The money passed, and one dream, at least, had been made to come true.
For the first time he was in actual contact with the wonderful animal.
"He knows me," said Bean, as the dog hurled itself delightedly upon him.
"We've been friends a long time. I think he got so he expected me every
afternoon."
Napoleon barked emphatically in confirmation of this. He seemed to be
saying: "Hurry! Let's get out of here before he puts me back in that
window!"
The old man confessed that he would miss the little fellow. He advised
Bean to call him "Nap." "Napoleon" was no right name for a dog of any
character.
"You know what that fellow been if he been here now," he volunteered at
parting. "I dell you, you bed your life! He been a gompanion unt partner
in full with that great American train-robber, Chessie Chames. Sure he
would. My grantmutter she seen him like she could maybe reach out a
finger unt touch him!"
"I'll call him Nap," promised Bean. He had ceased to feel blamable for
the shortcomings of Napoleon I, but it was just as well not to have the
name used too freely.
When he issued to the street, the excited dog on a leash, he was prouder
than most kings have ever had occasion to be.
Now, he went to inspect flats. He would at last have "apartments," and
in a neighbourhood suitable for a growing dog. He bestowed little
attention on the premises submitted to his view, occupying himself
chiefly with observing the effect of his dog on the various janitors.
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