his neck. "What is the matter, old fellow?" he continued,
twisting the dog's head so that he could look
into his eyes. "Wanted to make a meal of me?--
too bad. Your little daughter, of course, Mr. Kling?
A very good breed of dog, my dear young lady--just
a little nervous, and that is in his favor. Now, sir,
make your excuses to your mistress," and he placed
the terrier in her arms.

The child lifted her face toward his in delight. Most
of the men whom Fudge attacked either shrunk out
of his way or replied to his attentions with a kick.

"You love dogs, don't you, sir?" she asked. Fudge
was now routing his sharp nose under her chin as if
in apology for his antics.

"I am afraid I do, and I am glad you do--they are
sometimes the best friends one has."

"Yes," broke in Kling, "and so am I glad. Dot dog
is more as a brudder to my Masie, ain't he, Beesvings?
And now you run avay, dear, and play, and take
Fudge vid you and say 'Good morning' to Mrs. Cleary,
and maybe dot fool dog of Bobby's be home." He
stooped and kissed her, caressing her cheek with his
thumb and forefinger, as he pushed her toward the
door, and again turned to the stranger. "And now,
vot about dot chair you got in your hand?"