folks. And I see Dicky's side of it, too. Yes, and I
see the pup's side of it. I know a lot about dogs. That pup isn't
vicious. She knows she belongs to Dick. You lammed into him, and
she took up and defended him. That's all there is to the 'mad-
dog' part of it."
"But Ed--" sputtered his wife.
"Now, you let ME do the talking, Sade!" he insisted, half-
grinning, yet more than half grimly. "I'm the boss here. If I'm
not, then it's safe to listen to me till the boss gets here. And
we're goin' to do whatever I say we are--without any back-talk or
sulks, either. It's this way: Your brother gave the boy a
birthday check. We promised he could spend it any way he had a
mind to. He said he wanted a dog, didn't he? And I said, 'Go to
it!' didn't I? Well, he got the dog. Just because it happens to
be a she, that's no reason why he oughtn't to be allowed to keep
it. And he can. That goes."
"Oh, Dad!" squealed Dick in grateful heroworship. "You're a
brick! I'm not ever going to forget this, so long as I live. Say,
watch her shake hands, Dad! I've taught her, already, to--"
"Ed Hazen!" loudly protested his wife. "Of all the softies! You
haven't backbone enough for a prune. And if my orders to my own
son are going to be--"
"That'll be all, Sade!" interposed the man stiffly--adding: "By
the way, I got a queer piece of news to tell you. Come into the
kitchen a minute."
Grumbling, rebellious, scowling,--yet unable to resist the lure
of a "queer piece of news," Mrs. Hazen followed her husband
indoors, leaving Dick and his pet to gambol deliriously around
the clothes-festooned yard in celebration of their victory.
"Listen here, old girl!" began Hazen the moment the kitchen door
was shut behind them. "Use some sense, can't you? I gave you the
wink, and you wouldn't catch on. So I had to make the grandstand
play. I'm no more stuck on having a measly she-dog around here
than you are. And we're not going to have her, either. But--"
"Then why did you say you were going to? Why did you make a fool
of me before Irene and everything?" she demanded, wrathful yet
bewildered.
"It's the boy's birthday, isn't it?" urged Hazen. "And I'd
promised him, hadn't I? And, last time he had one of those
'turns,' didn't Doc Colfax say we mustn't let him fret and worry
any more'n we could help? Well, if he had to take that dog back
to-day, it'd have broke his heart. He'd have felt like we were
his enemies, and he'd never have felt the same to us again. And
it might have hurt his health too--the shock and all. So--"
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