ome next?" He strode across the room, rang for Todd, and bending down
loosened a collar from Dandy's neck, on which his own name was engraved,
"St. George Wilmot Temple, Esquire." "Esquire, eh?" he muttered, reading
the plate. "What a damned lie! Property of a pauper living on pawnshops
and a bill collector! Nice piece of business, St. George--fine record
for your blood and breeding! Ah, Todd--that you? Well, take them
downstairs and send word to Mr. Floyd's man to call for them to-night,
and when you come back I'll have a letter ready for you. Come here, you
rascals, and let me hug one or two of you. Good Floe--good doggie."
Then the long-fought choke in his throat strangled him. "Take them away,
Todd," he said in a husky voice, straightening his shoulders as if the
better to get his breath, and with a deep indrawn sigh walked slowly
into his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

Half an hour later there followed a short note, written on one of his
few remaining sheets of English paper, addressed to the new owner, in
which he informed that gentleman that he bespoke for his late companions
the same care and attention which he had always given them himself,
and which they so richly deserved, and which he felt sure they would
continue to receive while in the service of his esteemed and honored
correspondent. This he sealed in wax and stamped with his crest; and
this was duly delivered by Todd--and so the painful incident had come to
an end.

The dogs disposed of, there still remained to him another issue to
meet--the wages he owed Jemima. Although she had not allowed the subject
to pass her lips--not even to Todd--St. George knew that she needed the
money--she being a free woman and her earnings her own--not a master's.
He had twice before determined to set aside enough money from former
cash receipts to liquidate Jemima's debt--once from the proceeds of
Gadgem's gun and again from what Floyd paid him for the dogs--but Todd
had insisted with such vehemence that he needed it for the marketing,
that he had let it go over.

The one remaining object of real value was the famous loving-cup. With
this turned into money he would be able to pay Jemima in full. For days
he debated the matter with himself, putting the question in a dozen
different lights: it was not really HIS cup, but belonged to the family,
he being only its custodian; it would reflect on his personal honor if
he traded so distinguished a gift--one marking the