piled chairs to bring down a rug that had been wrapped into cylindrical shape. The rug seemed unnaturally heavy. Harold leaned down and peered inside. A mummy-like, bedraggled gray form met his eye. It was the little dog that had stolen their lunch and with which Speedy had been frisking on the sand. He must have leaped into the van when Harold held the doors open. Nobody had noticed him.
"Hello, King Tut," greeted Speedy. "Come on out and join the party."
The little animal leaped down and scampered around the van. They were a mile from Coney now and Speedy hadn't the heart to push the dog out into the street. Besides, he had taken a liking to the evidently homeless beast.
When he spread the rug at Jane's feet, the little dog came over and curled up near them, utterly contented.
"I'm going to keep him. I'll call him King Tut. He's such a queer looking mummy," said Speedy.
Jane nodded indulgently and leaned down to pet the dog. Lucky dog, thought Harold. He sat beside her, strangely silent and thoughtful.
"Suppose you and I had an apartment," Speedy said at last. "And I'd just come home from work and we were talking it over."
Jane smiled. "And I'd say," she joined in the game of let's pretend, "How did you make out at the office today, Harold?"
"Oh, I cleaned up between ten and a hundred bucks," Speedy replied airily.
