see, he would have seen a twinkle in Skipper's eyes, which had been
withdrawn from the sea and were looking down upon him. But Jerry could
not see. He kept quiet a little longer, and then gave a prodigious
sniff.

This was too much for Skipper, who laughed with such genial heartiness as
to lay Jerry's silky ears back and down in self-deprecation of affection
and pleadingness to bask in the sunshine of the god's smile. Also,
Skipper's laughter set Jerry's tail wildly bobbing. The half-open hand
closed in a firm grip that gathered in the slack of the skin of one side
of Jerry's head and jowl. Then the hand began to shake him back and
forth with such good will that he was compelled to balance back and forth
on all his four feet.

It was bliss to Jerry. Nay, more, it was ecstasy. For Jerry knew there
was neither anger nor danger in the roughness of the shake, and that it
was play of the sort that he and Michael had indulged in. On occasion,
he had so played with Biddy and lovingly mauled her about. And, on very
rare occasion, _Mister_ Haggin had lovingly mauled him about. It was
speech to Jerry, full of unmistakable meaning.

As the shake grew rougher, Jerry emitted his most ferocious growl, which
grew more ferocious with the increasing violence of the shaking. But
that, too, was play, a making believe to hurt the one he liked too well
to hurt. He strained and tugged at the grip, trying to twist his jowl in
the slack of skin so as to reach a bite.

When Skipper, with a quick thrust, released him and shoved him clear, he
came back, all teeth and growl, to be again caught and shaken. The play
continued, with rising excitement to Jerry. Once, too quick for Skipper,