the unfamiliar caress. All at once, in the boy's eyes, she became
quite the most wonderful animal and the very most desirable pet
on earth.

"He's great!" sighed the youngster in admiration; adding naïvely:
"Is he Champion Rothsay Chief--the one whose picture was in The
Bulletin last Sunday?"

The kennel-man laughed noisily. Then he checked his mirth, for
professional reasons, as he remembered the nature of the boy's
quest and foresaw a bare possibility of getting rid of the
unwelcome Lass.

"Nope," he said. "This isn't Chief. If it was, I guess your Uncle
Dick's check would have to have four figures in it before you
could make a deal. But this is one of Chief's daughters. This is
Rothsay Lass. A grand little girl, ain't she? Say,"--in a
confidential whisper,--"since you've took a fancy for her, maybe
I could coax the old man into lettin' you have her at an easy
price. He was plannin' to sell her for a hundred or so. But he
goes pretty much by what I say. He might let her go for--How much
of a check did you say your uncle sent you?"

"Twelve dollars," answered the boy,--"one for each year. Because
I'm named for him. It's my birthday, you know. But--but a dollar
of it went for the chain and the collar. How much do you suppose
the gentleman would want for Rothsay Lass?"

The kennel-man considered for a moment. Then he went back to the
house, leaving the lad alone at the gate of the run. Eleven