We'll find him if he s alive, and if he isn't I'll try and get you another as good," answered Thorny, with a friendly slap on the shoulder, as Ben sat disconsolately among the beans he had been hoeing.
"As if there ever could be another half as good!" cried Ben, indignant at the idea; "or as if I'd ever try to fill his place with the best and biggest dog that ever wagged a tail! No, sir, there's only one Sanch in all the world, and if I can't have him I'll never have a dog again." "Try some other sort of pet, then.

You may have any of mine you like.
Have the peacocks; do now," urged Thorny, full of boyish sympathy and good-will.
"They are dreadful pretty, but I don't seem to care about em, thank you," replied the mourner.
"Have the rabbits, all of them," which was a handsome offer on Thorny's part, for there were a dozen at least.
"They don't love a fellow as a dog does; all they care for is stuff to eat and dirt to burrow in.

I'm sick of rabbits." And well he might be, for he had had the charge of them ever since they came, and any boy who has ever kept bunnies knows what a care they are.
"So am I! Guess we'll have an auction and sell out.

Would Jack be a comfort to you?
If he will, you may have him.

I'm so well now, I can walk, or ride anything," added Thorny, in a burst of generosity.
"Jack couldn't be with me always, as Sanch was, and I couldn't keep him if I had him." Ben tried to be grateful, but nothing short of Lita would have healed his wounded heart, and she was not Thorny's to give, or he would probably have offered her to his afflicted friend.
"Well, no, you couldn't take Jack to bed with you, or keep him up in your room, and I'm afraid he Would never learn to do any thing clever.