The boy nodded, mumbled a name, an address. That Russell mastered the name and the numbers, asking for no repetition, was a sign of his concern. Besides, it was this young man’s quality—that he listened. “May I take him, Freddy? I have a car. We ought to have a blanket,” he added softly, “a soft, clean blanket.”

“I got one, Freddy . . .” “My mother’d let me . . .”

“I can get one,” Freddy said brusquely. They wheeled, almost in formation.

Mrs. Somers frowned. “You must let them take a blanket,” Russell warned her, and his eyes were cold.

“I will explain to Mrs. Titus,” said the Judge quickly.

“Quite a fuss,” she said, and tossed her head and crossed the road.

Russell gave the Judge a quick nervous grin. He walked to the returning cops. “You’ll want to run tests, I suppose? Can the dog’s own vet do it?”

“Certainly. Humane officer will have to be in charge. But that’s what the vet’ll want.”

“I’ll take the dog, then. Any traces up there?”

“Not a thing.”

“Will you explain to the boy that you are investigating?”

“Well, you know how these things go.” The cop’s feet shuffled. “Humane officer does what he can. Probably, Monday, after we identify the poison, he’ll check the drug stores. Usually, if it is a cranky neighbor, he has already put in a complaint about the dog. This Matlin says he never did. The humane officer will get on it, Monday. He’s out of town today. The devil of these cases, we can’t prove a thing, usually. You get an idea who it was, maybe you can scare him. It’s a misdemeanor, all right. Never heard of a conviction, myself.”

“But will you explain to the boy . . .?” Russell stopped, chewed his lip, and the Judge sighed.

“Yeah, it’s tough on a kid,” the cop said.

When the Judge’s guest came back, it was nearly five o’clock. He said, “I came to say goodbye, sir, and to thank you for the . . .” But his mind wasn’t on the sentence and he lost it and looked up.

The Judge’s eyes were affectionate. “Worried?”

“Judge, sir,” the young man said, “must they feed him? Where, sir, in this classy neighborhood is there an understanding woman’s heart? I herded them to that Mrs. Allen. But she winced, sir, and she diverted them. She didn’t want to deal with tragedy, didn’t want to think about it. She offered cakes and cokes and games.”

“But my dear boy . . .”

“What do they teach the kids these days, Judge? To turn away? Put something in your stomach. Take a drink. Play a game. Don’t weep for your dead. Just skip it, think about something else.”