The Underpup

It was almost as pathetic as the absence of trees. And, as a statement, much more accurate. Except on hot summer nights when good-natured street cleaners turned their hoses on the ecstatically squealing Gang, there was no water. Pip-Emma, remembering those glorious occasions, hunched herself dismally, and the defeated Prissy strode on her way. At the same moment Janet bobbed up from among the woodpiles.

"Gee, that was swell of you, Emma!"

Pip-Emma peered down. "What was?"

"Saying you were scared. I'm always scared. But I'd be too scared to tell anyone."

Pip-Emma stretched out a skinny arm and pulled Janet up beside her. "What you scared of?"

"'Most everything."

"Why?"

Janet sighed. "It's something wrong with me. The doctors say it's--it's a complex. An in--inferiority complex."

"What's that?"

"It's a thing you get, like measles."

Pip-Emma looked at Janet dubiously. "I don't see no spots."

"You don't have spots