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Show i No In Sale By Richard Hill Wilkinson MirE could sell Dusty," Sylvia W gaid. Joe stared at her. "You don't mean that!" Dusty thumped his tall on the floor and pricked his ears. There was, he hoped, a possibility of being be-ing taktn for a walk up the slope behind the house where rabbits frequently ran and offered no end of excitement. Sylvia laughed nervously. 'Of course I don't. I was only joking. We wouldn't sell Dusty for a million mil-lion dollars." She reached down and twisted one 31 of Dusty's flop- Minute pjng ears around Fiction h e r forefinger. I Dusty lolled his tongue and sighed In contentment. Next to chasing rabbits, there was nothing he liked better than having his ears twisted, unless It was hunting a glove or an old shoe or pocketbook that either Joe or Sylvia had hidden. hid-den. Joe lay awake that night and thought about what Sylvia had said. He felt guilty and ashamed, but when you haven't enough to eat and you own some property that would bring an easy thousand dollars dol-lars on the open market, you can't help thinking about it. Sylvia's aunt had given them Dusty the week before they left for Hollywood. He was seven sev-en weeks old, a pure bred Springer Spaniel, black as coal and Intelligent as two ordinary human beings. The next morning Joe decided to go down onto the boulevard. Sometimes Some-times on the boulevard he met someone he knew and would get talking and perhaps get a line on something. He put Dusty on his leash and started out. Joe turned down Vine street. Just below Selma, some children were playing on a lawn. One of them was crying. Joe stopped to see what the trouble was. A little girl had lost her rag doll. It was somewhere about, but he couldn't find it. Dusty licked the little girl's hand. She cooed happily and patted his head. The other children crowded crowd-ed about. Joe unsnapped Dusty's leash, held the little girl's skirt to his nose and said: "Go find!" Dusty let out a yip and went bounding away. Two minutes later he came back, holding in his mouth the rag doll. The little lit-tle girl clapped her hands. "Smart dog," said a voice. Joe turned. A car had stopped at the curb. A small round man with a friendly face had emerged onto the sidewalk. Joe nodded. "Pure bred Springer. They're all smart." "Are they?" said the little man. His eyes twinkled. "Like to sell him?" Joe said nothing. He felt a queer prickling at the base of his skull. "Like to sell him?" said tha man again. "How much?" said Joe, not looking look-ing at him. "Nine hundred." JOE thought of Sylvia. She was probably hungry. She'd be hungrier hung-rier tonight. The only alternative was city relief. A man has hir "How much?" said Joe, not looking at him. pride. He remembered the hu Sylvia had given Dusty before they left. He thought of the way Dusty would nip at their toes when they were getting dressed in the morning. morn-ing. Ha shook his head. "No!" he said. "No! Not for twice thai amount." The rotund man laughed. "Then how about hiring him? You, too. of course. We're making a picture" that requires a cute dog who will go find things that have been hidden." hid-den." Joe threw up his head. "What'" "Think It over," sad the rotund man. "Pay would be $25 day. Here's my card." He smiled. "Hope I didn't Insult you with that nine hundred offer. of-fer. Your dog's worth two thousand, thou-sand, if a cent. Never saw a pure black Springer with those lines. Be sure to look me up If $25 doesn't suit you. we can probably talk terms." Joe stood on the curb and watched the black limousine re cede. He glanced at the card then down at Dusty. Dusty was watching him expectantly. He wanted to walk some more. Joe slipped the card into his pocket and started up Vine street at a pace that rath er surprised Dusty. |