One
of them was a mere shapeless rag hanging by a thread. He was dirty and
discolored, and his tail was gone. But still he smiled with his red-thread
mouth and seemed trying to make the best of things.
"What a nightmare!" said Miss Terry contemptuously. "I know there isn't a
child in the city who wants such a looking thing. Why, even the Animal
Rescue folks would give the boys a 'free shot' at that. This isn't going to
bring out any Christmas spirit," she sneered. "I will try it and see."
Once more she lifted the window and tossed the dog to the sidewalk. He
rolled upon his back and lay pathetically with crooked legs yearning
upward, still smiling. Hardly had Miss Terry time to conceal herself behind
the curtain when she saw a figure approaching, airily waving a stick.
"No ragamuffin this time," she said. "Hello! It is that good-for-nothing
young Cooper fellow from the next block. They say he is a millionaire.
Well, he isn't even going to see the Flanton Dog."
The young man came swinging along, debonairly; he was whistling under his
breath. He was a dapper figure in a long coat and a silk hat, under which
the candles lighted a rather silly face. When he reached the spot in the
sidewalk where the Flanton Dog lay, he paused a moment looking down.
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