But a little later he brought back word that Watts said the newcomer was an ornery cur—­that he was born an ornery cur—­that he was meant to be an ornery cur, and never would be anything but an ornery cur.

“Watts is what you might call a conservative,” said Katie.

And not being sure how a conservative member of the United States Army would treat a canine child of the alley, Katie went herself to the stable that night to see that the newcomer was fed and made to feel at home.

He did not appear to be feeling at all at home.  He was crouching in his comfortable corner just as dejectedly as he would crouch in the most miserable alley his native city afforded.

He came, thankfully but cringingly, out to see Katie.  “Doggie,” said she, “don’t be so apologetic.  I don’t like the apologetic temperament.  You were born into this world.  You have a right to live in it.  Why don’t you assert your right?”

His answer was to look around for the possible tin can.

Watts had approached.  “Begging your pardon, Miss Jones, but he’s the ungrateful kind.  There’s no use trying to do anything for that kind.  He’s deservin’ no better than he gets.  He snapped at one of our own pups to-night.”

“I suppose so,” said Kate.  “I suppose when you spend your life asking for pats and getting kicks you do get suspicious and learn to snap.  It seems too bad that little dogs that want to be loved should have to learn to snarl.  You see, Watts, he’s had a hard life.  He’s wandered up and down a world where nobody wanted him.  He’s spent his days trying now this one, now that.  ‘Maybe they’ll take me,’ he thinks; his poor little heart warms at the thought that maybe they will.  He opens it up anew every day—­opens it for a new wound.  And now that he’s found somebody to say the kind word he’s still expecting the surly one.  His life’s shut him out from life—­even though he wants it.  It seems to me rather sad, Watts.”

Watts was surveying him dubiously.  “That kind is deserving what they get.  They couldn’t have been no other way.  And beggin’ your pardon, Miss Jones, but it’s not us that’s responsible for his life.”

“Isn’t it?” said Katie.  “I wonder.”

Watts not responding to the suggestion of the complexity of responsibility, she sought the personal.  “As a favor to me, Watts, will you be good to the little dog?”

“As a favor to you, Miss Jones,” said Watts, making it clear that for his part—­

“Watts,” she asked, “how long have you been in the service?”

“’Twill be five years in December, Miss Jones.”

“Re-enlistment must mean that you like it.”

“I’ve no complaint to offer, Miss Jones.  Of course there are sometimes a few little things—­”

“Why did you enter the army, Watts?”

“A man has to make a living some way, Miss Jones.”

Katie was thinking that she had not asked for an apology.