and set it on the table, backing away with the remark that he'd go
now, Mrs. Cleary would be wantin' him. Kling moved the relic toward the
expert for closer examination.

"Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Kling; I can see it. All I can say is that
the old lady must have known better days and must have been terribly
poor to have parted with it. What, if I may ask, did you pay her for
this?"

"Two dollars. Vas it too much?" The stranger had suddenly become an
important personage.

"No--too little. It is old Lowestoft, and"--here he took the lid
from the dealer's hand--"yes, without a crack or blemish--yes, old
Lowestoft--worth, I should say, ten or more pounds. They are giving
large sums for these things in London. Perhaps you have not made a
specialty of china."

Otto had now forgotten the tureen and was scrutinizing the speaker,
wondering what kind of a man he really was--this fellow who looked and
spoke like a person of position, knew the value of curios at sight, and
yet who had confessed the night before to being behind with his rent and
anxious to sell his belongings to keep off the street. Then the doubt,
universal in the minds of second-hand dealers, arose. "Come along vid
me and tell me some more. Vot is dot chair?" and he drew out a freshly
varnished relic of better days.

The man seized the chair by the back, canted it to see all sides of it,
and was about to give his decision when the laughter of a child and the
sharp, quick bark of a dog caused him to pause and raise his head. A
white fox-terrier with a clothes-pin tail, two scissored ears, and two
restless, shoe-button eyes, peering through button-hole lids, followed
by a little girl ten or twelve years of age, was regarding him
suspiciously.

"He won't hurt you," cried the child. "Come back, you naughty Fudge!"

"I do not intend he shall," said the man, reaching down and picking
the dog up bodily by the scruff of his neck. "What is the matter, old
fellow?" he continued, twisting the dog's head so that he could look
into his eyes. "Wanted to make a meal of me?--too bad. Your little
daughter, of course, Mr. Kling? A very good breed of dog, my dear young
lady--just a little nervous, and that is in his favor. Now, sir, make
your excuses to your mistress," and he placed the terrier in her arms.

The child lifted her face toward his in delight. Most of the men whom
Fudge attacked either shrunk out of his way or replied to his attentions
with a kick.

"You