Hotel For Dogs by Lois Duncan Page B

alterations. But she’d said
“our
work,” as if she and her husband had worked together. Surely their father’s uncle Peter hadn’t been a dressmaker?
    Mrs. Walker’s face grew gentle. “Why, Aunt Alice,” she said, “I’m glad you feel that way. We wouldn’t want to have Christmas without you, either, and we won’t have to. We won’t be moving very far. John’s new office is going to be right here in Elmwood! That means I may end up teaching at Andi’s school.”
    It was then that they heard the sound. It started low and rose slowly, note by note, into a long, wretched wail.
    The smile faded from Mrs. Walker’s face. “What on earth is that?”
    “It’s a siren!” Aunt Alice’s plump face grew pale. “Another air-raid warning just like the one we heard last month. Oh, dear, oh, dear, this time it must really mean war!”
    “It isn’t the same, though.” Mrs. Walker was listening intently. “That sound we heard in the night was like an alarm going off. This is more of a — a sort of — howl. It sounds almost like a hound on the trail of a rabbit.”
    Bruce and Andi exchanged helpless glances as the deep, mournful voice of the beagle rose again, longer and louder this time.
    “It
is
a hound!” their mother exclaimed. “I’d know that sound anywhere. My father used to have one when I was a little girl. That’s the way they howl when they’re hunting or when they’re cooped up somewhere and want to get out.”
    “But nobody in this neighborhood owns a hound,” Aunt Alice said. “At least, I’ve never heard of one. Do you children know of anyone who has a hunting dog?”
    “No,” Andi said weakly.
    Bruce thought desperately. “Maybe it’s in a car parked someplace,” he said. “I could go look.”
    He was out of his seat and halfway across the room before his mother could stop him.
    “Don’t be silly!” she exclaimed. “Come back here and finish your lunch. If someone has left a dog in a car, it’s none of our business. If that noise keeps up long enough the police will investigate.”
    “The police!” Bruce exclaimed in horror.
    “Disturbing the peace,” Aunt Alice said. “They have fines for that.”
    “I’m through eating.” Andi laid her napkin on the table beside her plate. Without ever having met the elderly couple in the yellow house, she could picture them clearly, standing by theirtelephone, looking up the number of the police station. If Preston’s howls were this loud here at Aunt Alice’s, what must they be like one house closer!
    “Please,” she said, “may I be excused?”
    The beagle’s voice rose, wavered, fell, and rose, wavered, and fell again. Then, suddenly, the sound stopped.
    “Well,” Mrs. Walker said, “someone must have investigated and let the poor thing out.”
    “Please,” Andi repeated frantically, “may I be excused? Please, Mom, Aunt Alice — I’m really finished.”
    “I am, too,” Bruce said. “I couldn’t eat another bite.”
    “Oh, all right,” their mother said with a little laugh. “After all, it’s Thanksgiving vacation. Run along and play, and tomorrow you can stuff yourselves on turkey and —”
    They did not stay to hear the end of the sentence. Her first words had hardly been uttered before both children were out of the house and running wildly down the street toward the hotel.
    They had almost reached the ramp when they saw the figure of the boy standing near it. He had his head cocked to one side and was listeningintently. Bruce stopped short, and Andi, who was right behind him, nearly ran into him.
    “Not him again!” she breathed. “Not here! Not now!”
    Jerry Gordon turned to face them. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
    “We’re — we’re —” Bruce began haltingly. Then he stopped himself. Why should he make excuses? This wasn’t Jerry’s property, either. “We’ve got as much right to be here as you do,” he said.
    “I heard a dog howling,” Jerry said. “It sounded like Red.