traffic.

"I beg your pardon, what was that you said about our milk?"

"I said nothing about your milk," retorts the other dog, in a tone of
gentle innocence. "I merely said it was a fine day, and asked the price
of chalk."

"Oh, you asked the price of chalk, did you? Would you like to know?"

"Yes, thanks; somehow I thought you would be able to tell me."

"You are quite right, I can. It's worth--"

"Oh, do come along!" says the old lady, who is tired and hot, and anxious
to finish her round.

"Yes, but hang it all; did you hear what he hinted about our milk?"

"Oh, never mind him! There's a tram coming round the corner: we shall
all get run over."

"Yes, but I do mind him; one has one's proper pride. He asked the price
of chalk, and he's going to know it! It's worth just twenty times as
much--"

"You'll have the whole thing over, I know you will," cries the old lady,
pathetically, struggling with all her feeble strength to haul him back.
"Oh dear, oh dear! I do wish I had left you at home."

The tram is bearing down upon them; a cab-driver is shouting at them;
another huge brute, hoping to be in time to take a hand, is dragging a
bread cart, followed by a screaming child, across the road from the
opposite side; a small crowd is collecting; and a policeman is hastening
to the scene.

"It's worth," says the milk dog, "just twenty-times as much as you'll be
worth before I've done with you."

"Oh, you think so, do you?"

"Yes, I do, you grandson of a French poodle, you cabbage-eating--"

"There! I knew you'd have it over," says the poor milk-woman. "I told
him he'd have it over."

But he is busy, and heeds her not. Five minutes later, when the traffic
is renewed, when the bread girl has collected her muddy rolls, and the
policeman has gone off with the name and address of everybody in the
street, he consents to look behind him.

"It _is_ a bit of an upset," he admits. Then shaking himself free of
care, he adds, cheerfully, "But I guess I taught him the price of chalk.
He won't interfere with us again, I'm thinking."

"I'm sure I hope not," says the old lady, regarding dejectedly the milky
road.

But his favourite sport is to wait at the top of the hill for another
dog, and then race down. On these occasions the chief occupation of the
other fellow is to run about behind, picking up the scattered articles,
loaves, cabbages, or shirts, as they are jerked out. At the bottom of
the hill, h