up and down the sand with Speedy. They romped until both were exhausted.
"Oh, look at your clothes. They're ruined," chided the exasperated Jane.
For the first time Harold looked down at his prize suit and discovered its mutilated condition. It was almost falling off of him in spots. Bare flesh shown at both knees. One shoulder was torn until only the lining remained. Speedy sobered.
"Gee, we can't go into the subway with me looking like this," he said. "They'll arrest me for a bum."
"You haven't any money for a new suit either," said Jane.
"Oh, I'll make that quickly enough. But how are we going to get home?"
By now the little dog had disappeared as quickly as he had come. The sun was going down and the air was becoming chill. Speedy became conscious of this through the vents in his torn clothes.
While they stood there debating their problem, a solution on wheels came rumbling up Surf Avenue. A moving van. Speedy read the bright letters on its side.
"Look, Jane, there goes one of Jim Feeley's vans. It'll dump us a few doors from your house. Come on!"
They ran up the steps onto the boardwalk and into the street in time to head off the big truck.
"Hey, Herman!" yelled Speedy. "Give us a hitch!"
The big, red-faced, good-natured driver of the
