"Well, I think it's mean," insisted Marmaduke. "Those men are nothing'
but--but--_dumbbells_!"

The Toyman threw back his head and laughed. That was a new expression
to him, but it was a perfectly good one. You see, the big boys in
school used it when they thought anyone was particularly stupid or
mean. But the Toyman must have understood it anyway, for he went on,--

"That's my sentiments exactly. I don't suppose they mean to be cruel,
but they don't give little Reddy half a chance--and he's so small! Now
if it was lions or tigers, as you suggest, why, that would be
different."

"You bet it would!" Marmaduke replied. "I just wish it _was_."
Now, of course, he should have said "were," as the teacher in the Red
Schoolhouse was forever telling him, but a little boy can't always
remember correct English when a hunt is coming so close.

"Just set tight, boy, and you'll see their red coats soon."

And, waving his clippers, the Toyman went on his way to the North
Pasture.

But Marmaduke didn't need any advice. He had spotted those red coats
already. They were much nearer now, for they rode very fast. Already
the horses were leaping the fence of the Miller Farm, and the dogs
were crisscrossing over the field, making lots of letter W's as they
ran--hundreds of them, Marmaduke was sure. And they followed
something--something so small he could hardly see what it was. But he