Homing at sunset Philip
had veered and circled over it. Now as he turned westward toward the
river, the nature of his errand chafed him sorely.
"Nor can I see," mused Philip, puffing uncomfortably at his pipe, "why
in the devil he wants to know!"
A soft, warm nose suddenly insinuated itself into his hand with a frank
bid for attention and Philip turned. A shaggy, soft-footed shadow was
waggling along at his heels, Dick's favorite setter.
"Hello, old top!" exclaimed Philip cheerfully. "When did you hit the
trail?"
Old Top barked joyously but didn't appear to remember.
"Well," said Philip, lazily patting the dog's head, "you're welcome
anyway. I'm a diplomat to-night," he added humorously, "bound upon a
'mission of exceeding delicacy' and only a companion of your
extraordinary reticence and discretion would be welcome."
Man and dog turned aside into a crossroad. It was very dark now, the
only spot of cheer save for the lightning behind the hills, the coal of
Philip's pipe.
"Tell me, old man," begged Philip whimsically, "what would you do? May
we not wander casually into camp and look at my beautiful gypsy lady
without fussing unduly about this infernal mission? More and more do
we dislike it. And in the morning we may respectfully rebel.
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