anything. Maybe he’s gone. Can you see from the window?”
Chub walked over to the nearest casement and looked out.
“He’s lying on the porch with his nose about half an inch from the door,” he reported, disgustedly. “He’s a Saint Bernard, I guess.”
“I don’t care what he is,” said Roy. “He’s a nuisance. What shall we do?”
“Put your head out of the window and yell,” suggested Dick. “They’re probably in the barn.”
“All right, but not that window,” Chub answered. He went to the farther side of the kitchen, raised the window there and yelled loudly.
“Hello! You in the barn! Call off your dog! Hello! Hello!”
But the dog started such a barking that Chub’s efforts were quite wasted.
“I suppose we’ll just have to make ourselves comfortable and wait for Mr. Farmer to come back,” he said, closing the window again.
“I tell you what,” said Dick, in a hoarse whisper. “We’ll get out the front door. If we close it quietly he won’t hear us.”
