Didactic fiction; Dogs -- Juvenile fiction; Girls -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Orphans -- Juvenile fiction
Tom Smith went blustering back into the public-house, almost
speechless with anger. To have been so near Dick and then to have
missed him, was almost more than he could bear. If he had known he
had missed Huldah too, he would have been even more angry.
"You can't have the law of people for taking in a stray," remarked
one man, quietly. They none of them liked Tom Smith, and most of
them wished he would go on his way and leave them to their quiet
gossip.
"Perhaps he ran away," suggested another, drily.
Tom Smith glowered at him sullenly. "What should he run away for?"
he asked, sharply.
"Well, that's more'n I can say," answered the man, calmly.
"It seems to be his way, by the look of him just now. Dogs do it
sometimes, when they think they'd like a change."
"I know he didn't run away; he was stolen, and I'd give five
shillings to know who'd got him, and where he lives."
He did not mean what he said, and he never intended to part with five
shillings, but he did want to find Dick, and he meant to do it, too.
For once he was taken at his word.
"Hand over your five bob. I can tell you where the dog lives."
The voice came from over by the window, and all eyes were turned in
that direction. A young man, a stranger to all there, was standing
leaning eagerly towards Tom Smith, his hand held out. He had been
sitting silent until this moment, but listening attentively to all
that was being said.
Tom Smith turned towards him, looking very foolish; and, as usual,
when he felt small he began to bluster. "Likely tale I'm going to
hand over five shillings now! How do I know you knows anything about
the dog; what one I means, or where he lives, or anything at all
about him? Besides, I don't give the five bob unless I actually gets
hold of the dog."
"I tell you I do know him; he's a yaller dog, a long-legged thing
with a short tail, and he goes about with a girl, and he's called
Dick. I shouldn't have said I know'd him if I didn't."
"A girl!" Tom Smith's cruel eyes lightened with eagerness.
"Have you seen a girl with him? a kid about twelve-year old?
When? Now? Are you sure? Why, 'twas she that stole him!"
"What should a child of that age want to steal a dog for?" asked one
of the other men.
"Better ask her, if you want to know!" retorted the other, rudely.
"I'll give 'ee another shilling if you can help me lay my hands on
the both of them."
"Right you are," agreed Bob, promptly, and without a single qualm of
conscience. "We'd better start; 'tis about four miles from here they
live, and it'll be dark soon."
"Ugh!" Tom Smith looked vexed; he was a lazy man, and he did not
relish the prospect of a four miles' tramp. "I've got to wait for my
old woman to come back," he muttered.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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