TAG; OR, THE CHIEN BOULE DOG
much mor’n a pup, and kind of affectionate disposition.”
It would seem so, for as Pat and Patty resumed their walk Bateese and his pet were leaning shoulder to shoulder, the small boy’s arm about Cairlo’s neck. There were further delays in starting, and it was an hour later when the bridal couple went to look at their protégé. He was asleep in the attitude they had last seen him, and the bull-dog wore a silly, apologetic expression as he wagged his tail at their approach. Bateese awoke. Having dug his knuckles in his eyes and yawned, he murmured,
“I’m not feel ver’ bon en bas,” laying his fat hands tragically on his leather belt.
“It’s the cream puffs. I told you not to give him three, Pat, and he has cream all over his neck, too— Come here, Bateese, until I wipe you off.”
