One evening after supper a loud knock at the door caused the dog to look up quickly, while Hippity-Hop jumped with fuzzed tail and excited eyes.  The captain opened the door and two men came in.  They shook hands with him and sat down in the chairs he pushed forward.  The two men looked around the room, stared at the dog, then turned to Jan’s master.  The look on the poundmaster’s face made the dog feel certain that these men had something to do with the old man’s worry, so Jan went over and sat close to him, resting his big head on the captain’s knee.

“Is that the dog that was stolen?” one of the visitors asked at last.

“Yes,” replied the captain.  “This is Prince Jan.  He was sent to the pound almost dead with mange and orders through the stableman that the dog was to be killed because he was vicious.  But,” the poundmaster smiled down at the dog that was gazing with loving eyes into his face, “you see, all he needed was kind treatment and proper care.”

“I understand, Smith,” the other man now spoke in a voice that sounded cross to Jan, “that you are violating the City ordinances, and are keeping the dogs that are brought to the pound.  They are sent here to be killed, not kept.”

“I find homes for them all,” the old man hastened to say, “and it only takes a short time to find people who will give them good homes.  Not one of the dogs that has been brought here since I had charge has been vicious.  Those that seemed dangerous at first grew gentle and kind as soon as they found no one would hurt them.”

“Of course, we know how you feel about them, but the City hires you to kill the dogs if their owners do not claim or want them.  People complain that you keep the dogs and feed them at the public expense.  We can’t have that, you know.”

Captain Smith rose, and the hand he held out suddenly toward the two men was trembling.  “I don’t know who told you that,” he said earnestly, “and I don’t believe that whoever did say it meant to tell an untruth, but the only dogs that are fed at public cost are those for which I am allowed money.  After any dog has been with me for more than a week, I pay for his food myself.”

The two strange men looked at each other and were silent a few minutes.  Finally one of them spoke again,

“I’m sorry, Smith, but you will have to get rid of the dogs.  The pound is not a boarding place for stray dogs, and the fact that you pay for their feed after a certain time does not change matters.”

The old man sat down in his chair as though he were very tired, and stared at the floor until he felt Jan’s nose, and then he looked into the dog’s sympathetic eyes.  The wrinkled hand twitched, but the old man’s kindly face turned to the other man.

“I know you can’t change the law,” he said slowly, “but if you could let me have a little more time, I can find homes for all the dogs that are here now.  There are only ten, beside Prince Jan, and he belongs to me.  See”—­he pushed aside the thick hair on the dog’s neck—­“I bought a collar and a license for him, and he has never eaten a mouthful of food except what I have paid for myself.”