goal with him. We went around
to see the dog the next day. He looked quite natural. You would almost
think he was alive.

It was here that we began to smell trouble. I had my suspicions when we
whistled again. There was a pretty substantial fence around that
barnyard, but Ole didn't wait to find the gate.

He came through the fence not very far from us. He was conversing under
that mangled pillowslip, and we heard fragments sounding like this:

"Purty soon Aye gat yu--yu spindle-shank, vite-face, skagaroot-smokin'
dudes! Ugh--ump!"--here he caromed off a tree. "Ven Aye gat das
blindfold off, Aye gat yu--yu Baked-Pie galoots!--Ugh!
Wow!"--barbed-wire fence. "Vistle sum more, yu vide-trousered polekats.
Aye make yu vistle, Aye bet yu, rite avay! Up--pllp--pllp!" That's the
kind of noise a man makes when he walks into a horse-trough at full
speed.

"Gee!" said Petey nervously. "I guess we've given him enough. He's
getting sort of peevish. I don't believe in being too cruel. Let's take
him back now. You don't suppose he can get his hands loose, do you?"

I didn't know. I wished I did. Of course, when you watch a lion trying
to get at you from behind a fairly strong cage you feel perfectly safe,
but you feel safer when you are somewhere else, just the same. We got
out on the pavement and gave a gentle whistle.

"Aye har yu!" roared Ole, coming through a chicken yard. "Aye har yu,
you leetle Baked Pies! Aye gat yu purty soon. Yust vait."

We didn't wait. We put on a little more gasoline and started for the
frat house. We didn't have to whistle any more. Ole was right behind us.
We could hear him thundering on the pavement and pleading with us in
that rich, nutty dialect of his to stop and have our heads pounded on
the bricks.

I shudder yet when I think of all the things he promised to do to us. We
went down that street like a couple of Roman gladiators pacing a hungry
bear, and, by tangling Ole up in the parkings again, managed to get home
a few yards ahead.

There was an atmosphere of arnica and dejection in the house when we got
there. Ill-health seemed to be rampant. "Did you lose him?" asked Bangs
hopefully from behind a big bandage.

"Lose him?" says I with a snort. "Oh, yes, we lost him all right. He
loses just like a foxhound. That's him, falling over the front steps
now. You can stay and entertain him; I'm going upstairs."

Everybody came along. We piled chairs on the stairs and listened while
Ole felt