"We might have the initials put on the dogs' collars, too," Juliet
suggested.
"Sure," assented Romeo, cordially. "Then, if we lose any of 'em on the
road, we can identify 'em when they're found, and get 'em back."
Juliet saw that she had made a mistake and hoped Romeo would forget
about it, but vainly, for he lounged over and made a memorandum on the
slate that hung in the hall.
"I wonder," continued Romeo, thoughtfully, "if the yard is big enough to
train 'em in. We ought not to go out on the road until the thirtieth."
"That's easy enough," Juliet answered, with a superior air.
"How'd you go about it?" he demanded.
"If they were my dogs and I wanted 'em to follow me in an automobile,
I'd let 'em fast for a day or two and fill the back seat of the machine
with raw meat. They'd follow quick enough and be good and lively about
it, too. They wouldn't need to be trained."
"Jule," said Romeo, solemnly, "will you please forgive me for calling
you a 'sissy girl'?"
"Sure!" Juliet had learned long before she was twenty, that "forgive
me," from a man's lips, indicates the uttermost depths of abasement and
devotion.
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