Buddy in School

Front matter

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Pees

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Contents

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Chapter I Buddy And The Can

OME, Buddy! Wake up! Don’t be late!”’

Mrs. Martyne gently shook the bed in

which the boy was sleeping. He slowly opened his eyes and smiled at her.

““Come, Buddy! Hurry!’’ said his mother.

“‘Oh, is it time to go water my pumpkin or gather the eggs?’’ asked Buddy and he suddenly sat up and blinked his eyes for the sun was brightly shining in his room.

“here aren’t any pumpkins or eggs to think about now, Buddy,’’ his mother answered with a smile. ‘‘You aren’t down on Grandpa’s farm. You are home and in bed, but unless you get up quickly, and dress, 1 you may be late for school. Hurry, Buddy!’’

‘‘Oh, school!’’ exclaimed Buddy. ‘‘School ?”’

‘“Ves, surely, school!’’ laughed Mrs. Martyne. ‘‘Have you forgotten, Buddy, that school begins today? You have been having so much fun this vacation that, I suppose, you haven’t thought of school.”’

“‘Oh, yes! I want to go to school!’’ cried Buddy. ‘‘I was dreaming I was back on the farm,”’ he said with a laugh, ‘‘and a Gypsy boy was trying to take my pumpkin. Oh, I’m glad I’m going back to school! Ill have a lot of fun!’’

Buddy ran into the bathroom and was soon splashing in the water, while his mother went downstairs to see that Lola Wagg, the cook, had started to get breakfast. Sometimes Lola was a bit slow, and Mrs. Martyne did not want Buddy to be late on the first day of the new term of school.

‘But even if I was late,’’ said Buddy, as he ate his breakfast, ‘‘I could get there on time.’’

‘¢How could you?’’ asked his father who was

BUDDY AND THE CAN 3 hurrying to get to his law office. ‘‘How, Buddy ?”’ .

‘“*T could go fast on my new roller skates.”’

‘‘No, don’t take your skates to school the first day,’’ his mother said. ‘‘ You will be going into a new class and a different room than Miss Borden’s, where you were in the spring, and your skates would only be in the way.”’

‘*Yes, I guess they would,’’ Buddy agreed. “Well, then, I’ll run.’’

“‘Oh, you have plenty of time,”’ his father said, looking at his watch. ‘‘Don’t get too excited.’

But Buddy couldn’t help being excited. He was that kind of a boy, always eager to do things whether it was to go to school or come home to have fun with his chums. Buddy was always very much in earnest about everything.

He finished his breakfast, ran upstairs to clean his teeth, came sliding down the banister railing, singing and whistling by turns, and then dashed out of the house.

‘“‘Don’t forget your books, Buddy!’’ his a BUDDY IN SCHOOL mother called to him. ‘‘Take your books!’’

“‘T won’t need the books I had last term,”’ he answered, pausing at the front gate.

‘‘No matter. You must take your old books back before you can get the new ones. Here they are!”’

She hurried to the door with the strap of books which were the same ones Buddy had tossed up into a tree that last day of school in June.

‘Throw ’em here, Mother! I’ll catch ’em!’’ called Buddy.

“‘ Are you sure?’’ asked Mrs. Martyne.

“‘Sure!’? Buddy answered. ‘‘Don’t I play on the ball nine? Throw the books to me!”’

So Mrs. Martyne, standing on the stoop, tossed the strap of books to her son and he caught them, easily, and then ran off down the street, swinging the books in the leather strap and whistling a gay little tune.

‘Taking care of a prize pumpkin on Grandpa’s farm was fun,”’ said Buddy to himself as he hurried along the street, ‘‘and so is going

BUDDY AND THE CAN 5)

back to school. Hurray! Everything is fun!’’

And so it seemed to the jolly red-haired and blue-eyed boy who was called ‘‘Buddy”’ by everyone though his real name was Dick.

As he hurried along, Buddy looked around now and then, and glanced down each side street as he passed a corner, thinking he might see some of his chums. But no other boys or girls appeared to be in sight.

“Wither [I’m early or they’re late,’’ thought Buddy as he caught sight of none of his playmates. ‘‘I wonder if our clock was wrong ?’’

But as he passed Mr. Trapp’s jewelry store he looked in the window and saw, by a big clock, that it was only half past eight. Buddy was quite early since school did not begin until nine o’clock and he did not have far to go.

