TAG; OR, THE CHIEN BOULE DOG
pastime; so leisurely and calm was he that interest flagged and observation was withdrawn. And now, with the light of dire purpose in his eye, he leaned down suddenly, unloosed the chain, stuffed it in his overcoat pocket, and strolled toward the front door; before he arrived there the unctuous voice of the clerk reached him,
“Mr.—er—ah— Will you kindly—”
A hand was laid upon his arm.
“’Scuse me, sir,” said a porter, politely struggling to hide his grin, “You’ve forgotten your dog.”
Mr. Patterson’s hand instinctively sought his change pocket, but the authorities were too near. Assuming a stony countenance, he turned and called Cairlo; low at first, then in tones of sharp command. The graven image of a dog never stirred. Every occupant of the large and busy rotunda was now deeply
