TAG; OR, THE CHIEN BOULE DOG
“Don’t understand much English,” said the conductor, “but anyhow the address is O.K. an’ his dad’ll meet him. He’s got a dog on board, too, bandy-legged, wall-eyed bull with a hare lip. Don’t know how they come to let him have him at the Home. What’s the name of your dog, son?”
Bateese looked puzzled.
“Dog, chien boule dog—you know.”
The dark face lighted up. “Chien boule dog,” he repeated and laughed till his little fat sides shook.
“You are a dear,” said Patty, “come and sit by me.”
He knew the tone and gesture, and, with the fickleness of youth, turned his back upon his erstwhile friend and snuggled up to the smiling lady who had won his heart. According to himself his name was simply Bateese. Only that and nothing more, while the occupant
