My will shall mention it; and if you don't need it when I die, I'm going to have it put in the savings' bank to draw interest until you check it out.

I'll bid you good-evening." The tramp that has a dog to sell is a little more common than such children of genius as the professor and the owner of the patent leg.
But I had with one of them a queer experience which may be worth relating.
One day recently a rough-looking vagabond called at my house, accompanied by a forlorn mongrel dog.

I came out upon the porch to see him, and he said, "I say, pardner, I understood that you wanted to buy a watch-dog, and I brought one around for you You never seen such a dog for watching as this one You tell that dog to watch a thing, and bet your life he'll sit down and watch it until he goes stone blind.

Now, I'll tell you what I'll let you have--" I cut his remarks short at this point with the information that I didn't want a dog, and that if I had wanted a dog nothing on earth could induce me to accept that particular dog.

So he left and went down the street.