" and he patted him upon his head, till the dog (who
was usually shy of Sam) seemed to think that he was a good friend.
"There, go and bring that to me," at the same time throwing a little
stick one or two rods.

Spot obeyed at once, and brought back the stick, apparently conscious of
having performed his duty well.

"What do you suppose he would do if I should tie my dinner pail to his
tail?" inquired Sam.

"You shan't do it," cried two or three boys, none more loudly, however,
than Nat.

"I _shall_ do it, if I am a mind to," replied Sam; and he proceeded to
take a string out of his pocket for this purpose.

"You are too bad to do that," said John, trying to dissuade him from
doing it.

"It seems to me that you all have a heap of pity just now," said Sam.

"I wish _you_ had," responded Nat.

"_You_ would get precious little of it, Mr. Squash-peddler, if I had,"
answered Sam. "The dog is none of your relations, and you needn't
trouble yourself about him."

Ben Drake, ere this, had turned to aid Sam in executing his purpose, and
the pail was actually tied to Spot's tail before this conversation
closed.

"Take off the cover," said Ben, and no quicker said than done; whereupon
Spot ran yelping down the street, the tin pail rattling behind him so
as to frighten him beyond measure. The faster he ran, the more the pail
rattled, and the more terrified the dog was. Men stopped in the street
to see the cruel sport, and express their disapproval.

"It is one of Sam Drake's tricks," said Charlie to an inquiry put by a
gentleman.

Sam and Ben laughed till they could scarcely stand upon their feet to
see the dog run. It was just such sport as they loved.

"Hurrah for Spot!" shouted Sam, swinging his hat. "He'll spill his
dinner if he don't carry the pail more carefully."

"If it was _my_ dog," said Frank, "you would find my father after you."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," added Nat. "It would not have
been more cruel in you to kill him outright. You are always up to
something of the kind."

Not one of the boys approved of Sam's and Ben's cruelty. All expressed
decided sympathy for Spot, and were glad to see the pail drop from his
tail by the time he had run thirty or forty rods.

"What kind of a noun is Sam?" inquired John, with one of his roguish
glances of the eye.

"A proper noun, of course," replied Charlie.

"Not by any means," said Nat; "it takes a decent fellow to be a _proper_
noun. Sam is