The child’s hand looked so very small, and his manner was so trusting. He said nothing at all, simply walked up the path to this last house. He rang the bell, and the door was opened with startling suddenness by a little man with spectacles and a neatly pointed white beard. He looked like a professor, and he was a professor—of Romance Languages—and because of his scholarly unworldliness, he had been cheated and swindled so many times that he had become fiercely suspicious. He glared. 

“This boy has been bitten by a dog,” Mr. Anderson explained. “And we want to find the dog, to see—” “Ha!” said the little man. “And what has this to do with me, pray?” 

“I thought perhaps you had a dog here—” The professor folded his arms. “Very well!” said he. “I have. And what of it?” “If you’ll let us see the dog—” “Aha!” said the professor. “I see! A blackmailing scheme! You wish to see my dog. You will then cause this child to identify the dog as the one which bit him, in order that you may collect damages. A very pretty little scheme, I must admit!” Anderson had had a singularly trying day, and he was very weary of this quest, anyhow. 

“Nothing of the sort!” he said curtly. “If you’ll be good enough to let us see your dog—or if you’ll give me your assurance that the animal is perfectly healthy—” “Don’t you give him a penny, Joseph!” cried a quavering female voice from the dark depths of the hall. The professor laughed ironically. “Very pretty!” he repeated. “But you may as well understand, once and for all, that I absolutely refuse to allow you to see my dog, or to give you any assurance of any kind whatsoever.” And nothing could move him. Mr. Anderson argued with him with as much tact and politeness as he could manage just at that time, but in vain. 

“See here!” he said at last. “Let me see the dog, and if it’s the right one, I’ll buy it. Now will you believe—” But the professor would not believe until Anderson had signed a document which he drew up, solemnly promising that, if the dog were identified by Leroy as the dog which had bitten him, he, Winchell Anderson, would purchase the said dog for the sum of twenty-five dollars. Then, and then only, was the dog brought into the room. And Leroy instantly, loudly and fervently asserted that it was the dog. By this time Mr. Anderson was perfectly willing to believe him. He paid the money and stooped to pick up the dog, a small animal, of what might be called the spaniel type. It snapped at him. He could not pick it up, because on the next attempt his hand was bitten. At last, upon his paying in advance for the telephone call, 

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