ung him
back for the reward. 'E's been knocked on the 'ead, like as not. 'E
wasn't much of a dog to look at, you see--just a pup, I'd call 'im. 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. Carter had found Skiddles in the country a year and
a half before. Skiddles, then a puppy, was at the time in a most
undignified and undesirable position, stuck in a drain tile, and unable
either to advance or to retreat. Mr. Carter had shoved him forward,
after a heroic struggle, whereupon Skiddles had licked his hand.
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. 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. At all events, he
had vanished, and although the whole police force of the city had been
roused to secure his return, it was aroused in vain. And for three
weeks, therefore, a small, straight, white bearded man in a fur overcoat
had walked in mournful irritation alone.

He stood upon a corner uncertainly. 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? Worse still came the intrusive question at times: Had all his
money anything to do with the creation of this misery? He owned no
tenements; he paid good wages in every factory; he had given sums such
as few men