Mr. Williams murmured sympathetically: "That's too bad! Where did
he bite you?"

"On the--right on the elbow."

"Good gracious! Perhaps you ought to have it cauterized."

"Sir?"

"Did you have a doctor look at it?"

"No, sir. My mother put some stuff from the drug store on it."

"Oh, I see. Probably it's all right, then."

"Yes, sir." Penrod drew breath more freely, and accepted the warm
cookie Mrs. Williams brought him. He ate it without relish.

"You can have only one apiece," she said. "It's too near
dinner-time. You needn't beg for any more, because you can't have
'em."

They were good about that; they were in no frame of digestion for
cookies.

"Was it your own dog that bit you?" Mr. Williams inquired.

"Sir? No, sir. It wasn't Duke."