‘We'd have time for a game of marbles or leap frog if I could see some of the boys,’’ said Buddy to himself as he began skipping along. Walking was too slow on such a fine, crisp September morning as this. Buddy felt that he ought to skip, run or jump all the way.

However, he saw none of his chums and he was wondering about this and he was thinking - about the new class he would go in, and he was wishing he could have a little fun before he had to go to school when on the sidewalk, just ahead of him, he saw a large, tin can.

‘“‘T’ll make believe it’s a football and kick it!’’ said Buddy to himself. ‘‘I’ll kick it all the way to school. It will make a dandy noise.”’

Buddy liked to hear his fun as well as see it and he knew, from having kicked old tin cans before, that they made a fine racket as they rolled along the pavement.

Slinging his strap of books over his shoulder, Buddy took a little run to get a good start and then aimed a kick at the empty can which stood on end. Once it had held tomatoes, as Buddy could tell from part of the picture label still on the tin.

‘*Plunk!’’ His shoe hit the can squarely and sent it bounding and rolling down the street! What a fine rattling noise it made!

‘“Whoop!”’ yelled Buddy jumping up in the

BUDDY AND THE CAN 3 air and clicking his heels together twice. ‘‘If I was playing football that would have been a field goal!’’

Buddy had a little trick of jumping up and clicking his heels together whenever anything pleased him. He had learned the trick from his Uncle Henry.

There had been a time when Buddy could only click his heels together once as he Jumped up. But by long practice he had learned to do it twice. Uncle Henry could click his heels three times and when he grew a little older and bigger Buddy hoped to be able to do the same thing. But twice was pretty good for a small boy.

‘‘Now for another kick!’’ cried Buddy as he raced after the can which was still bounding along the pavement. It had rolled quite straight and did not curve off into the gutter or against the sides of the buildings as it might have done.

The can came to a stop in front of Mr. Rudolph’s toy store. Buddy paused a moment to look in the window and he saw some more of the same kind of rubber-wheeled roller skates that he had bought a few days before.

Just as Buddy raised his foot to send the can spinning down the sidewalk once more, a boy, whose hands and face were tanned as brown as those of an Indian, came shuffling around the corner. For a moment Buddy thought the strange lad might be an Indian. He was bigger and older than Buddy.

“Hey, let that can alone!’’ gruffly called the dark boy as Buddy drew back his foot for a kick.

‘*What’s that?’’ asked Buddy in surprise. ‘“What’d you say ?”’

*“T said let that can alone!’’ replied the other and he did not smile.

‘*Pooh! You can’t make me let this can alone!’’ said Buddy who was a sturdy little chap. ‘‘It’s mine!’’

“Yours? Hu! I guess not! That can is mine!’ growled the other boy and, really, his voice was angry. ‘‘You let it alone!”’

BUDDY AND THE CAN 9

“*T will not!’’ said Buddy. ‘‘I found that can away back there,’’ and he pointed behind him. “*T kicked it here and I’m going to kick it some more.’’

‘“You are not!’’ The other boy’s voice was louder now and he shuffled toward Buddy. ‘‘That’s my ean and I want it!”’

““Well, let’s see you get it!’ cried Buddy and with that he gave an extra hard kick and the can went sailing down the street, rolling, bumping, clanging and tinkling; making a great racket.

“‘T’ll fix you for that!’ cried the dark boy and he started for Buddy. But Buddy did not wait. On down the street he ran after the can. But after him came the other lad, his long legs going much faster than could Buddy’s short ones. ;

“‘T—TI guess he’ll catch me!’’ panted Buddy as he raced along. ‘‘ But that’s my can and I ean kick it as much as [ like!”’

Chapter II The Gypsy And The Dog

UDDY MARTYNE played on both the B junior baseball nine and the football eleven of Clover School where he was a pupil. — Of course he wasn’t on either of the big teams, for he was only in the lower grades, but he was a sturdy little chap and one of the best runners, for his age, in the school.

So now, that he had a head-start of the dark boy, and because he had been running when he kicked the can, Buddy was far enough in advance of the other to keep out of his reach half way down the block.

But then, as Buddy looked back over his shoulder, he saw, when near the corner, that the bigger boy was gaining on him.

‘*He’ll catch me before I get to the corner,’’ thought Buddy. ‘‘That is unless I do something! And I’ve got to do it quick!’

THE GYPSY AND THE DOG dt

And Buddy was the sort of a boy who always did something when he saw trouble ahead of him. He didn’t wait for things to happen; he helped himself.

