He had a
sloppily idiotic yearning to throw his arms about the dog's furry
neck and kiss him. But he steadied himself and chirped to the
collie to come nearer. Slowly, with queer reluctance, Chum
obeyed.
"Listen," mumbled Link incoherently, "I saved you from dying from
a bust leg and hunger the night I fust met you, Chummie. An'
tonight you squared the bill by saving me from drownin'. But I'm
still a whole lot in your debt, friend. I owe you for all the
cash in my pocket an'--an' for a pint of the Stuff that Killed
Father--an'--an' maybe for a beatin' that might of killed me.
Chum, I guess God did a real day's work when He built you.
I--I--Let it go at that. Only I ain't forgettin'. Nor yet I ain't
li'ble to forget. Come on home. I'm a-gittin' the chatters!"
He had been stroking the oddly unresponsive dog's head as he
spoke. Now, for the first time, Link realized that the night was
cool, that his drenched clothes were like ice on him, and that
the cold and the shock reaction were giving him a sharp
congestive chill.
Pages:
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68