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did not feel like laughing at this boy’s job.
    Why, I know lots of things about him, Jane thought suddenly. The boy was at least sixteen, because he had a driver’s license. He had a nice smile and merry eyes—greenish gray eyes. He had brown hair with a dip in it. He was not really tall, but he was tall enough so a medium-sized girl could wear heels and not feel she had to scrooch down when she walked beside him. He was outdoors a lot, because he was so tanned, and he must be new in Woodmont, because she had never seen him before. He looked like a nice boy, full of fun and—best of all—when he saw she was having trouble with Sandra, he understood. One might say they spoke the same language!
    But what good does it do me, Jane thought sadly. This was the kind of luck she always had. The boywas sixteen, and nice and understanding, but she didn’t even know his name or where he went to school or what town he lived in. But there must be some way she could find out. She didn’t know how, but there must be a way. And she was going to find out.
    Jane glanced once more at Sandra to make sure she was sleeping soundly. Then she tiptoed out of the bedroom to clean up the ashes Sandra had dumped on the carpet and to let the flies out of the snapdragons.

Chapter 2
    â€œPop, have you ever thought about getting a dog?” Jane asked that evening, after babysitting with Sandra and meeting so briefly the boy who delivered horsemeat for the Doggie Diner.
    â€œCan’t say that I have,” answered Mr. Purdy from behind the evening paper. From time to time he stroked Sir Puss, the large tabby cat that was stretched out on his lap. Meticulously Sir Puss licked a paw and scrubbed it behind his ear. When Jane spoke he paused to stare at her disapprovingly for a long moment before he resumed his routine of licking and scrubbing.
    That cat acts as if he understood what I said and knew what I was planning, Jane thought. “Well,don’t you think it would be a good idea to have a dog?” she asked.
    â€œWhat for?” Mr. Purdy asked.
    â€œFor a watchdog,” Jane suggested.
    â€œIn Woodmont?” Mr. Purdy lowered the paper and looked at his daughter through a cloud of pipe smoke. “Nobody even bothers to lock doors in Woodmont. I don’t know what we would want a watchdog for.” He raised the paper again as if that ended the discussion.
    â€œDogs are nice pets,” Jane persisted. “Lots of people keep dogs just because they like them.”
    â€œWe have a nice pet.” Mr. Purdy dropped one half the paper to pet Sir Puss, who rested his chin on his master’s knee and closed his eyes with a look of self-satisfaction on his tiger face.
    â€œBut dogs are different,” said Jane. “They are loyal and faithful and—”
    â€œYes, I know,” Mr. Purdy interrupted. “I’ve read about what noble animals dogs are too. Man’s best friend and all that. They rouse sleeping people in burning buildings. They drag little children out of fishponds. They also dig up gardens. I have enough trouble with the neighbors’ dogs running through the begonias and burying bones in the chrysanthemum bed without spending perfectlygood money on a four-legged force of destruction of our own.”
    â€œWe can get a dog free at the pound,” Jane argued. “We wouldn’t have to spend money on a fancy dog with a pedigree and everything. We could just drive over to the pound and pick out a nice plain dog that needs a good home.” As far as Jane was concerned, the only qualification a Purdy dog needed was a good appetite.
    Mr. Purdy rubbed his cat under the chin. “Now take Sir Puss, here,” he said. “There’s a pet for you. The handsomest cat and the best gopher hunter in Woodmont. And he wouldn’t stand for a dog. He would run a dog off the place.”
    â€œSome cats get along with dogs,” Jane pointed out.
    â€œNot