the professor summoned a taxi. Mr. Anderson could not get the dog into the taxi, but Leroy had no trouble at all with it. It seemed to like Leroy. They rode home in silence, because every time Anderson uttered a word the animal growled and struggled in the boy’s arms. They reached Mrs. Granger’s house, and while Leroy ran ahead with the dog in his arms, Anderson delayed a minute to pay the taxi with the last bill remaining in his pockets. Then he followed. It had been a costly and a wearisome quest, but Mrs. Granger’s relief and gratitude would be sufficient reward. 

In the doorway of the sitting room he paused a moment, smiling to himself at the scene before him. Leroy was down on his knees, playing with this quite unexpected and delightful new dog, and Mrs. Granger knelt beside him, one arm about her son’s neck. Captain MacGregor was there, but in a corner, so that one need not consider him in the picture—the peaceful lamp-lit room, the gentle mother and her child. 

“I’m very glad—” he began, when, at the sound of his voice, the dog sprang up and rushed at him, and was caught by Leroy just in the nick of time. He growled threateningly. “I guess I’d better tie him up,” said Leroy. “He doesn’t like Mr. Anderson.” 

“Why, how very strange!” Mrs. Granger exclaimed. Leroy did tie him up to the leg of a table. 

“But why doesn’t the poor little doggie like Mr. Anderson?” pursued Mrs. Granger, and there was something in her voice that dismayed the young man. 

“I don’t know,” he replied, briefly. “It’s very strange,” she remarked. “Very! But sit down, Mr. Anderson. Perhaps you were just a little bit rough in handling him—without meaning to be.” 

“No, he wasn’t!” Leroy asserted, indignantly. “He—” At this point the dog broke loose, flew at Anderson, and would have bitten him if Anderson had not prevented him—with his foot. “Oh!” cried Mrs. Granger. “Oh, Mr. Anderson, how could you! You kicked the poor little doggie!” 

“I—I simply pushed him—with my foot,” said Anderson. “He’s a bad-tempered little brute.” “Dogs are never bad-tempered unless they’re badly treated,” Mrs. Granger declared, with severity. “They always know a friend from a foe.” 

“All right!” the young man agreed. “Then I’m afraid I’m a foe.” He turned toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “I’ll be getting along. I’m—I’m tired. Good evening!” 

“Good 

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