He went so suddenly that the cry of the mistress and the bang of the door sounded almost together.
The closing door missed Pep’s muzzle by barely an inch. He leaped at it and whined frantically and whimpered as the motor rolled away. Then like the faithful companion and sympathetic friend that he was, leaped into his mistress’ lap to kiss away her tears and comfort her.
She hugged him to her heart and poured out her grief in his sympathetic ears. Of course he did not know just what made her feel so badly, but he snuffled in unison with her and told her as plainly as a dog could that he felt just as badly as she did and that they were fellow sufferers.
Finally, the mistress dried her eyes and went to straighten out the house. Pep lay down upon his favorite rug to think. He did not intend to submit tamely to being left behind in this unceremonious manner.
He thought to such good advantage that when Thompson came back with the motor, he had fully made up his mind. When the chauffeur at last came in after putting up the car, Pep was waiting for him at the front door.
He had his muzzle close to the crack so as to be ready. Thompson had barely opened the door and squeezed partly through, for he had been warned to look out for Pep, when the terrier shot between his legs and with a scurry of feet along the walk, he was gone into the darkness. A second later, he was out on the street running frantically for the depot. Thompson and the mistress whistled and shouted but he paid no attention to them, and they saw him disappear twenty rods away around a corner, running like the wind.
“He’s gone after the doctor. The little cuss has gone to war,” cried Thompson. “What shall we do? The doctor told me half a dozen times to-night to keep an eye on him.”
“Take the motor and follow to the station. He can’t go further than that.” So for the second time that night, the doctor’s machine whizzed away to the depot.
Thompson had to put some gasoline in the car before he could follow, so Pep reached the depot five minutes ahead of the machine. Instead of finding the train puffing away on the tracks as he had expected, the rails were clear. His master had gone. He was too late. He sniffed frantically up and down the platform to find the scent but there was none that he could recognize. Then he remembered the track. The two shining sticks that the train always ran upon.