"Humph," Tavistock glared at the dandelion as he and the dog stepped into the gated garden in the middle of Sheridan Square. He made a mental note to have a word with the gardener. The place certainly looked scruffy. He pulled the gate shut behind him and made sure he heard the lock engage before carefully pocketing the key.

Sheridan Square was for residents only. It wasn't a public garden and Malcolm, for his part, would do his best to insure it never became one. It rather annoyed him that some of his other neighbors on the square weren't so diligent as he was about insuring the security of the garden. Tugging at the dog's lead, Tavistock strolled up the footpath towards the center of the large square, his eagle eye on the lookout for more signs of neglect on the part of the gardener. The naimal trudged along next to his master, keeping his nose close to the ground and sniffing happily at the bits of grass and clumps of leaves. Suddenly, Hector came to a dead stop and his thick white head shot up. He sniffed the air and then lunged up the path, yanking his master along behind him. "Hold on, old fellow," Malcolm orderd as he pulled back on the lead. He wasn't through ascertaining exactly how much of a tongue-lashing to give the wretched gardener. "Humph," he sniffed as he surveyed the area. The place was abysmal. the bushes along the perimeter had grown high and unwieldy. The footpath was scattered with stems and leaves and bits of dried grass, the flower beds were filled with weeds, and the lilac bushes were completely overgrown. "Well, really," Malcolm muttered. "Am I the only one that cares how this garden looks? The garden committee shall certainly hear about this."

Hector lunged again, almost yanking Malcolm off his feet.

"Oh, all right," Malcom finally decided to let the poor dog have his walkies. He looked around, saw that he was the only one in the garden, and then dropped the lead. "Go on, boy I'll catch up in a moment." Hector took off like a shot. Malcolm reached down and picked up a dirty bit of paper that was littering the path. "Honestly," he muttered as he crumpled the paper into a tight ball, "some people have no consideration for others."

From the center of the square, Hector howled.

Malcom was so startled, he jumped. He stuffed the paper in his pocket and ran towards the dog. His heart pounded against his chest. For all his grumbling, he loved that silly dog, and Hector might look like a terror, but he was easily upset.

Flying up the path, Malcom skidded to a halt. Hector was perfectly all right. He was standing next to a bench upon which a woman lay stretched out sound asleep.

"Well, really," he exclaimed. "What has become of this neighborhood! Hector, come away from that disreputable person immediately." This wasn't the first time such a thing had happended. Because the garden was shielded by thr high foliage from the eyes of passing policemen, vagrants occasionally climbed the fence. But this was the first time Malcolm had ever seen a woman do it. "What is the world coming to?" Malcolm muttered. He marched towards the bench. "I blame those silly suffragettes," he told Hector. "Puts stupid ideas in women's heads." He bent down over the sleeping woman, frowning as he realized that her clothes were new and expensive. Not the sort of clothes a vagrant would wear. He was suddenly a bit cautious. "Uh, miss," he poked her gently in the arm. "Is everything all right?"

The woman lay silent.

Hector whined softly.

Frightened now, Malcom looked around at his surroundings and wished he was visible from the street. The hair on the back of his neck stood up, and he shivered. But he couldn't just leave the woman lying here. "Miss," he said loudly, "are you all right?"