is fearful loss. For the sake of Chum--for the sake of the
self-respecting man he himself had become--he would not let himself go
to pieces. Forcing his shaken voice to a dry steadiness, he addressed
the uneasily squirming Gault.

"What d'j' you pay for Chum when you bought him off'n that Hudson River
feller--that Glenmuir chap?" he demanded.

"Why, as a matter of fact," responded Gault, "as Colonel Marden has
told you, I couldn't have hoped to get such a promising collie at any
price it--"

"What d'j' you pay for him?" insisted Link, his voice harsh and
unconsciously domineering as a vague new hope dawned on his troubled
mind.

"I paid six hundred dollars," answered Gault shortly, in annoyance at
the boor's manner.

"Good!" approved Link, "That gives us suthin' to go on. I'll pay you
six hundred dollars fer him back. This hundred dollars in gold an' this
yer silver cup an' seven dollars more I got with me--to bind the
bargain. An' a second mortgage on my farm fer the rest. Fer as much of
the rest," he amended, "as I ain't got ready cash for."

In his stark earnestness, Link's rough voice sounded more hectoring and
unpleasant than before. Gault, unused to such talk from the alleged
"peasantry," resolved to cut short the haggling.

"Sell for six hundred a dog that's cleaned up 'best in the show?'" he
rasped. "No, thank you. Leighton says Cavalier will go far. One man,
ten minutes ago, offered me a thousand for him."

"A thousan'?" repeated Ferris, scared at the magnitude of the
sum--then, rallying, he asked:

"What WILL you let me have him fer, then? Set a price, can't you?"

"The dog is not for sale," curtly replied Gault, busying himself with
the lighting of a cigarette.

"Take Mr. Gault's check and go," commanded Marden, thrusting the slip
of paper at Link. "I think there is nothing more to say. I have an
appointment at--"

He hesitated. Regardless of the others' presence, Ferris dropped to one
knee beside the uncomprehending dog. With his arm about Chum's neck, he
bent close to the collie's ear and whispered:

"Good-by, Chummie! It's good-by, fer keeps, too. Don't you get to
thinkin' I've gone an' deserted you, nor got tired of you, nor nothnn',
Chum. Because I'd a dam' sight ruther leave one of my two legs here
than to leave you. I--I guess only Gawd rightly knows all you done fer
me, Chum. But I ain't a-goin' to ferget none of it. Lord, but it's
goin' to be pretty turrible, to home, without you!" H