And now, as he looked back and saw that the big boy was still gaining on him, Buddy had an idea of a little trick he could play.

‘*That can isn’t much good,’’ thought Buddy to himself, ‘‘and I don’t see why he’s making such a fuss over it. He can have it if he wants it, after I kick it again. And that’s what I’m going to do!”’

Buddy was beginning to tire a little now, so he slowed up in his running. On came the big, dark boy with long strides.

“‘T’ve got you!’”’ he shouted. ‘‘Kick my can; will you! I’ll fix you!”’

He was very near to Buddy now and reached out a hand to grab the little fellow. But Buddy knew about dodging, from having played football, so he ducked down, swung to one side and the other boy’s hands just went swinging through the air over Buddy’s head.

At the same time Buddy threw his bundle of books between the other boy’s legs and in an instant they had tripped him so that he fell sprawling on the sidewalk.

‘How do you like that?’’ cried Buddy as he dashed to one side, picked up his books and ran on toward the still rolling can.

‘‘T—I’ll get you yet!”’ cried the dark boy as he scrambled to his feet and again raced on after Buddy.

Perhaps if I take just a moment, now, to tell you who Buddy was you will feel as if you knew him better. If you read the book before this called ‘‘ Buddy on the Farm; or A Boy and His Prize Pumpkin,”’ you are already friends with the little lad. But if you have not read that book you must know that Buddy, or Dick Martyne, was the only son of Mr. and Mrs. Clayton Martyne who lived in the small city of Mountchester. Buddy had many friends and playmates, among them being Tom Gordon and Lucy, his sister, Harry Clee, Charlie Taylor, Mary Norse. and Jerry and Agnes Fleck.

THE GYPSY AND THE DOG 13

Jerry and Agnes were the fattest children in Clover school.

When the classes ended in the spring, and the long vacation started, Buddy had seen, in Mr. Rudolph’s toy store window, a wonderful pair of ball bearing roller skates with rubber tires on the wheels to make them very quiet.

Buddy very much wanted these skates but as he already had a good pair of the old fashioned, iron-wheeled ones, his father said, if he wanted a new pair, he must earn the money for them.

“*T never can earn five dollars!’’ said Buddy, this being the price of the wonderful skates. “‘T only have a dollar ’n sixteen cents saved up in my bank.’’

Then came an invitation from Grandpa Kendall for the Martyne family to spend the summer on Blue Hill Farm, and of course Buddy went there. How he had many strange adven~ tures, and earned enough money for his skates with his prize pumpkin, is told in the first of these ‘‘Buddy Books.’’ It’s a jolly story.

And now Buddy was back home in Mountchester, he had started for school but he was not finished with his adventures. For now this dark boy, who, Buddy decided was a Gypsy, was chasing after him.

Buddy ran faster, he thought, than he had ever run in his life before, even at the time when he had the ball and raced down the field to make a touchdown. He might easily have slipped into some of the stores he passed, for he knew who kept nearly all of them, and, in this way, he could easily have escaped from that chasing boy.

But Buddy had a way of his own and he had made up his mind that he was going to give that old tomato can another kick before he let the Gypsy have it.

‘*Though I can’t think why he wants it!’’ murmured Buddy.

Buddy ran so fast, and it took the other boy such a long time to get on his feet again after being tripped by the books, that soon our small, red-haired lad was again close behind the can.

THE GYPSY AND THE DOG 15

‘“‘Here goes for the last kick!’’ cried Buddy as a quick glance over his shoulder showed him the Gypsy to be coming along on the run.

“*Plunk!’? went Buddy’s shoe against the can.

With a rattle and bang it rolled bumping down the street. But, instead of kicking it straight ahead of him, Buddy had sent the can around the corner and down an alley.

‘‘Chase down there after it if you want it!’’ eried Buddy to the other boy and then, feeling that he had played this game long enough, Buddy slipped into Mr. Cutter’s butcher shop, almost falling down on the slippery, sawdustcovered floor in his haste.

‘‘Hello, Buddy!’’ exclaimed Mr. Cutter who was hanging up a ham on a hook in the window. ‘‘Do you want anything ?”’

“T want to get away from a Gypsy boy who is chasing me,’’ Buddy answered with a smile. “‘T found a can and kicked it and he said it was his, but I got the best of him. Now I’m tired.”’

