By Jerome Estes Porter
" 'Oh, papa! The beautiful, the beau
fiful!" Little Elsa Doane buried her glow
ing face deep inthesoft, silky fur of
(jnagnificent collie dog. The auto
mpbile in which she and her father
sat had just stopped in front of a
modest little cottage. Mr. Doane
fyished to locate a carpenter who had
done some work for him. He had
hailed a man in the back yard of the
place, chopping wood.
This was John Graham, out of
work and almost out of a home.
There was not much wood for him to
chop, any more than there was much
o eat in the house. He dropped the
ax wearily. He uttered a deep sigh
&s he glanced up at the kitchen win
dow where his wife was peeling pota
toes only three of them. Then he
started for the road.
s Prime pet of the household, loyal,
grand looking and gentle as a lamb,
X.addie, his dog, had preceded him.
Jjttle Elsa had called him. Light as
.i-squirrel, daintily, lovingly, Laddie
"had leaped upon the running board of
"the machine to have the golden
haired little beauty go into ecstasies
., "Will you please tell me where a
Mr. Evans lives?" inquired Mr. Doane,
rich and influential, of John Graham,
5poor and friendless.
The latter answered politejy. The
chauffeur was ready to start up when
"jsHsa set up a great outcry.
, "Oh, papa, dear, I want to stay here
and play with this beautiful dog!"
Z. "We must be on qur way, pet," re
minded her father.
Well-trained, well-behaved Laddie
"caressed the little one with his paw
and sprang free of the machine, fol-
owing his master back into the. yard.
sa Durst into a torrent or unre
j '"Please, oh, please, papa, buy me
ithat beautiful dog!" she pleaded, and
Ttook on so that Mr. Doane looked un
decided and irresolute: Then, her
tears coming faster, he alighted and
joined Mr. Graham in the back yard.
"My friend," he said, "that is a fine
animal of yours."
"Laddie-roh, yes, sir, a family pet.
My wife and little daughter and he
are wonderful friends."
"Would you think of selling him?
Would you look at $50 for him. ,
Mr. Graham shook his head sadly.
Fifty dollars! Food, shelter, a respite
from endless care, anxiety and even
"Would You Think of Selling Him?"
destitution for his wife! But he
caught his breath short and quick.
"Don't tempt me," he said. "No."
Mr. Doane bowed in disappointment
and started back for the automobile.
At that moment John Graham
glanced" up at the kitchen window
again. He saw thewhite, sad face of
his wife, bedewed with tears. ' He
thought of the shabby, thin dress of
their only child, Rose. He recalled
that the morrow was the limit of a
five days' notice-from the landlord to
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