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 off and leave the little beggar. We didn’t want him anyhow.”

Just here they sighted a mourner’s bench whereon was seated a small, plump figure looking so weary, so patiently forlorn, their hearts smote them.

“The poor, wee, lost thing,” murmured Patty, and Pat gave her arm a surreptitious and responsive squeeze. “We'll have to take him with us to-day, dearest, and we'll advertise, put his picture in the paper or something,” and she kissed Bateese in her contrition.

“We will get a cab,” said Pat. Somehow the zest had gone from things and he felt flat and tired.

As they turned to go Patty spelled on her fingers, “D-O-G.” Her husband’s face hardened.

“No,” he answered, loudly and emphatically. “Not if I know it.” Rh