"Oh, I wouldn't feel that way," suggested Weston, who was not a half-bad chap. "You may get a chance yet." "Not after this blamed dog incident. Why didn't you have an eye on the brute?" "Why should I? It was your affair." "Oh, well, if that's the way you feel about it, don't come with me again!" snapped Porter, who was in ill humor. The pound of the town was in a stable back of one of the police stations, and there Dick found Grit chained up with several other dogs of much lower degree. "Hello, old boy!" greeted the lad, and Grit nearly broke the chain to leap upon his master. "Be careful," warned the poundkeeper. "He's got an ugly temper." "Not when he's treated right," was the answer. "I'll take him along. Here's his collar," for Porter had handed it over before parting from Dick. "I'll take him home. To whom do I pay the ten dollars?" "To me. Half goes to the town and the other half to the man who caused the dog to be taken in. Rumcaster is his name, or something like that. He's been here several times since the dog was brought in, asking if the fine was paid. He wants his share, Mr. Rumcaster does." "Duncaster is my name! Duncaster!" exclaimed a rasping voice, and the man who had been so unpleasant to Dick made his appearance. "And so the dog's owner is here, is he? I guess this will be a lesson to him. Where's my five dollars?" "Here!" exclaimed Dick suddenly stepping forward. "Ah, ha! So it's that Hamilton soldier fellow!" exploded Enos Duncaster, as he saw our hero. "It was your dog; eh? You should know better than to let unmuzzled and unlicensed dogs run loose in the streets. But it's what might be expected of a young man who goes to school to learn a murdering trade. Bah! I'm glad it _was_ your dog!" "The dog is licensed, and was running loose because the cadet who took him without my permission did not take care of him," answered Dick quietly. "Hum! I can't help that young man! The law is the law and I'm entitled to my five dollars. It will keep me in groceries for a week. I don't eat much!" and the old man chuckled grimly as he pocketed the bill, and tottered off on his cane. "Come on Grit, old boy!" called Dick, as he paid over the other five dollars, and led the now rejoicing animal away. The young millionaire tried not to feel any resentment against Porter, but it was hard work. Not so much on account of the ten dollars, as because of what might have happened to Grit. On his part Porter was cooler than ever toward Dick, but it did not so much matter as our hero had learned all he could about the financial operations of the rich lad's father,--and since he knew who held the large number of shares of electric stock. "Not that it's doing dad much good to know," mused the young millionaire, "for Duncaster will be more against me than ever now, I'm afraid. He won't even listen to me."