The day after he found Chum, Link had trudged to Hampton; and,
there, had affixed to the clapboards of the general store a bit
of paper whereon he had scrawled:
"Found-One white and brown bird
dog with leg broken. Owner can have
same by paying a reward."
On his next huckster trip to Craigswold he pinned a similar sign
to the bulletin board of that rarefied resort's post-office. And
he waited for results.
He did more. He bought two successive copies of the county's
daily paper and scanned it for word of a missing dog. But in
neither copy did he find what he sought.
True, both editions carried display advertisements which offered
a seventy-five dollar reward for information leading to the
return of a "dark-sable-and-white collie lost somewhere between
Hohokus and Suffern."
The first time he saw this notice Link was vaguely troubled lest
it might refer to Chum. He told himself he hoped it did. For
seventy-five dollars just now would be a godsend. And in
self-disgust he choked back a most annoying twinge of grief at
thought of parting with the dog.
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