"Please don't kill him!" "That's just what I'm going to do, sure thing!" He paused, with the little vial in his hand, and looked coolly at the girl. "You don't want the pup to suffer like that?" "But can't he be saved?" The stranger looked again at Pete, then back at Venetia. Finally he tied a handkerchief over the dog's mouth, and began to examine him carefully. "Let's see what there's left of you after the mix-up, Mr. Doggie. We'll give you the benefit of our best attention and skill,--more'n most folks ever get in this world,--because you are the pet of a nice young lady. If you were just an alley-cat, you wouldn't even get the chloroform. Well, Miss, he'd have about one chance in a hundred, after he had that hind leg cut off." "Are you a doctor? Do you think that you could cure him? Mamma will be very glad to pay you for your services." "Is that so?" the stranger remarked. "How do you know that my services don't come too high for your mother's purse? Well, come on, pup! We'll see what can be done for you." Drawing the improvised muzzle tighter, he gathered Pete up in a little bundle. Then he strode down the street to the west. The coachman drew up beside the curb and touched his hat. "Won't you get in?" Venetia asked. "It's only a step or so to my place," he answered gruffly. "You can follow me in the carriage." But she kept one hand on Pete, and walked beside the stranger until he stopped at an old, one-story, wooden cottage. Above the door was painted in large black letters, "S. COBURN, M.D., PHYSICIAN AND SURGEON." "May I come in?" the girl asked timidly. "Sure! Why would I keep you sitting on the door-step?" Inside there was a little front hall apparently used as a waiting-room for patients. Back of this was a large bare room, occupying the remaining floor space of the cottage, into which the doctor led the way. A wooden bench extended the entire length of this room underneath a row of rough windows, which had been cut in the wall to light the bench. Over in one corner was a cot, with the bedclothes negligently dragging on the floor. Near by was an iron sink. On a table in the centre of the room, carefully guarded by a glass case, was a complex piece of mechanism which looked to the girl like one of the tiresome machines her teacher of physics was wont to exhibit. "My laboratory," the doctor explained somewhat grandly. Venetia stepped gingerly across the cluttered floor, glancing about with curiosity. The doctor placed the dog on the table and turned on several electric lights. "You'll have to help at this performance," he remarked, taking off his coat. Together they gave Pete an opiate and removed the muzzle. The doctor then turned him over and poked him here and there.