He turned squarely about and started back the way he had come. The very sort of friend he needed!
Kicko would be off duty by now and likely as glad as he to improve their acquaintance, so pleasantly begun. If Shepherd Tom was about they could smoke and talk sheep. There was a lot about woollies these B'way folk didn't know--that, for instance, they could take care of themselves for eight months of the year and cost only seven cents a day for the other four. Yes, he and Tom Hoey could talk sheep at the city's Fold. He would seek that "peace and quiet" which he hoped Jane had found in the deepening shade of the only part of Manhattan that at all resembled his West; was more likely to locate it there than along the avenue of amperes and kilowatts.
His ambition seemed to be shared before announced. Scarcely had he turned into the roadway leading from Central Park West to the Sheepfold when he met the police dog coming out. All that he had hoped for was Kicko's greeting. The more conveniently to vent his feelings, the astute, sharp-featured Belgian placed upon the ground the small tin bucket which he was carrying, evidently the lunch pail of his favorite "trick." Soon picking it up, however, he issued a straight-tailed invitation to "come along." Pape realized that he had some definite objective--probably was taking supper instead of lunch to Shepherd Tom. He accepted.
Many a lead had the whys and why-nots of Peter Pape's nature forced him to follow, but never so interestedly had he followed the lead of a dog. And Kicko showed that he appreciated the confidence. He would dash ahead; would stop and look back; would set down his precious pail, most times merely to yap encouragement, twice to return to his new friend and urge him on by licking his hand.
When they left the beaten path for the natural park and approached a hummock marked by rocks and a group of poplars whose artistic setting Pape had admired in passing earlier that afternoon, the police dog's excitement grew. Beside a dark mass, hunched-over close to the ground, Kicko dropped the bucket with a final yelp of accomplishment.
At once the dark mass straightened into human shape. Pape stopped and stared. Almost at once he recognized the poke-bonneted old lady with whose forlorn appearance he had compared his own state. Then she had stood leaning against a tree at the foot of the hill. Now she looked to have been digging in the woodsy earth. A considerable mound of soil lay beside the hole over which she had crouched and she brandished a trowel against Kicko's exuberant importunities. Her back was toward Pape.