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Updated: June 12, 2025
Earle turned round, smiling grimly. "What had we best do, Marian?" "Mama" it was the boy's voice "is it F'ank?" "Yes, dear; you must lie still now." "Let him go, Mama." She spoke quickly: "Take him in, Steve." It was midday when they reached the city.
From under the porch he saw blue overalls and stubby shoes. They hugged the porch, they made their way toward him. Then Tommy squatted down and peered with solemn face into the shadow. "F'ank," he whispered fearfully. The dog went to him and licked the chubby hands and the soft cheek, as he had licked them that first day.
Then it was that Frank broke away and rushed at last to that curtained car. With shining eyes he sprang into the front, over the seat, into the rear. Tommy's arms were about his neck, Tommy was crying over and over to the woman, all out of breath: "It's F'ank, Nita! He didn't go home. I saw him in the bushes!" "It's your mother, too," she said. "Come after you." She tried to smile.
In winter he was welcomed always to the fire, but in summer they said he brought in flies. Now no one seemed to notice him, though he was a big fellow and red. He took another step into the room, his eyes fastened longingly on the boy's flushed face. Suddenly his long tail began to beat an eager tattoo against the bureau. The boy's eyes had looked straight into his. "F'ank?"
And he got no comfort whatever out of the talk he had with his mother a little later in the living room, though she smiled at him when he entered, and put her sewing aside. Encouraged, he went to her and leaned against her knee; she brushed his hair back off his forehead, just as she always did. "What is it, dear?" she asked. "Papa ain't goin' to whip F'ank, is he, Mama?" "Why, yes he has to."
He was an old grouch, that's what he was. She whispered something. "To-morrow?" the boy asked eagerly. "Hush! Sure. That's it to-morrow!" "Did F'ank go home, Nita?" "Sure he went home." "I saw a dog in the bushes!" The woman laughed. "You're seeing things, old scout. What about some supper?" She got out of the car and went quickly to the fire the men had built.
He stopped and sat down firmly on his haunches. Then the boy turned, his face flushed under the white hat. "Come on, F'ank!" he said impatiently. A gust of dry summer wind swept across the field and rattled the blades of corn and tossed up the silvery side of the leaves in the forest. The boy grew angry. "Come on, F'ank!" he cried.
His cheek was pressed against his father's cheek, and over a broad shoulder, through a haze of tears, he looked miserably into the red glow of the setting sun. "I tol' F'ank to kill him," he sobbed brokenly, "an' he wouldn't. I drove drove him off, an' he kept comin' back. I killed him I shot him through the head!" The arms tightened about him, the cheek pressed closer to his cheek.
But when Earle and Tommy did not follow, he came dejectedly back. Tommy wanted to wait and see the train; he had never seen but one, he pleaded that was a "fate" train. Far down the track a fateful whistle blew. Above them, the semaphore dropped with a clang. "Come, F'ank!" shouted Tommy, dancing with excitement.
There stood old Frank, gently wagging his tail. Frank had nothing to lose; nothing would be done to Frank. Frank's reputation was spotless; it could stand a stain or two. Eagerly he smiled up into his father's face. "F'ank killed him!" he said. For a moment the air was electric with uncertainty. Then his mother spoke, her eyes full of pain and reproach. "Why, dear!"
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