"Well, if you are not to come back with me, I suppose I may as well be going," remarked Uncle Ezra, after a pause. "Samanthy will be looking for me. I'll say good-bye."
He turned to go, and at that instant an ominous growl came from under the library table.
"What's that?" asked Mr. Larabee in alarm.
"I—I think it's Grit," replied Dick, trying not to laugh.
"That bulldog again!" exclaimed Mr. Larabee. "I hate dogs! I wish—"
But what he wished he never said, for Grit, seeming to know that an enemy of his master was present, rushed from under the table, and, with opened mouth, though he probably would not have bitten him, rushed at Uncle Ezra.
"Here, Grit!" cried Dick. "Come back here this instant!"
But, with a wild yell, Mr. Larabee ran from the room, followed by the dog. Out through the hall and down the steps Dick's uncle ran, the dog growling behind him. But Gibbs captured Grit at the front door and held him.
"Grit! Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" asked Dick, trying not to laugh. But Grit growled in a way that seemed to say he was not in the least ashamed.
Mr. Larabee hurried off down the street, not once looking back.
"Well, that was a narrow escape," murmured Dick. "Eh, dad?"
