"Ye-es," replied Link, after digesting carefully what he had
heard. "I guess so. But--"

"Since you've never shown your dog before," went on the
postmaster, beginning to warm with professional interest, "you
can enter him in the 'Novice Class.' That's generally the
easiest. If he loses in that, no harm's done. If he wins he has a
chance later in the 'Winners' Class.' I'm mailing my entry
to-night to the committee. If you like, I'll send yours along
with it. Give me a dollar."

While Link extracted a greasy dollar bill from his pocket, the
postmaster filled in the class space with the word "Novice."

"Thanks for helpin' me out," said Ferris, grateful for the lift.

"That's all right," returned the postmaster, pocketing the bill
and folding the blank, as he prepared to end the interview by
moving away. "Be sure to have your dog at the gate leading into
the Craigswold Country Club grounds promptly at ten o'clock on
Labor Day. If you don't get a card and a tag sent to you, before
then, tell your name to the clerk at the table there, and he'll
give you a number. Tie your dog to the stall with that number on
it, and be sure to have him ready to go into the ring when his
number is called. That's all."

"Thanks!" said Link, again. "An' now I guess I'll go back home
an' commence brightenin' Chum up, a wee peckle, on his tricks.
Maybe I'll have time to learn him some new ones, too. I want him