You know that Mr.
Whittemore has full authority to deal with them. May I trouble you to
ring? I am going out."
A man appeared very promptly in answer to the bell.
"Sniffen, my overcoat," said the philanthropist.
"It is 'ere, sir," answered Sniffen, helping the thin old man into the
great fur folds.
"There is no word of the dog, I suppose, Sniffen?"
"None, sir. The police was here again yesterday sir, but they said as
'ow--"
"The police!" The words were fierce with scorn. "Eight thousand
incompetents!" He turned abruptly and went toward the door, where he
halted a moment.
"Mr. Mathews, since that woman's letter did reach me, I suppose I must
pay for my carelessness--or yours. Send her--what does she say--four
children?-- send her a hundred dollars. But, for my sake, send it
anonymously. Write her that I pay no attention to such claims." He went
out, and Sniffen closed the door behind him.
"Takes losin' the little dog 'ard, don't he?" remarked Sniffen, sadly,
to the secretary. "I'm afraid there ain't a chance of findin' 'im now.
'E ain't been stole, nor 'e ain't been found, or they'd 'ave brung him
back for the reward. 'E's been knocked on the 'ead, like as not. 'E
wasn't much of a dog to look at, you see--just a pup, I'd call 'im. An'
after 'e learned that trick of slippin' 'is collar off--well, I fancy
Mr.
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