shall mention it; and if you don't need it when I die, I'm going to
have it put in the savings' bank to draw interest until you check it
out. I'll bid you good-evening."

The tramp that has a dog to sell is a little more common than such
children of genius as the professor and the owner of the patent leg.
But I had with one of them a queer experience which may be worth
relating.

One day recently a rough-looking vagabond called at my house,
accompanied by a forlorn mongrel dog. I came out upon the porch to see
him, and he said,

"I say, pardner, I understood that you wanted to buy a watch-dog, and
I brought one around for you You never seen such a dog for watching as
this one You tell that dog to watch a thing, and bet your life he'll
sit down and watch it until he goes stone blind. Now, I'll tell you
what I'll let you have--"

I cut his remarks short at this point with the information that I
didn't want a dog, and that if I had wanted a dog nothing on earth
could induce me to accept that particular dog. So he left and went
down the street. He must have made a mistake and come in again through
the back gate, thinking it was another place, for in a few minutes the
cook said there was a man in the kitchen who wanted to see me; and
when I went down, there was the same man with the same dog. He didn't
recognize me, and as soon as I entered he remarked,

"I say, old pard, somebody was saying that you wanted to buy a
watch-dog. Now, here's a watch-dog that'd rather watch than eat any