dog--like that!"

She turned sharply from him and went to the Dalmatian who crouched
quaking on the path. He wagged an ingratiating tail at her approach. It
was evident that in her hand the whip had no terrors for him. He crept
fawning to her feet.

She stooped over him, fondling his head. "Oh, poor boy! Poor boy!" she
said.

The dog's master came and stood beside her. "He'll be all right," he
said, in a tone of half-surly apology.

"I'm afraid Mike has bitten him," she said. "See!" displaying a long,
dark streak on Caesar's neck.

"He'll be all right," repeated Caesar's master. "I hope your dog is none
the worse."

"No, I don't think so," she said. "But don't you think we ought to
bathe this?"

"I'll take him home," he said. "They'll see to him at the stables."

She stood up, a slim, erect figure, the whip still firmly grasped in her
hand. "You won't thrash him any more, will you?" she said.

He gave a short laugh. "No, you have cooled me down quite effectually.
I'm much obliged to you for interfering. And I'm sorry I used language,
but as the circumstances were exceptional, I hope you will make