When I woke, after the pals had kicked me off him, I was in the
smoking-car of a railroad-train, lying in the lap of the little
groom, and he was rubbing my open wounds with a greasy, yellow stuff,
exquisite to the smell, and most agreeable to lick off.
PART II
"Well--what's your name--Nolan? Well, Nolan, these references are
satisfactory," said the young gentleman my new Master called "Mr.
Wyndham, sir." "I'll take you on as second man. You can begin to-
day."
My new Master shuffled his feet, and put his finger to his forehead.
"Thank you, sir," says he. Then he choked like he had swallowed a
fish-bone. "I have a little dawg, sir," says he.
"You can't keep him," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," very short.
"'Es only a puppy, sir," says my new Master; "'e wouldn't go outside
the stables, sir."
"It's not that," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir;" "I have a large kennel of
very fine dogs; they're the best of their breed in America. I don't
allow strange dogs on the premises."
The Master shakes his head, and motions me with his cap, and I crept
out from behind the door. "I'm sorry, sir," says the Master. "Then I
can't take the place.
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