"My dogs has been awful hungry
lately," she says, "and they most always
keeps their tongue stuck out. But they
haven't no rash."

"You're all right, then," I says. "If
you give them treatments before the rash
shows up, they's no danger."

"What's the treatment?" she asked me.
"You rub the back of their neck with
some kind of dope, ' ' I told her. ' ' I forget
what it is, but if you say the word, I can
get you a bottle of it when I go over to
the hospital this afternoon."

"I'd be ever so much obliged," she
says, "and I hope you'U find your dear
ones a whole lot better."

"Dear ones is right," I said. "They

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108 THE BIG TOWN

cost a pile of jack, and the bird I bought
them off of told me I should ought to get
them insured, but I didn't. So if any-
thing happens to them now, I'm just that
much out."

Next she asked me what kind of dogs
they was.
"Well," I said, "you might maybe
never of heard of them, as they don't
breed them nowheres only way down in
Dakota. They call them yaphounds — ^I
don't know why ; maybe on account of the
noise they make. But they're certainly
a grand-looking dog and they bring a big
i price."

She set there a wile longer and then
got up and went inside, probably to the
nursery to look for signs of rash.