“A Gypsy; eh?’’ exclaimed Mr. Outter.

‘There used to be a camp of them out along the state road. But if anybody is chasing you, Buddy, I’ll have something to say about that!”’

Mrs. Martyne was one of Mr. Cutter’s best customers and he had known Buddy all his life. The butcher left the ham on the window hook and walked to the door while Buddy sat down on one of the white revolving stools to get his breath.

Just then the Gypsy came running along. But when he looked in the door and saw Buddy, and also saw the big, fat butcher in the doorway, that Gypsy had no further wish to chase the red-haired boy. Buddy thought this would happen and laughed to himself.

‘*What’s the idea, Gypsy boy?’’ asked the butcher. ‘‘What do you mean by chasing Buddy and taking his can?’’

The other lad did not answer but scowled at Buddy and then shuffled off down the alley into which the old tomato can had bounced.

‘‘T guess he won’t bother you any more, Buddy,’’ said Mr. Cutter with a smile. ‘Are

THE GYPSY AND THE DOG 17 you afraid to go on to school? If you are, I'll send my delivery chap with you. He hasn’t anything to do just now.”’

“Oh, no, thank you, I’m not afraid!’’ said Buddy. ‘‘I’ll meet some of the other fellows pretty soon, I guess. Anyhow, I don’t believe that Gypsy will come after me any more. He just seemed to want that can.”’

‘“‘What did he want of it?’’ the butcher asked.

“‘T don’t know,’’ Buddy answered. ‘‘Unless he wanted to kick it same as I was doing. And he could get a can of his own.”’

“‘Sure!’’ chuckled Mr. Cutter. ‘‘There’s a lot of old cans in my back yard that he can have for nothing. He was a queer sort of customer, though, Buddy. I wouldn’t have anything to do with him if I were you.”’

“T’m not going to,’’ was the answer. ‘‘I guess he’s mad at me.”’

‘““Mad at you!’’ exclaimed Mr. Cutter. ‘What for; just because you kicked a can?”’

“That, and because I tripped him up when

T chucked my books at him,’’ Buddy answered, smiling a little.

‘“Tripped him—with your books? Ha! Ha!’ laughed Mr. Cutter. ‘‘Tell me about it, Buddy!’ and he sat down on another white, revolving stool beside Buddy and whirled himself around, smiling and chuckling as the blue-eyed boy told what had happened.

“‘Good for you!” exclaimed Mr. Cutter when Buddy had finished. ‘‘It served him right! Here, have an apple!’’ and he took one from a basket and handed it to his visitor. A bright, red apple it was.

‘‘Thank you,’’ said Buddy. ‘‘I’ll eat it at recess.”’

‘“That’s so, school begins today,’’ said Mr. Cutter as he looked at a calendar on the wall. ‘Everybody is back from vacation, so business will be better now. It’s always slow in summer. But you’d better skip along, Buddy,’’ he added, looking at his clock. ‘‘Don’t want to be late the first day, you know.’’

**T’m going now,’’ Buddy said, noticing that

THE GYPSY AND THE DOG 19 it was a quarter to nine. He must be in his seat at five minutes of nine. But the school was only around the corner. He could get there in two minutes. He need not hurry.

Mr. Cutter stepped out of his shop and looked down the alley into which Buddy had kicked the can. He wanted to make sure the Gypsy boy was not hiding there to rush out on Buddy when the latter left the meat store.

‘“‘He’s away down at the far end, Buddy,’’ the butcher said. ‘‘He won’t see you now.’’

“Thank you,’’ Buddy remarked and then he once more started for school, swinging his strap of books. But as he was about to hurry along the street he looked down the alley to see what the Gypsy might be doing with that ean. It was quite a mystery.

And what Buddy saw caused him suddenly to start running ; not away from the Gypsy but straight toward him! For Buddy saw the brown-faced boy in the act of tying that can on the tail of a poor, shivering dog in the alley.

‘‘So that’s why he wanted the can—to tie on a dog’s tail!’’ cried Buddy, his blue eyes flashing. ‘‘Well, I’ll make him quit that!”’

Swinging his books as if in readiness to bang them on the head of the Gypsy, Buddy rushed toward him down the alley crying:

“Stop that! Let that dog go! Don’t you dare tie that tin can on his tail! Stop!”’

“‘Oh, go chase yourself !’’ growled the Gypsy and, holding the now yelping dog under one arm, with the other hand he slipped over the poor animal’s tail a loop of string to which was tied the tin can.

