"If John was up
you'd never dare to stay here another minute. You clear out!
A-callin' me a thief!"
Jim's hope collapsed in his bosom. The taking of the child he could
gladly have forgiven. Any excuse would have satisfied his
anger--anything was bearable, save to know that he had come on a false
belief.
"Miss Doc," he said, "I only want the little kid. Don't say he ain't
here."
"Tellin' me I'd steal!" she said, in her indignation. "You shiftless,
good-for-nothin'--" But she left her string of epithets incompleted,
all on account of an interruption in the shape of Tintoretto.
Keno had made up his mind that everything was going wrong, and he had
loosed the pup.
Bounding in at the door, that enthusiastic bit of awkwardness and good
intentions jumped on the front of Miss Doc's dress, gave a lick at her
hand, scooted back to his master, and wagged himself against the
tables, chairs, and walls with clumsy dexterity. Sniffing and bumping
his nose on the carpet, he pranced through the door to the kitchen.
Almost immediately Jim heard the sound of something being bowled over
on the floor--something being licked--something vainly striving with
the over-affectionate pup, and then there came a coo of joy.
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