"But don't you forget to remember?"

"Not me. I ain't that kind."

Sandy leaned wearily against the haystack and tried to shelter himself
from the wind. A continued diet of bread and water had made him
sensitive to the changes in the weather.

"This here grub is kinder hard on yer head-rails," said Ricks, trying
to bite through a piece of stale bread. A baker had let them have
three loaves for a dime because they were old and hard.

Sandy cast a longing look at Ricks's short bottle. It seemed to
remedy so many ills, heat or cold, thirst or hunger. But the strict
principles applied during his tender years made him hesitate.

"I wish we hadn't lost the kitten," he said, feeling the need of a
more cheerful companion.

"I'm a-goin' to git another dawg," announced Ricks. "I'm sick of this
here doin's."

"Ain't we goin' to be turfmen?" asked Sandy, who had listened by the
hour to thrilling accounts of life on the track, and had accepted
Ricks's ambition as his own.

"Not on twenty cents per week," growled Ricks.

Sandy's heart sank; he knew what a new dog meant. He burrowed in the