otta go to dinner with the Lodge." A
handful of dank sea-weed writhed around the old man's neck. "That's a
turtle, that is," the boy went on, the need for imparting information
justifying his lapse from ragging the drunkard. "There--swimming
round--it's tied to that stake. You orter've seen it at low tide when
it was on the beach. It weighs ninety pounds."

"I seen a turtle onct," the drunkard quavered. "It was bigger'n that.
En they tied it to a stake--en it swam round--en it swam round--." His
sodden brain clutched for something more to say, some marvel with which
to hold the interest of the gathered boys. It was good to talk. If only
they would let him talk to them. If only they would let him sit on the
store porch and smoke and gossip. He wouldn't be the town disgrace--

"Well--go on--what'd't do?"

"Hey you!"--the boys were interrupted by the authoritative voice--"I
told you to move on, didn't I--now if I tell you again I'll run you in.
D'yer hear? What you boys let that old bum hang around you for anyway.
What's he doin' here?"

"Aw, he's fun. He warn't doin' nothin'. He was just awatchin' it swim.
It's tied to that post. It don't come up no more."

"Watchin' it swim, eh, was he? A'right. Whose dog is it?" The officer
turned and sauntered away.

Sudden horror seized the old man. The liquor seemed drained out of his
veins: his brain worked almost quickly. "Whose dog--whose dog? Say!" he
darted after the retreating boys. "Say--that ain't no dog--is it--no
_dog_? Tied up like that to drown--say--"

"Aw--keep off--I told you onct--it's a turtle for the Lodge dinner." The
boy shook himself free.

The old man stood a moment, shaken. His pulpy brain worked dimly toward
the conception of the pain that was consuming him. "Whose dog--" that
man had asked--and he hadn't meant to help it--"whose dog!" They could
do it--tie up a dog to drown in sight of people--like that--cruel. He
saw the policeman coming toward him again. In a sudden frenzy he
clutched his tattered garments about him and began to run, to run toward
the end of the pier.

The boys raced after him. "What yer gonter do?" they shouted. "What yer
gonter do?"

The old man turned and looked at them a moment with twitching features.
"I'm gonter die," he said.

"Come on, you fellers--come on--the drunk's gonter dive--come on--he's
cryin'!"

There was a splash. A surge of green filth and mud spread and dyed the
water. A row of expectant heads leaned ove