BRUNO IN BELMONT 93 



howled dismally. So long as there was anyone in 

 sight, he made no fuss. 



Some of my brothers' dogs were often playing 

 about, and now that the bear was caged, he wanted 

 to make friends with them. This suggested to me 

 the idea that a dog might be a good companion to 

 cheer him up a bit when we were away. But no 

 one would lend me a dog for the experiment. Just 

 at this time, as good luck would have it, however, 

 I had a chance to buy a dog at a cut-rate price. I 

 was crossing Boston Common one morning when I 

 was accosted by a dirty, unshaven individual lead- 

 ing a disreputable-looking dog by a string. 



"I say, mister," he muttered, "could yer give 

 a feller the loan of a quarter?" Then he added, 

 as he saw a doubtful expression come over my face, 

 "I '11 pay you back when I sell this dog." 



Here was my chance. "What do you ask for the 

 dog, and what kind of dog is it ?" 



" She 's a good dog ; I 'm hard-up and I '11 sell her 

 for fifty cents ; I call her a beagle," said the man. 



"You might also call her a spaniel," I volun- 

 teered, " but she looks to me more like a fox-terrier." 



"Well, maybe she is," the dog man assented. 

 "The feller that give her to me called her Foxy. 

 Maybe that 's why he give her that name." 



Fox-terrier, dachshund, or spaniel, it made no 

 difference to me. She was a live dog. Where again 



