street.

The puppy heard the familiar voice and howled for release. Dr.
Halding struck him roughly over the head and scrambled into the
machine with him, reaching with his one disengaged hand for the
self-starter button. Before he could touch it, the Mistress was
on the running-board of the car.

As she ran, she had opened her wristbag. Now, flinging on the
runabout's seat a ten and a five-dollar bill, she demanded--

"Give me my dog! There is the money you paid for him!"

"He isn't for sale," grinned the Doctor. "Stand clear, please.
I'm starting."

"You're doing nothing of the sort," was the hot reply. "You'll
give back my dog! Do you understand?"

For answer Halding reached again toward his self-starter. A
renewed struggle from the whimpering puppy frustrated his aim and
forced him to devote both hands to the subduing of Bruce. The dog
was making frantic writhings to get to the Mistress. She caught
his furry ruff and raged on, sick with anger.

"I know who you are and what you want this poor frightened puppy
for. You shan't have him! There seems to be no law to prevent
human devils from strapping helpless dogs to a table and
torturing them to death in the unholy name of science. But if
there isn't a corner waiting for them, below, it's only because