United States or Georgia ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
That this dog was Skiddles was of course most improbable, and yet the philanthropist was ready to grasp at any clue which might lead to the lost terrier. "How did Bill get this dog?" he demanded. "I found him myself. Some kids had tin-canned him, and he came into our entry. He licked my hand, and then sat up on his hind legs. Somebody'd taught him that, you know.
An' after 'e learned that trick of slippin' 'is collar off well, I fancy Mr. Carter's seen the last of 'im. I do, indeed." Mr. Carter meanwhile was making his way slowly down the snowy avenue, upon his accustomed walk. The walk, however, was dull to-day, for Skiddles, his little terrier, was not with him to add interest and excitement. Mr.
"Not till then, of course," assented Santa Claus. "And now, good-bye." "You forgot to ask him if he'd been a good boy," suggested Jimmy. "I have," said Bill. "I've been fine. You ask mother." "She gives you she gives you both a high character," said Santa Claus. "Good-bye again," and so saying he withdrew. Skiddles followed him out.
Skiddles hesitated. Mr. Carter made no sign. "Pete! Pete!" shrilled the voice again. Slowly, very slowly, Skiddles turned and went back into the bedroom. "You see," said Mr. Carter, smiling, "he won't be too unhappy away from me, Mrs. Bailey." On his way home the philanthropist saw even more evidences of Christmas gaiety along the streets than before.
"All right," said the boy. "I guess, what with Pete and all, Bill will have Christmas enough." "Who is Pete?" "Bill's dog. He's had him three weeks now the best little pup you ever saw!" A dog which Bill had had three weeks and in a neighbourhood not a quarter of a mile from the avenue. It was three weeks since Skiddles had disappeared.
One way led to the park, and this he usually took; but to-day he did not want to go to the park it was too reminiscent of Skiddles. He looked the other way. Down there, if one went far enough, lay "slums," and Mr. Carter hated the sight of slums; they always made him miserable and discontented. With all his money and his philanthropy, was there still necessity for such misery in the world?
"Yes," he said, "that is the dog." "I doubt if it can be, sir," said Mrs. Bailey, deprecatingly. "Open the door, please," commanded the philanthropist, "and let us see." Mrs. Bailey complied. There was a quick jump, a tumbling rush, and Skiddles, the lost Skiddles, was in the philanthropist's arms. Mrs. Bailey shut the door with a troubled face.
Carter put Skiddles down and walked slowly into the inner room. The bed stood with its side toward him. On it lay a small boy of seven, rigid of body, but with his arms free and his face lighted with joy. "Hello, Santa Claus!" he piped, in a voice shrill with excitement. "Hello, Bill!" answered the philanthropist, sedately. The boy turned his eyes on Jimmy. "He knows my name," he said, with glee.
What, the millionaire reflected with a proud cynicism, were his own antecedents, if it came to that? But now Skiddles had disappeared. As Sniffen said, he had learned the trick of slipping free from his collar. One morning the great front doors had been left open for two minutes while the hallway was aired. Skiddles must have slipped down the marble steps unseen, and dodged round the corner.
Something in the little dog's eye, or his action, had induced the rich philanthropist to bargain for him and buy him at a cost of half a dollar. Thereafter Skiddles became his daily companion, his chief distraction, and finally the apple of his eye. Skiddles was of no known parentage, hardly of any known breed, but he suited Mr. Carter.
Word Of The Day