The object was Chub’s head. They didn’t dare look again until Chub was almost abreast of the boat. Then,
“That was a pretty easy place to get out of you put us in,” said Roy. The farmer blinked his eyes and motioned at Dick with his chin.
“You’d been there yet if it hadn’t been for him,” he said. “If I hadn’t been alone there I guess it wouldn’t have happened.”
“You had Fido,” said Dick.
“He means Carlo,” explained Roy, amiably. “He’s a pretty smart dog, isn’t he?”
“Guess you thought so,” chuckled the farmer. (Roy and Dick were straining their ears for evidences of Chub’s arrival at the other side of the boat.)
“Yes, he’s a nice dog,” said Roy, reflectively. “Of course he isn’t much to look at, but, then, mongrels never are, I suppose.”
“He ain’t a mongrel,” said the farmer, indignantly. “He’s a pure-blooded Saint Bernard, he is.” (Still there was no sound!)
“You don’t say?” asked Dick. “Funny how folks will talk to you when they want to sell a dog, isn’t it? It just seems as though they didn’t
