She drew rein; he sprang out and whistled; and the Sagamore pup, dusty
and happy came romping back. Siward motioned him to the rumble, but the
dog leaped to the front.

"I don't mind," said the girl. "Let him sit here between us. And you
might occupy yourself by pulling some of those burrs from his ears--if
you will?"

"Of course I will. Look up here, puppy! No! Don't try to lick my face,
for that is bad manners. Demonstrations are odious, as the poet says."

"It's always bad manners, isn't it?" asked Miss Landis.

"What? Being affectionate?"

"Yes, and admitting it."

"I believe it is. Do you hear that--Sagamore? But never mind; I'll break
the rules some day when we're alone."

The dog laid one paw on Siward's knee, looking him wistfully in the
eyes.

"More demonstrations," observed the girl. "Mr. Siward! You are hugging
him! This amounts to a dual conspiracy in bad manners."

"Awfully glad to admit you to the conspiracy," he said. "There's one
vacancy--if you are eligible."