TAG; OR, THE CHIEN BOULE DOG
“She has strong antirace-suicide views, Pat,” quoted his wife, laughing.
“Darlint,” he rejoined with solemnity, “Bateese is the child of our tenderest care. All our hopes are centred in his plump carcass and our only aim in life is to rear him to noble manhood.” He winked at Bateese, who screwed up his black eyes and chuckled sleepily as if he were privy to the jest. Now that lodgings were in sight Bateese and the chien boule dog assumed the aspect of a huge joke; a Frenchy joke; a sort of “double entendre.”
It seemed too marvellous to be true when they actually obtained admittance to the widow's abode. It was a beautiful home to them, a very nest of peace and a haven from the cruel, jostling world which loves not little boys and bull-dogs. The door closed on sounds of a rollicking song from the enriched
