efore went off to find a taxicab (no easy thing at
Chiswick), and, coming back with one at last, Mr. Lenox and he drove to
the nearest of the London addresses.

The first was no good at all. The retrievers were all puppies, so
gentle and playful that they would not have frightened even a mouse
from the caravan door. But the next, which was at Bermondsey, was
better. Here, in a small backyard, they found Mr. Amos, the advertiser,
surrounded by kennels. He was a little man with a squint, and he
declared that he had nothing but the best-bred dogs with the longest
pedigrees.

"But we don't want anything so swagger as that," said Mr. Lenox.

"We want a watchdog to be kept on a chain, but friendly enough with his
own people. If you keep only pedigree dogs, we may as well get on to
our next address."

Mr. Amos stepped between Mr. Lenox and the door. "It's most
extraordinary odd," he said, "for, although I make it almost a religion
never to have any but pedigree dogs, it happens that just at this very
moment I have got, for the first time in my whole career, an inferior
animal. It's not mine. Oh, no; I'm only taking care of it for a friend.
But it's a retriever all right, and a good one, mark you, though not a
pedigree dog. My friend wants a good home for it. He's very particular
about that. Kind, nice people, you know. Bones. I dare say you know
him," Mr. Amos added: "Mr. Bateman, who keeps the Bricklayers' Arms."

How funny, Gregory thought, to keep bricklayers' arms! And he wondered
why the bricklayers didn't keep their own arms, and who kept their
legs, and he might have asked if Mr. Amos had not called to a boy named
Jim to "bring Tartar over here, and look slippy."

While Jim was bringing Tartar,--who lived in a tub, and must therefore,
Mr. Lenox said, be called in future Diogenes,--Mr. Amos reminded them
how much more likely one is to get good watch-work from a dog who is
not of the highest breeding than from a prize-winner. "As I often say,"
he added, "you can have too much blood; that you can. Too much blood.
It's the only fault of many of my dogs."

Diogenes now stood before them, looking by no means overburdened with
blood and extremely ready for a new home.

Mr. Lenox asked why Mr. Amos thought he was a good watch-dog.

"Think!" said Mr. Amos. "I don't think; I know. If Mr. Bateman was here
and you were to hit him, that dog would kill you. No thinking twice,
mark you. He'd just kill you."

"I hope," said