"You're a knowing one, too knowing! You see that loosened shutter
over the way as plainly as I do; but you're a coward to slink away
from it. I don't. I face the thing, and what's more, I'll show
you yet what I think of a dog that can't stand his ground and help
his old master out with some show of courage. Creaks, does it?
Well, let it creak! I don't mind its creaking, glad as I should be
to know whose hand - Halloo! You've come, have you?" This to me.
I had just stepped up to him.

"Yes, I've come. Now what is the matter with the Moore house?"

He must have expected the question, yet his answer was a long time
coming. His voice, too, sounded strained, and was pitched quite
too high to be natural. But he evidently did not expect me to show
surprise at his manner.

"Look at that window over there!" he cried at last. "That one with
the slightly open shutter! Watch and you will see that shutter move.
There! it creaked; didn't you hear it?"

A growl - it was more like a moan - came from the porch behind us.
Instantly the old gentleman turned and with a gesture as fierce as
it was instinctive, shouted out:

"Be still there! If you haven't the courage to face a blowing
shutter, keep your jaws shut and don't let every fellow who happens
along know what a fool you are. I declare," he maundered on, half
to himself and half to me, "that dog is getting old. He can't be
trusted any more. He forsakes his master just when -" The rest was
lost in his throat which rattled with something more than impatient