ropes.

The two judges went into brief executive session in one corner.
Then Leighton crossed to Link, for the fourth time that day, and
gave him the gaudy rosette which proclaimed Chum "best dog in the
show." A roar of applause went up. Link felt dizzy--and numb.
Then, with a gasp of rapture, he stooped and gathered the bored
Chum in his long arms, in a bearlike, ecstatic hug.

"We done it, Chummie!" he chortled. "WE DONE IT!"

Still in a daze, he followed the steward to the trophy case,
where he received not only the shining silver cup, but a
"sovereign purse," wherein were ensconced ten ten-dollar gold
pieces.

It was all a dream--a wonder dream from which presently he must
awaken. Link was certain of that. But while the golden dream
lasted, he knew the nameless joys of paradise.

Chum close at his side, he made his way through the
congratulating crowd toward the outer gate of the country club
grounds. He had almost reached the wicket when someone touched
him, with unnecessary firmness, on the shoulder.

Not relishing the familiarity, Link turned a scowling visage on
the interrupter of his triumphal homeward progress. At his elbow
stood a stockily-built man, dressed with severe plainness.

"You're Lincoln Ferris?" queried the stranger, more as if stating