“Two dollars. Vas it too much?” The stranger had suddenly become an important personage. “No--too little. It is old Lowestoft, and”--here he took the lid from the dealer's hand--“yes, without a crack or blemish--yes, old Lowestoft--worth, I should say, ten or more pounds. They are giving large sums for these things in London. Perhaps you have not made a specialty of china.” Otto had now forgotten the tureen and was scrutinizing the speaker, wondering what kind of a man he really was--this fellow who looked and spoke like a person of position, knew the value of curios at sight, and yet who had confessed the night before to being behind with his rent and anxious to sell his belongings to keep off the street. Then the doubt, universal in the minds of second-hand dealers, arose. “Come along vid me and tell me some more. Vot is dot chair?” and he drew out a freshly varnished relic of better days. The man seized the chair by the back, canted it to see all sides of it, and was about to give his decision when the laughter of a child and the sharp, quick bark of a dog caused him to pause and raise his head. A white fox-terrier with a clothes-pin tail, two scissored ears, and two restless, shoe-button eyes, peering through button-hole lids, followed by a little girl ten or twelve years of age, was regarding him suspiciously. “He won't hurt you,” cried the child. “Come back, you naughty Fudge!” “I do not intend he shall,” said the man, reaching down and picking the dog up bodily by the scruff of his neck. “What is the matter, old fellow?” he continued, twisting the dog's head so that he could look into his eyes. “Wanted to make a meal of me?--too bad. Your little daughter, of course, Mr. Kling? A very good breed of dog, my dear young lady--just a little nervous, and that is in his favor. Now, sir, make your excuses to your mistress,” and he placed the terrier in her arms. The child lifted her face toward his in delight. Most of the men whom Fudge attacked either shrunk out of his way or replied to his attentions with a kick. “You love dogs, don't you, sir?” she asked. Fudge was now routing his sharp nose under her chin as if in apology for his antics. “I am afraid I do, and I am glad you do--they are sometimes the best friends one has.” “Yes,” broke in Kling, “and so am I glad. Dot dog is more as a brudder to my Masie, ain't he, Beesvings? And now you run avay, dear, and play, and take Fudge vid you and say 'Good morning' to Mrs. Cleary, and maybe dot fool dog of Bobby's be home.” He stooped and kissed her, caressing her cheek with his thumb and forefinger, as he pushed her toward the door, and again turned to the stranger. “And now, vot about dot chair you got in your hand?” “Oh, the chair! I had forgotten that you had asked. Your little daughter drove everything else out of my head. Let me have a closer look.” He swung it round to get a nearer view.