" But the dog was no
corroboration of his theory. It lacked gloss and shine to its coat, and
seldom barked.
One afternoon I came upon Dan, Baxter's son, puking in the bushes, not
far from the tents.
"What's the matter, Dan," he turned to me, wan, and serious, and with a
grown-up look on his face.
"Nothing! Only sometimes the warm milk father has me drink makes me
throw up. I'm on a milk diet, you know."
"Does your father know that you can't keep the milk down?"
"Mostly it does stay down ... I guess father's all right," he defended,
"maybe the diet will do me good."
"Do you ever get a beefsteak?"
"Father says meat is no good ... maybe he's right about killing animals.
He says it wouldn't be half so bad if everyone killed their own meat,
instead of making brutes out of men who do the killing for them ... but
it is kind of hard on the dog, though," and the little fellow laughed.
* * * * *
"I think my boy is going to become an engineer of some sort; he's always
playing about with machinery," Penton said to me....
"Suppose you let him take a trip with me to town, then? I'm going to
look through the Best o' Wheat factory this afternoon, and watch how
Best o' Wheat biscuits are made. Perhaps he'd like to see the machinery
working!"
"Johnnie, I'll trust him with you, if you'll promise me not to meddle
with his diet.
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