"Take your dog off!" shouted George, seeing that affairs had taken a
turn he very little expected.
"I fear that is impossible," replied Arthur, politely, but looking
anything but polite.
"If you don't get it off, I will shoot it."
"You will do nothing of the sort, Mr. Caresfoot; you set the dog on,
and you must take the consequences. Ah! the affair is finished."
As he spoke, the choking Snarleyow, whose black tongue was protruding
from his jaws, gave one last convulsive struggle, and ceased to
breathe. Satisfied with this result, Aleck let go, and having sniffed
contemptuously at his dead antagonist, returned to his master's side,
and, sitting quietly down, began to lick such of his numerous wounds
as he could reach.
George, when he realized that his favourite was dead, turned upon his
guest in a perfect fury. His face looked like a devil's. But Arthur,
acting with wonderful self-possession for so young a man, stopped him.
"Remember, Mr. Caresfoot, before you say anything that you may regret,
that neither I nor my dog is to blame for what has happened. I am
exceedingly sorry that your dog should have been killed, but it is
your own fault.
Pages:
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241