Mr. Mell having left me while he took his irreparable boots upstairs, I went softly to the upper end of the room, observing all this as I crept along. Suddenly I came upon a pasteboard placard, beautifully written, which was lying on the desk, and bore these words: “ Take care of him. He bites. ”

I got upon the desk immediately, apprehensive of at least a great dog underneath. But, though I looked all round with anxious eyes, I could see nothing of him. I was still engaged in peering about, when Mr. Mell came back, and asked me what I did up there?

“I beg your pardon, sir,” says I, “if you please, I’m looking for the dog.”

“Dog?” he says. “What dog?”

“Isn’t it a dog, sir?”

“Isn’t what a dog?”