There was the new dog.

It was not the least of many great days in Bean’s life, that golden afternoon when he sped to the bird-and-animal store and paid the last installment of Napoleon’s ransom.  The creature greeted him joyously as of yore through the wall of glass, frantically essaying to lick the hand that was so close and yet so unaccountably withheld.

The money passed, and one dream, at least, had been made to come true.  For the first time he was in actual contact with the wonderful animal.

“He knows me,” said Bean, as the dog hurled itself delightedly upon him.  “We’ve been friends a long time.  I think he got so he expected me every afternoon.”

Napoleon barked emphatically in confirmation of this.  He seemed to be saying:  “Hurry!  Let’s get out of here before he puts me back in that window!”

The old man confessed that he would miss the little fellow.  He advised Bean to call him “Nap.”  “Napoleon” was no right name for a dog of any character.

“You know what that fellow been if he been here now,” he volunteered at parting.  “I dell you, you bed your life!  He been a gompanion unt partner in full with that great American train-robber, Chessie Chames.  Sure he would.  My grantmutter she seen him like she could maybe reach out a finger unt touch him!”

“I’ll call him Nap,” promised Bean.  He had ceased to feel blamable for the shortcomings of Napoleon I, but it was just as well not to have the name used too freely.

When he issued to the street, the excited dog on a leash, he was prouder than most kings have ever had occasion to be.

Now, he went to inspect flats.  He would at last have “apartments,” and in a neighbourhood suitable for a growing dog.  He bestowed little attention on the premises submitted to his view, occupying himself chiefly with observing the effect of his dog on the various janitors.  Some were frankly hostile; some covertly so.  Some didn’t mind dogs—­but there was rules.  And some defeated themselves by a display of over-enthusiasm that manifestly veiled indifference, or perhaps downright dislike.

But a janitor was finally encountered who met the test.  In ten seconds Bean knew that Cassidy would be a friend to any dog.  He did not fawn upon the animal nor explode with praise.  He merely bestowed a glance or two upon the distinguished head, and later rubbed the head expertly just back of the erect ears; this, while he exposed to Bean the circumstances under which one steam-heated apartment, suitable for light housekeeping, chanced to be vacant.  The parties, it appeared, was givin’ a Dutch lunch to a gang of their friends at 5 A.M. of a morning, and that was bad enough in a place that was well kep’ up; but in the sicin’ place they got scrappin’, which had swiftly resulted in an ambulance call for the host and lessee, and the patrol wagon for his friends that were not in much better shape thimselves, praise Gawd.  But the place was all cleaned up again and would be a jool f’r anny young man that could take a drink, or maybe two, and then stop.