, smoking. Finally he began
gently to philosophize. "Now girl, he's prob'ly better off there than he
ever was at home with his mother soused all the time. Maybe he give that
warty matron friend of yours all kinds of trouble, yellin' for his ma."

I raised my head from the desk. "Oh, you can talk! You didn't see
him. What do you care! But if you could have seen him, crouched
there--alone--like a little animal! He was so sweet--and
lovable--and--and--he hadn't been decently washed for weeks--and his
arms clung to me--I can feel his hands about my neck!--"

I buried my head in the papers again. Blackie went on smoking. There was
no sound in the little room except the purr-purring of Blackie's pipe.
Then:

"I done a favor for Wheeling once," mused he.

I glanced up, quickly. "Oh, Blackie, do you think--"

"No, I don't. But then again, you can't never tell. That was four or
five years ago, and the mem'ry of past favors grows dim fast. Still, if
you're through waterin' the top of my desk, why I'd like t' set down and
do a little real brisk talkin' over the phone. You're excused."

Quite humbly I crept away, with hope in my heart.

To this day I do not know what secret string the resourceful Blackie
pulled. But the next afternoon I found a hastily scrawled note tucked
into the roll of my typewriter. It sent me scuttling across the hall to
the sporting editor's smoke-filled room. And there on a chair beside the
desk, surrounded by scrap-books, lead pencils, paste-pot and odds and
ends of newspaper office paraphernalia, sat Bennie. His hair was parted
very smoothly on one side, and under his dimpled chin bristled a very
new and extremely lively green-and-red plaid silk tie.

The next instant I had swept aside papers, brushes, pencils, books, and
Bennie was gathered close in my arms. Blackie, with a strange glow in
his deep-set black eyes regarded us with an assumed disgust.

"Wimmin is all alike. Ain't it th' truth? I used t' think you was
different. But shucks! It ain't so. Got t' turn on the weeps the minute
you're tickled or mad. Why say, I ain't goin' t' have you comin' in here
an' dampenin' up the whole place every little while! It's unhealthy for
me, sittin' here in the wet."

"Oh, shut up, Blackie," I said, happily. "How in the world did you do
it?"

"Never you mind. The question is, what you goin' t' do with him, now
you've got him? Goin' t' have a French bunny for him, or fetch him up
by hand? Wheeling appo