But just then Purt felt something at his heels and turned swiftly. One of the homeliest mongrel curs ever seen was sniffing at Purt's green stockings.

"Get out, you brute!" gasped the dude, rather frightened.

But the dog didn't seem to have any designs upon Purt's thin shanks.

Instead, he jumped about, foolishly stiff-legged as a dog will when he thinks he has found a friend, and barked.

"Gee! he's glad to see you," said Bobby. "Where'd you find him, Purt?"

"Weally!" declared the dude, trying to shoo the dog off. "I--I never did see the horrid brute before--I never did."

"Don't call him names. You'll hurt his feelings," suggested one of the Lockwood twins, while Laura said, seriously: "That dog certainly does know you, Mr. Sweet."

"I declare, I never saw him before," said Purt, making frantic efforts to frighten the dog away.

He was a snarly haired dog, with one ear c.o.c.ked up and the other half chewed off, his coat muddied, only half a tail, which he wiggled ecstatically, and the most foolish looking face that was ever given to a dog.

"Did you ever see such a looking thing?" gasped Bobby, half choked with laughter.

"And how well he matches Purt's suit," said Nellie, demurely.

"I'm not going to walk with you if you don't get rid of that dog!"

declared Lily, seeing that many bystanders were laughing at the boy and the mongrel.

She went ahead with the other girls while poor Purt remained in the rear, trying his best to chase away the friendly animal. But the more Purt shooed him, or attempted to hit him, or strove otherwise to send the brute about his business, the more the latter considered that the boy was playing with him, and he welcomed the game with loud and cheerful barks.

Soon a small crowd was collected, watching the performance with broad grins. The girls, giggling, but rather worried by the attention that was being attracted to their escort, darted into a store and left Purt to settle the matter by himself.

CHAPTER VII

THE BARNACLE

The crowd was laughing loudly and Purt Sweet (although he was frequently the source of mirth for his companions) did not enjoy it.

He began to hate that mongrel cur with an intense hatred.

"Get away from me, you brute!" he exclaimed, trying to kick the dog.

"Look out there, son," drawled one on-looker. "If you abuse your dog the S. P. C. A. will do something to you that you won't like."

"It isn't my dog! I weally never saw it before," gasped the dude, growing very warm and red as the dog leaped about him in delight.

"You'll have to tell that to the judge," the man a.s.sured him.

This really scared Purt. He did not want to be arrested for abusing the strange dog. But he could not allow it to follow him, that was sure. The girls were already disgusted with him for having attracted the brute.

"And I never meant to!" thought the boy, in despair. "Oh! if I only had him out in the woods, and had a good rock!"

But he dared not pelt the mongrel after what the bystander had said.

The crowd became so numerous that a policeman came strolling that way.

He saw Purt with the dog dancing about him.

"Here! this is no place for a circus. You and your dog get out!"

commanded the officer of the law. "Move on!"

He flourished his baton; the horrified Purt made off around the nearest corner; the dog stuck like a porous plaster.

"If I only had a club!" groaned Purt.

He escaped the crowd and sat down upon a dwelling house stoop. At once that imbecile dog rushed upon him, leaped into his lap, and lapped Purt's face!

"Get out! You nawsty, nawsty brute you!" wailed the dude, beating the dog off weakly.

The latter considered it all in the game. He had taken a decided liking to the boy from Central High, and nothing would drive him away.

Purt had never really cared for dogs. Most boys are tickled enough to get a dog--even a mongrel like this one. But the dude found himself with a possession for which he had never longed.

The dog lay down on the walk in front of him, his tongue hanging on his breast like an inflammatory necktie, and laughing as broadly as a dog _could_ laugh. He evidently admired Purt greatly. Whether it was the Lincoln green suit, or the tam-o'-shanter cap, or the dude's personal pulchritude, which most attracted his doggish soul, it was hard to say.

Suddenly a window went up behind Purt and a lady put out her head.

"Little boy! Little boy!" she called, shrilly. "I wish you'd take your dog away from here. I want to let my cat out, and dogs make her so nervous."

"It isn't my dog--weally it isn't!" exclaimed Purt, jumping up.

Immediately the dog leaped about, barking fit to split his throat.

"You naughty boy!" gasped the lady in the window. "I have seen you with that dog go past here hundreds of times!" and she immediately slammed down the sash before Purt could further defend himself.

However the lady could have made the mistake of thinking she had seen Purt before, is not easily explained. Perhaps she was very near sighted.

The Central High dude "moved on," with the mongrel frisking about him.

Purt heartily wished the animal would have a sunstroke (for it was high noon now, and very warm) or would be taken with an apoplectic stroke, or some other sudden complaint!

Purt wanted to get back to Main Street and rejoin the girls; but he knew it would be no use in trying that unless he could "shake" the dog. The girls (especially Lily Pendleton, whom he so much admired) would not stand for that mongrel brute following in their train.

So, finding that the dog was fastened to him like a new Old Man of the Sea, Prettyman Sweet decided to sneak back to the dock, by the way of back streets, and escape the beast by going aboard the _d.u.c.h.ess_.

He set off, therefore, through several byways, coming out at last on a water-front street of more prominence. Here were stores and tenements.

The gutters were crowded with noisy children, and the street with traffic.

A fat butcher stood before his shop, with his thumbs in the string of his ap.r.o.n. When he spied Purt and his close companion, he gave vent to an exclamation of satisfaction and reached for the Central High boy with a mighty hand.

"Here!" he said, hoa.r.s.ely, his fat face growing scarlet on the instant. "I been waiting for you."

"Waiting for me, Mister?" gasped Purt. "Weally--that cawn't be, doncher know! I never came this way before."

"No, ye smart Ike! But yer dog has," growled the man, giving Prettyman a shake that seemed to start every tooth in his head.