The spaniel flew at the black dog; nipping at the plodding
forepaws. The mongrel raged; as might some painfully sick human
who is pestered when he asks only to be let alone. His dull
apathy gave place to sullen anger. He bit growlingly at the
spaniel, throwing himself to one side in pursuit of the elusive
foe. And he snapped with equal rage at an Irish terrier that had
come out to add to the turmoil.

By this time, a score of people were dancing up and down inside
their door-yard fences, squalling "Mad dog!" and flinging at the
black brute any missile they could lay hand to.

A broken flower-pot cut the invalid's nose. A stone rebounded
from his ribs. The raucous human yells completed the work the
first dog had started. From a mere sufferer, the black mongrel
had changed into a peril.

The Mistress had motored over to the Hampton post-office, that
afternoon, to mail some letters. Lad, as usual, had gone with
her. She had left him in the car, while she went into the
post-office.

Lad lay there, in snug contentment, on the car's front seat;
awaiting the return of his deity and keeping a watchful eye on
anyone who chanced to loiter near the machine. Presently, he sat
up. Leaning out, from one side of the seat, he stared down the
hot roadway, in a direction whence a babel of highly exciting
sounds began to issue.

Apparently, beyond that kick-up of dust, a furlong below, all