He took alleyways and unfrequented streets, and avoided chance encounters. Thus he came near his home without meeting any one, and he went in through the alley and halted under a cherry tree that shaded Muldoon’s kennel, beside the coal house, and whistled softly. The dog might be in his kennel; he might be in the house; he might be roaming abroad in search of his master. He whistled three times, and got no response. Muldoon was somewhere beyond hearing. He might be in the house; and if he were and heard Wint’s whistle, Wint knew he would bark a demand that he be allowed to come out. So Wint whistled more shrilly; a long, familiar call. For a time he got no answer to this. He tried again, and this time he heard the faint sound of a muffled bark from inside the house. This bark came nearer, became clamorous, located itself at the kitchen door, where Wint could hear Muldoon’s claws rattling on the panels. He started toward the kitchen, then halted. For the windows were lighted; and at one of them Hetty Morfee appeared. She was wiping dishes, and when she came to the window she held a plate, gripped in a dishcloth, in her left hand, and shaded her eyes with her right as she tried to peer out into the night. Muldoon’s close-cropped head appeared beside her at the window for an instant, and he barked again. Wint shrank back into the shadow. He did not wish to be discovered and he was unwilling to risk encountering his father or his mother by going to the house. He shrank back into the darkness; but he whistled again, and this time Hetty left the window and opened the door, and Muldoon came out like a projectile, and found Wint under the cherry tree, and slavered over him. Wint was so absorbed in the dog that he did not see, until too late, that Hetty had followed Muldoon. She came on him, under the tree, laughing softly. “It’s you, is it?” she called. “Yes.” “What’s the matter?” “I came for Muldoon. He’s mine.” She chuckled lightly. “You’re the original Mister Trouble, Wint. Your paw says he never wants to see you again, and your maw’s gone over to tell the neighbors all about it.” “Where’s father?” “He stomped off uptown after supper.” Wint fumbled with the dog’s head. “Thanks for letting Muldoon out,” he said. “That’s all right. Don’t you want some supper? Come on in.” “No.” “Where are you going to spend the night? “The Weaver House.” She gave an exclamation of disgust. “That dirty joint!” “They say that’s where I belong. I can stand it if they can.” “Oh, don’t be a nut!” He turned away into the alley, Muldoon at his heels. She called after him: “What’s your hurry?” “Good night.” “Your paw’ll come around.” Wint said nothing. He was moving away. She ran after him and caught his arm. “Wint! Don’t be a nut! Come on back! He’ll come around.” He released his arm and shook his head. “That’s up to him,” he said. “I’ve eaten dirt. All I intend to.”