"I've got him. He's mine now--ours, shall we say?"
"Oh, did Dr. Manning give him to you?"
He laughed.
"Not much. He _sold_ him to me."
"He had no right to do that. Verley was my dog."
"But you owed Dr. Manning for your fare from Boston."
"That's true. Did he tell you that?"
"No, but I knew it, and I didn't like the idea of your owing anything
to any one except--me," and he gave me one of his warmest smiles when
he said that. "I did not see the doctor myself, but a friend arranged
the matter for me. By the way, he owes you a considerable little sum
over the amount he paid for your fare from Boston, though we are not
going to bother collecting it. We'll let it go."
"What do you mean?"
"It seems he considered the dog a very expensive article. I paid him
three hundred dollars for Verley, whose high-bred ancestry I very much
doubt."
"Three hundred dollars! Oh, what a shame! He wasn't worth anything like
that," I cried.
He said after a moment, during which he looked at me very steadily:
"Yes, he was worth that to me: he was--_yours_."