highly incensed. First, he condemned the entire
procedure as "criminal carelessness," setting forth his argument in
unparliamentary language. Then, remembering that Roger had not really
loved Fido, he brought forth an unworthy motive, and accused the hapless
young man of murderous intent.

[Sidenote: The Judge Commands]

Roger would kindly borrow the miniature express waggon which was the
prized possession of the postmaster's small son, place the cushion in
it, with its precious burden, and convey Fido, with all possible
tenderness, to his other and larger cushion in the Judge's own bedroom.
He would take the cold chicken, too, please, for if Fido ever wanted
anything again in this world, it would probably be chicken.

The Judge would follow as soon as he had written to his clients and
expressed his regret that his clerk's numerous social duties did not
permit of his giving much time to his business. And, the Judge added, as
an afterthought, if Fido should die, it would not be necessary for Roger
to return to the office. He wanted someone who could be trusted not to
poison his dog while he was out.

Roger was too much disturbed to be conscious of the ludicrous aspect he
presented to the public eye as he went down the main thoroughfare of
Riverdale, dragging the small cart which contained the slumbering Fido
and his cushion. He did not even hear the pointed comments made by the
young of both sexes whom he encountered on his interminable walk, and
forgot to thank the postmaster for the loan of the cart when he returned
it, empty save for a fragment of cold chicken and a faint, doggy smell.

[Sidenote: On the Beach]

For obvious reasons, he could not go to the office and he did not like
to take his disturbing mood to Barbara. Besides, his mother, who now had
long wakeful periods in the daytime, might see him and ask unpleasant
questions. He went down to the beach, yearning for solitude, and settled
himself in the shelter of a sand dune to meditate upon the unhappy
events of the day.

He did not realise that the sand dune belonged to Eloise, and that she
was wont to sit there with Doctor Conrad, out of the wind, and safely
screened from the argus-eyed rocking-chairs on the veranda. He was so
preoccupied that he did not even hear the sound of their voices as they
approached. Turning the corner quickly, they almost stumbled over him.

"Upon my word," cried Eloise. "Sir Knight of the Dolorous Countenance,
what has gon