I can't get along without the dog, sir."
"Mr. Wyndham, sir," looked at me that fierce that I guessed he was
going to whip me, so I turned over on my back and begged with my legs
and tail.
"Why, you beat him!" says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," very stern.
"No fear!" the Master says, getting very red. "The party I bought him
off taught him that. He never learnt that from me!" He picked me up
in his arms, and to show "Mr. Wyndham, sir," how well I loved the
Master, I bit his chin and hands.
"Mr. Wyndham, sir," turned over the letters the Master had given him.
"Well, these references certainly are very strong," he says. "I guess
I'll let the dog stay this time. Only see you keep him away from the
kennels--or you'll both go."
"Thank you, sir," says the Master, grinning like a cat when she's
safe behind the area-railing.
"He's not a bad bull-terrier," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," feeling my
head. "Not that I know much about the smooth-coated breeds. My dogs
are St. Bernards." He stopped patting me and held up my nose. "What's
the matter with his ears?" he says. "They're chewed to pieces. Is
this a fighting dog?" he asks, quick and rough-like.
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