“Dear old Fido!” cried Tommy, his eyes filling with tears. “You are indeed worthy of your name. Greater love than this hath no dog, that he loseth his job for a friend. But, old fellow, to be candid with you, I don’t feel as easy as I might. An awful accident happened this morning to some dear, sweet, tender little chickens in that big yard on the corner, and while my lean and hungry appearance shows my innocence only too plainly, it’s best not to take any chances. Besides, I couldn’t talk freely in this public place.” “Well, Tommy,” said Fido, “if that’s the way you feel, we will do as you suggest. So far as the chickens are concerned, however, I don’t think you need any X ray to prove an alibi.” And Fido glanced pityingly at poor Tommy’s spectre-like frame and diaphanous hide. “A little slower, please,” said Tommy, as he limped along after his friend. “You see, my left fore-foot is a bit lame--I cut it on a piece of broken glass the other night. There’s a lot of miserable, depraved, medical students in a boarding house over on Ashland Boulevard, who amuse themselves by throwing beer bottles at respectable people on the roofs. They never throw any full ones at a fellow though, you can just bet on that. It isn’t really safe to venture out on a roof after dark in that neighborhood. Why, those cruel devils struck a lady friend of mine, Mrs. Felida Black, the other night, and almost broke her tail off!” “Horrible!” cried Fido. “Why is it that those two-legged brutes can’t be suppressed? Well, that comes of being born without a soul. Such fellows really don’t know any better. There is a so-called Humane Society here, the business of which is to look after decent four-footed people, but it doesn’t do much but pay big salaries to its officers. The society winks whenever a ragamuffin throws a brickbat at a fellow, but just let some doctor operate on us under chloroform and--My God! Tommy, old fellow, what’s the matter? Here, lean on my shoulder. Never mind the blanket--who cares for that?” “It’s nothing, Fido, just a little temporary faintness, that’s all. You see, I--well, I’ll tell you all about it by and by.” “Well, Tommy, your dry-goods box is quite cozy, after all.” “I fear it hardly comes up to your usual accommodations,” replied Tommy, “but it is at least safe, and that’s a very important point with me. Take a seat on that piece of carpet over yonder; it’s clean and may be homelike to you. I? Oh, this straw will do for me. It’s a trifle musty, but we can’t be too particular in these democratic times. Are you comfortable?” “Yes, thank you,” replied Fido, “You must remember that I am a country dog in spite of my cloth.” “Very well, then,” said Tommy, “not being habituated to that nasty tobacco used by humans, we will, not light a weed first. I will begin my story without any such offensive preliminary.