his brother-in-law. As Uncle Ezra pushed back his chair there was a mingled howl and growl, followed by a short bark.
"Grit!" cried Dick. "You've stepped on my bulldog, Uncle Ezra!"
"Served him right!" snapped the old man. "Dogs have no business in the house. I'd have him shot if he were mine!"
An angry retort rose to Dick's lips, but by an effort he calmed himself.
"Here, Grit, old fellow," he called soothingly, and the dog crawled up to him, limping slightly.
"Dogs are no good," went on Mr. Larabee, pointing a long, lean finger at Grit. "If he were mine I'd"
He didn't finish the sentence, for the bulldog, with the hair on the ridge of his back standing up in anger, and with his lips parted in an ugly snarl, darted away from Dick. The animal might have sprung at Mr. Larabee, but for the restraining hand of his master on his collar. However, the crabbed old man did not wait. Toward the library he fled, crying out:
"Hold him, Richard! Hold him! If he bites me I'll sue your father for damages!"
He reached the library and slammed shut the door. Mr. Hamilton followed more slowly, endeavoring not to smile or laugh.
"Better put Grit outside, Dick," he said. "Your uncle is going home in the morning."
"All right," agreed the young millionaire, some-
