thing to be done. He could not
find out by verbal inquiry who had painted the dog. The possibility of
Sammy being painted red during the night had never occurred to Mr.
Downing, and now that the thing had happened he had no scheme of action.
As Psmith would have said, he had confused the unusual with the
impossible, and the result was that he was taken by surprise.

While he was pondering on this, the situation was rendered still more
difficult by Sammy, who, taking advantage of the door being open,
escaped and rushed into the road, thus publishing his condition to all
and sundry. You can hush up a painted dog while it confines itself to
your own premises, but once it has mixed with the great public, this
becomes out of the question. Sammy's state advanced from a private
trouble into a row. Mr. Downing's next move was in the same direction
that Sammy had taken, only, instead of running about the road, he went
straight to the headmaster.

The Head, who had had to leave his house in the small hours in his
pajamas and a dressing gown, was not in the best of tempers. He had a
cold in the head, and also a rooted conviction that Mr. Downing, in
spite of his strict orders, had rung the bell himself on the previous
night in order to test the efficiency of the school in saving themselves
in the event of fire. He received the housemaster frostily, but thawed
as the latter related the events which had led up to the ringing of
the bell.

"Dear me!" he said, deeply interested. "One of the boys at the school,
you think?"

"I am certain of it," said Mr. Downing.

"Was he wearing a school cap?"

"He was bareheaded. A boy who breaks out of his house at night would
hardly run the risk of wearing a distinguishing cap."

"No, no, I suppose not. A big boy, you say?"

"Very big."

"You did not see his face?"

"It was dark and he never looked back--he was in front of me all the
time."

"Dear me!"

"There is another matter ..."

"Yes?"

"This boy, whoever he was, had done something before he rang the
bell--he had painted my dog Sampson red."

The headmaster's eyes protruded from their sockets. "He--he--_what_, Mr.
Downing?"

"He painted my dog red--bright red." Mr. Downing was too angry to see
anything humorous in the incident. Since the previous night he had been
wounded in his tenderest feelings, his Fire Brigade system had been most
shamefully abused by being turned into a mere instrument in the hands of
a malefactor