176 Memoirs of a Yellow Dog
Why not cut that all out and be pards forever more?"
Maybe you'll say he didn't understand maybe he didn't. But he kind of got a grip on the Hot Scotches, and stood still for a minute, thinking.
"Doggie," says he, finally, "we don't live more than a dozen lives on this earth, and very few of us live to be more than 500. If I ever see that flat any more I'm a flat, and if you do you're flatter; and that's no flattery. I'm offering 60 to i that Westward Ho wins out by the length of a dachshund."
There was no string, but I frolicked along with my master to the Twenty-third Street ferry. And the cats on the route saw reason to give thanks that prehensile claws had been given them.
On the Jersey side my master said to a stranger who stood eating a currant bun :
"Me and my doggie, we are bound for the Rocky Mountains."
But what pleased me most was when my old man pulled both of my ears until I howled, and said:
"You common, monkey-headed, rat-tailed,
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