Taking his knife he cut two slits in the sack. He put the pups in it and worked their heads through the holes.
As he handed the sack to me, he said, “Well, there you are. Good-bye and good hunting!”
Walking down the street toward town, I thought, “Now, maybe the people won’t stare at me when they see what I’ve got.
After all, not every boy owns two good hounds.” Turning the corner onto the main street, I threw out my chest.
I hadn’t gone far before I realized that the reception I got wasn’t what I thought it would be.
People began to stop and stare, some even snickered. I couldn’t understand why they were staring.
Surely it couldn’t be at the two beautiful hound pups sticking out of the gunny sack.
Thinking that maybe I had a hole in the seat of my britches, I looked over to my reflection in a plateglass window.
I craned my neck for a better view of my rear. I could see a patch there all right, and a few threadbare spots, but no whiteness was showing through.
I figured that the people were just jealous because they didn’t have two good hounds.
I saw a drunk coming. He was staggering all over the street. Just as he was passing me I heard him stop.
As I looked back I saw he was staring wide-eyed at my sack. Closing his eyes, he rubbed them with his hands. Opening them again he stared.
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