Part 70 (1/2)

The dog sprang to him, rose on his hind-legs, and put his fore-paws on his master's hands.

”Only a game, was it, Grippy? You understand your master, don't you?”

The dog gave a joyous bark.

”There; says he does.”

”Don't fool about, I want to talk to you,” said Joe, sternly.

”All right, old lively. How was the governor this morning? You look as if you'd taken some of his physic by mistake. Now, Grip, how are your poor legs?”

”_Ahow-w-ow_!” howled the dog, throwing up his muzzle and making a most dismal sound.

”Feel the change in the weather?”

A bark.

”Do you, now? But they are quite strong again, aren't they?”

”_How-how-ow-ow_” yelped the dog.

”Here, what made you begin talking about that?”

”What? His broken legs?”

”Yes.”

”Pride, I suppose, in our cure. Or nonsense, just to tease the dog. He always begins to howl when I talk about his legs. Don't you, Grip?

Poor old cripple, then.”

”Ahow!” yelped the dog.

”Why did you ask?”

”Because it seemed curious. I say, Gwyn, I believe I did that man an injustice.”

”What man an injustice?” said Gwyn, who was pretending to tie the dog's long silky ears in a knot across his eyes.

”Tom Dina.s.s.”

The dog bounded from where he stood on his hind-legs resting on his master's knees, and burst into a furious fit of barking.

”Hark at him!” cried Gwyn. ”Talk about dogs being intelligent animals?

It's wonderful. He never liked the fellow. Hi! Tom Dina.s.s there. Did he break your legs, Grip?”

The dog barked furiously, and ended with a savage growl.

”Just like we are,” said Gwyn, ”like some people, and hate others. I begin to think you were right, Joe, and he did do it.”