CHAPTER III A QUEER NOISE UDDY was not long in reaching the

side of the big Gypsy boy who was holding the squirming, yelping dog. Buddy noticed that the dog’s hair was almost the color of his own a rich, brick red that often caused Buddy’s chums to call him ‘‘Bricktop.’’ But he didn’t mind that.

‘What are you going to do to that dog?”’ asked Buddy as he reached the side of the other boy who was stooping down low on the ground.

‘‘Can’t you see what I’m going to do?”’ snapped the Gypsy.

Of course Buddy could. The only reason he asked that question was that he wanted a chance to think what he was going to do to get the frightened dog away. 21

‘““You let him-go!’’ exclaimed Buddy firmly.

‘‘Let who go?’’ snarled the other.

“That dog! Let him go!’’

‘‘Go chase yourself!’’ ordered the Gypsy. He spoke English just as the other boys did in Mountchester, though he used slang as Buddy noticed. He might be able to speak the Gypsy language, too. Buddy wasn’t sure about that.

‘“Go chase yourself!’’ said the tall, dark lad again. ‘‘When I get through tying this can on my dog I[’ll tie one on you!”’

“You won’t dare!’’ cried Buddy. ‘‘And that isn’t your dog, either!”’

‘*Ts he yours?”’ asked the Gypsy, looking up as he was pulling the loop of the string tight around the dog’s tail.

‘*No, he isn’t!’? Buddy answered. ‘But you haven’t any right to tie a can on any dog’s tail, even if he is yours! And I don’t believe this dog is yours. You just found him!’’

‘‘Well, what if I did?’’ and the other laughed. ‘‘I’m going to have some fun with him now! I’ll see how fast he can run with this can on his tail. It’ll be a lot of fun. Then I’ll chase you some more!”’

‘‘1’m not afraid of you!’ declared Buddy, bravely.

His heart was beating fast and his blue eyes were flashing. He took off his cap and ran his fingers through his red hair. It was almost the color of the dog’s shaggy coat, he noticed again.

Buddy was thinking hard. He loved all animals and it made him angry when anyone was cruel to a dog or cat. Suddenly the stray dog gave a yelp of pain and with his brown eyes looked straight into the blue eyes of Buddy. It was more than the small boy could stand.

Fiercely he sprang at the now kneeling Gypsy and cried:

“You let that dog go!”’

At the same time Buddy pushed with all his might against the Gypsy. If the bigger boy had been standing up, Buddy’s push would not have upset him. But as he was half stooping, half kneeling it did not take much of a shove to topple him over.

‘‘Hey! What are you doing?’’ cried the Gypsy to Buddy, trying to keep his balance.

The next moment he went sprawling down in the dust and Buddy, with a quick motion, had pulled the string from the dog’s tail, and, with a swift kick, he sent the can rolling under a fence.

‘Come on, Brick!’’ cried Buddy. In that instant he had given the dog a name—a new name—and had decided what to do with him.

‘‘You’re going to be my dog—if nobody claims you!’’ Buddy said. ‘‘And I don’t believe you were anybody’s dog before—not even his,’’ and as he started to run away he looked at the Gypsy who was now getting up, an ugly look on his face.

‘‘Come on, Brick!’’ cried Buddy again. ‘“‘Come on! Here, Brick!’’

Brick—to give the dog the new name which matched his hair, as it matched

Buddy’s—Brick followed his new master, joyfully wagging a burr-entangled tail.

“‘Hey, you! Stop!’’ yelled the Gypsy. “*Hey!”’ “

He was on his feet, now, and was about to run after Buddy again. But Mr. Cutter, the jolly, big, red-faced butcher, had looked down the alley and had seen what was going on. He hurried toward Buddy and Buddy was glad to notice this. Then the Gypsy saw help coming to the boy he had lately chased and he quickly turned about and slunk away around the corner.

“‘T’ll get you some other time!’’ he muttered.

“Pooh! I’m not afraid!’’ said Buddy. “Come on, Brick!”’

The dog again wagged his tail and, reaching up, licked Buddy’s hand with a damp, red tongue. By this time Mr. Cutter had come nearer.

‘*What’s the trouble, Buddy ?”’ he asked.

The red-haired boy explained and patted his new dog’s head. The animal seemed happy now, sitting down, looking from Buddy to the butcher and back to the little boy, at the same time contentedly wagging his tail.

