He closed deeper and deeper, on my throat,
and everything went black and red and bursting; and then, when I were
sure I were dead, the handlers pulled him off, and the Master give me
a kick that brought me to. But I couldn't move none, or even wink,
both eyes being shut with lumps.
"He's a cur!" yells the Master, "a sneaking, cowardly cur. He lost
the fight for me," says he, "because he's a---------cowardly cur."
And he kicks me again in the lower ribs, so that I go sliding across
the sawdust. "There's gratitude fer yer," yells the Master. "I've fed
that dog, and nussed that dog, and housed him like a prince; and now
he puts his tail between his legs, and sells me out, he does. He's a
coward; I've done with him, I am. I'd sell him for a pipeful of
tobacco." He picked me up by the tail, and swung me for the men-folks
to see. "Does any gentleman here want to buy a dog," he says, "to
make into sausage-meat?" he says. "That's all he's good for."
Then I heard the little Irish groom say, "I'll give you ten bob for
the dog."
And another voice says, "Ah, don't you do it; the dog's same as dead-
-mebby he is dead."
"Ten shillings!" says the Master, and his voice sobers a bit; "make
it two pounds, and he's yours.
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