Further Adventures of Lad | Page 7

his feet and stretching himself, fore and aft, in true collie
fashion, the pup gamboled up the drive to meet the visitor.
The man was feeling his way through the pitch darkness, groping
cautiously; halting once or twice for a smolder of lightning to silhouette
the house he was nearing. In a wooded lane, a quarter mile away, his
lightless motor car waited.
Lad trotted up to him, the tiny white feet noiseless in the soft dust of
the drive. The man did not see him, but passed so close to the dog's
hospitably upthrust nose that he all but touched it.
Only slightly rebuffed at such chill lack of cordiality, Lad fell in behind
him, tail awag, and followed him to the porch. When the guest should
ring the bell, the Master or one of the maids would come to the door.
There would be lights and talk; and perhaps Laddie himself might be
allowed to slip in to his beloved cave.
But the man did not ring. He did not stop at the door at all. On tiptoe he
skirted the veranda to the old-fashioned bay windows at the south side
of the living room; windows with catches as old-fashioned and as
simple to open as themselves.
Lad padded along, a pace or so to the rear;--still hopeful of being petted
or perhaps even romped with. The man gave a faint but promising sign
of intent to romp, by swinging his small and very shiny brown bag to
and fro as he walked. Thus ever did the Master swing Lad's precious
canton flannel doll before throwing it for him to retrieve. Lad made a
tentative snap at the bag, his tail wagging harder than ever. But he
missed it. And, in another moment the man stopped swinging the bag
and tucked it under his arm again as he began to mumble with a bit of
steel.
There was the very faintest of clicks. Then, noiselessly the window slid
upward. A second fumbling sent the wooden inside shutters ajar. The
man worked with no uncertainty. Ever since his visit to the Place, a
week earlier, behind the aegis of a big and bright and newly forged
telephone-inspector badge, he had carried in his trained memory the

location of windows and of obstructing furniture and of the primitive
small safe in the living room wall, with its pitifully pickable lock;--the
safe wherein the Place's few bits of valuable jewelry and other compact
treasures reposed at night.
Lad was tempted to follow the creeping body and the fascinatingly
swinging bag indoors. But his one effort to enter the house,--with
muddy paws,--by way of an open window, had been rebuked by the
Lawgivers. He had been led to understand that really well-bred little
dogs come in by way of the door; and then only on permission.
So he waited, doubtfully, at the veranda edge; in the hope that his new
friend might reappear or that the Master might perhaps want to show
off his pup to the caller, as so often the Master was wont to do.
Head cocked to one side, tulip ears alert, Laddie stood listening. To the
keenest human ears the thief's soft progress across the wide living room
to the wall-safe would have been all but inaudible. But Lad could
follow every phase of it; the cautious skirting of each chair; the hesitant
pause as a bit of ancient furniture creaked; the halt in front of the safe;
the queer grinding noise, muffled but persevering, at the lock; then the
faint creak of the swinging iron door, and the deft groping of fingers.
Soon, the man started back toward the pale oblong of gloom which
marked the window's outlines from the surrounding black. Lad's tail
began to wag again. Apparently, this eccentric person was coming out,
after all, to keep him company. Now, the man was kneeling on the
window-seat. Now, in gingerly fashion, he reached forward and set the
small bag down on the veranda; before negotiating the climb across the
broad seat,--a climb that might well call for the use of both his hands.
Lad was entranced. Here was a game he understood. Thus, more than
once, had the Mistress tossed out to him his flannel doll, as he had
stood in pathetic invitation on the porch, looking in at her as she read or
talked. She had laughed at his wild tossings and other maltreatments of
the limp doll. He had felt he was scoring a real hit. And this hit he
decided to repeat.
Snatching up the swollen little satchel, almost before it left the
intruder's hand, Lad shook it, joyously, reveling in the faint clink and
jingle of the contents. He backed playfully away; the bag-handle
swinging in his jaws. Crouching low, he wagged