‘‘What you going to do with that dog, now you have him?”’ asked Mr. Cutter. ‘‘Want I should take charge of him? He looks like a good dog, only he’s thin. Hasn’t had much to eat, I guess.”’

“I’m going to keep him, thank you,”’ said Buddy. ‘‘That is if nobody else owns him. That Gypsy said he was his dog.”’

‘‘He wasn’t,’’ said Mr. Cutter. ‘‘That dog has been hanging around this alley all last week. J threw him a few scraps, but he was so timid he wouldn’t come near me. That Gypsy lad never saw him until just now. I guess he can be your dog, Buddy, if you want to keep him.”’

“Sure I want to keep him,”’ said Buddy ‘Why not?’’

‘Will your mother let you?”’’

Buddy hadn’t thought about that.

*“Yes,’’ he said, slowly, ‘‘I—I guess she will.’’

In the distance a bell rang.

**Oh, gee!’’ exclaimed Buddy. ‘‘School!?’’

‘Don’t be late!’’ the butcher warned.

‘‘No, I’m not going to,’’ the little boy answered. ‘‘But—this dog—I haven’t time to take him home and if I let him go that Gypsy will tie a ean on his tail.”’

‘‘Better leave him in my shop, Buddy.’’

‘‘No, thank you, Mr. Cutter, he might get away. You'll be so busy you won’t have time to watch him.’’

‘Well, that’s right, Buddy. I will be pretty busy, with everybody home now and wanting their orders all at once. But if you haven’t time to take your dog home——”’

“T’ll take Brick to school!’’ suddenly decided Buddy.

“‘To school?’’ exclaimed Mr. Cutter in surprise. ‘‘And what did you say his name was ?”’

‘‘T’ve named him Brick,’’ Buddy answered.

‘‘His hair’s sort of brick red, like mine.”’

‘‘But you can’t take a dog to school, even if he has red hair,’’ spoke the butcher laughingly.

“T didn’t just mean I’d take him right in school—in my class,’? Buddy explained. ‘‘But I can tie him up in the basement, or in the yard, I guess. I can use my book strap.’’

‘‘Well, I suppose you can do that,’’ agreed Mr. Cutter. ‘‘But if you want me to I’ll look after Brick until you get out.”’

‘‘Thank you,’’ said Buddy, politely, ‘‘but that Gypsy might sneak in when you were busy and get him. I[’ll take my dog with me. Come on, Brick!’’

Buddy hurried off in the direction of the school and the dog followed, wagging his tail. He seemed well pleased and contented with his new master. Buddy, he knew, would never tie any tin cans on a dog’s tail.

Turning the corner, Buddy was soon in the midst of a number of his boy and girl playmates. It was the first time he had seen some of them since the last day of school in June.

‘Hello! Hello, Buddy!’’ they called to him. ‘‘Whose dog?’’

‘““What you going to do with him?’’ asked Harry Clee.

_ **Keep him.”’

**TIn school ?’’

“‘I’m going to tie him down in the basement until I come out at noon,’’ Buddy explained. ‘‘He’s a good dog,’’ and he patted his pet’s head.

‘‘He sure is a good dog!”’ agreed fat Jerry Fleck. ‘‘I guess he’s the kind they call a hunting dog. Where’d you get him, Buddy ?”’

There was no time to answer for just then another bell rang, warning the children that unless they hurried in they might be late. So they all ran toward the school yard, Buddy among them, leading his dog by the book strap he had now put gently around the animal’s neck as a collar and leash.

Into the school and yard poured several eager, joyous, laughing streams of boys and girls entering by different gates and doors. Buddy remembered that he had been told first to go to his old room, where Miss Borden had taught him. After assembling there, her former pupils would go to their new room —that is all who had passed and had been promoted, and Buddy was among these lucky ones.

As he hurried into the school, Buddy passed along a corridor, or long hall, to get to Miss Borden’s class. He looked in and saw a new, empty room, for an addition had been built on the school during vacation.

‘“‘T don’t believe there will be any class in that room today,’’ said Buddy to himself. ‘*Z’ll leave Brick in there. It will be better than down in the basement. Besides, I haven’t time to go down to the basement with my dog.’’

Into the new room Buddy hurried. He saw an open closet and quickly led Brick inside. There were some hooks on the wall and to one of them Buddy fastened the dog strap, carrying his books loose under his arm. Brick whined softly when he found he was going to be left alone.