Hotel for Dogs by Lois Duncan ch 15-2

“I'm sure it will be.” Mr. Crabtree looked as though a miracle were happening. “The owners are extremely anxious to sell.” “Of course, we might not be able to make a down payment if we have to pay a steep fine for our children's trespassing,” Mr. Walker said. “I have to agree with my aunt that that charge is justified.” “Oh, I don't think the owners will press charges,” Mr. Crabtree said quickly. “In fact, under the circumstances, I see no reason for even telling them. Since the property in question will be yours soon anyway, we can just consider that the children were ‘looking it over. '“ “Which brings us to the next issue — the dogs,” said Mr. Walker. “I guess you're going to make us get rid of them,” Andi said mournfully. “I guess I certainly am.” There was no sympathy in her father's voice. “Nine dogs, and then Bebe! You do still want to keep Bebe?” “Of course I want Bebe!” cried Andi. “I love Bebe! I wouldn't give her up for anything. But I love Friday too, and they would have such good times together, and there's so much room at the hotel.” “Two dogs.” Mrs. Walker spoke softly. “That's not so terribly many. I had two dogs when I was a little girl.” “Tim will take MacTavish,” Bruce said. “I'm sure he will. And Andi and Debbie are training the Bulldales for the circus. Though,” he added with honesty, “they haven't learned any tricks yet. They're funny, but they're not very smart.” “We're not going to keep them until they do learn,” Mr. Walker said decidedly. “Tomorrow we put an ad in the paper. Christmas is just a month away, and people always want puppies at Christmastime. You'll pay for the ad too, you kids, until every last one of those animals is gone.” The telephone rang. Aunt Alice went to answer it. When she came back she said, “Andi, it's for you.” “If it's someone with a dog,” Mr. Walker said as Andi got up from her chair, “don't you dare say we'll take it.” “I won't,” Andi promised. “I'll pay for the ad, Dad,” Bruce said. “I'll pay to have the projector repaired, too. I've got money put aside. I was saving it —” He swallowed hard. “I was saving it to buy Red Rover from the Gordons.” “And what made you think that dog was for sale?” his father asked him. “I didn't. I mean, I knew he wasn't. I just —” Bruce looked down at the floor. He could not meet his father's eyes. He did not want anyone to see that his own had tears in them.

“He wasn't for sale at that time.” Mr. Gordon spoke up from his chair. “But he is now.” Bruce raised his head. “What did you say, sir?” he asked incredulously.

“Red Rover is for sale,” Mr. Gordon repeated firmly. “Jerry isn't ready for the responsibility of a dog. When a boy wakes at night to a ghost, he can come out with confessions he wouldn't think of making in broad daylight. I learned a lot about my son that night — a lot that I should have known before.” He shook his head sadly. “There were people who tried to tell me Jerry had problems. I should have listened. I should have opened my eyes. It's just that when it's your boy and you love him, you don't want to admit to yourself that he's less than perfect.” “We're all less than perfect,” Mrs. Walker said. “Children have to be taught the rules of living. There are a lot of those that our own two haven't yet learned.” “But they know the basic ones — kindness and sharing,” Mr. Gordon said. “Jerry doesn't, and it's not entirely his fault. He's an only child, and his mother and I have tried to make up to him for that. We couldn't give him a brother or sister, so we've kept giving him things.” “Red isn't a thing,” Bruce said. “He's an awesome dog. He deserves an awesome home with an awesome master.” “He does,” Mr. Gordon agreed. “And I'm going to see that he gets one. Would you still like to buy Red Rover?” “I can't afford that,” Bruce said miserably. “I owe too much money already.” “I'll be willing to make up a payment plan,” Mr. Gordon told him. “The important thing is to know that the dog is loved and well cared for.” “Dad? Mom?” Bruce turned to his parents beseechingly.

“Three dogs —” There was doubt in his father's voice. “It's better than nine dogs,” Mrs. Walker reminded him. “Guess what, everybody!” A voice spoke from the doorway. It was a funny, choked-up sort of voice that seemed to be trying to keep itself steady. “Guess who you're looking at!” There was a moment of silence. Then Mr. Walker said, “Why, we're looking at a girl named Andrea Walker.” He tried to speak lightly, but the words came out sounding strangely uncertain. The girl in the doorway was radiant, and her hands were clasped tightly before her. She looked like a person just waking from a dream.

“You're looking,” she said, “at Andrea Walker, the published writer.” “Andi!” Mrs. Walker gave a cry of delight. “You've sold a poem?” “Miss Crosno did it,” Andi said in the same dazed voice. “I turned it in by mistake, but Miss Crosno liked it. She didn't tell me, but she submitted it to the school paper. They're going to publish it in the Christmas edition. It's always just the sixth graders who write for the paper. They've never used a poem by a fifth grader before, never, ever in the history of the school!” “But they won't pay you, will they?” Bruce regarded his sister skeptically. “I thought the whole idea was that you wanted to earn money.” “Money?” Andi said blankly, as though she had never heard of the word. “There are years ahead for earning money!” Suddenly she was the old Andi again, chattering and laughing.

“This is the beginning, Bruce, just the beginning!” Her eyes were shining like stars. “I'm one week short of eleven! I'm ahead of Shakespeare!”