174 Memoirs of a Yellow Dog
The pointer I got from that terrier vaude- ville please copy set me to thinking.
One evening about 6 o'clock my mistress ordered him to get busy and do the ozone act for Lovey. I have concealed it until now, but that is what she called me. The black- and-tan was called "Tweetness." I consider that I have the bulge on him as far as you could chase a rabbit. Still "Lovey" is some- thing of a nomenclatural tin can on the tail of one's self-respect.
At a quiet place on a safe street I tightened the line of my custodian in front of an at- tractive, refined saloon. I made a dead- ahead scramble for the doors, whining like a dog in the press despatches that lets the family know that little Alice is bogged while gathering lilies in the brook.
"Why, darn my eyes," says the old man, with a grin; "darn my eyes if the saffron- coloured son of a seltzer lemonade ain't ask- ing me in to take a drink. Lemme see- how long's it been since I saved shoe leather by keeping one foot on the foot-rest? I believe I'll-
I knew I had him. Hot Scotches he took, sitting at a table. For an hour he kept the
�� �
