get away from the greasy-handed butcher.

"What--what did the dog take? How much were the frankfurters worth?"
he stammered. "The dog isn't mine--weally!--but I'll pay----"

"A dollar, then. And I'll lose by it, too," said the butcher, but with
an avaricious sparkle in his eye.

"A dollar's worth of frankfurters!" gasped Purt.

"Yes. An' I wish they'd ha' chocked the brute," complained the
butcher.

"I wish they had--before he ever saw me," murmured Purt.

He paid over the money and hurried away from the laughing crowd. And
there, within a block, the dog was right at his heels again--rather
slinkingly, but with the joy of companionship in his eye.

Now Purt was nearing the dock above the Main Street bridge where the
motorboats were tied up. Whether the girls had returned or no, he
hated to face the other fellows with this mongrel trailing at his
heels.

The situation sharpened Purt's wits. Here was a store where was sold
rope and other ship-chandlery. He marched in and bought a fathom of
strong manilla line, called the foolish dog to him, found that he wore
a nondescript collar, and hastily fastened the line to the aforesaid
collar.

It was in the boy's mind to tie the dog somewhere and leave it behind.
If he had dared, he would have tied a weight to the other end of the
rope and dropped both weight and dog overboard.

Just then, however, he met a group of ragged, barefooted
urchins--evidently denizens of the water-front. They hailed the gaily
dressed Purt and the ragged mongrel, with delight.

"What yer doin' wid the dawg?" inquired one.

"Takin' him to the bench-show, Clarence? He'll win a blue ribbon, _he_
will."

"Naw," said another youthful humorist. "They don't let Clarence out
without the dawg. That's to keep Clarence from gettin' kidnapped.
Nobody would wanter kidnap him if they had ter take that mutt along,
too."

Purt was too anxious to be offended by these remarks. He walked
directly up to the leader of the gang.

"Say!" he exclaimed, breathlessly. "Do you want a dog?"

"Not if _that's_ what yer call a dawg, Mister," said the other boy.
"I'd be ashamed to call on me tony friends wit' that mutt. What I
needs is a coach-dawg to run under the hind axle of me landau."

"Say!" breathed Purt, heavily, and paying no attention to the gibes.
"You take this dog and keep it--or tie it up somewhere so he can't
follow me--and I'll give you a quarter."

"When do I git the quarter?" demanded the boy