exertions. Now, coming to the surface, he swam to shore and
trotted up the bank to the road. Absurdly lank and small, with
his soaking coat plastered close to his slim body, he stood over
his prostrate master.

The dog's quick glare up and down the road told him his foes were
gone. His incredible sense of hearing registered the far-off
pad-pad-pad of fast-retreating human feet, and showed him the
course the two men were taking. He would have liked to give
chase. It had been a good fight--lively and exciting withal--and
Chum wished he might carry it into the enemies' own country.

But his god was lying helpless at his feet and making queer
sounds of distress. The dog's place was here. The joy of battle
must be foregone.

Solicitously Chum leaned over Ferris and sought to lick the
sufferer's face. As he did so his supersensitive nostrils were
smitten by an odor which caused the collie to shrink back in
visible disgust. The sickly, pungent smell of whisky on Ferris's
labored breath nauseated Chum. He stood, head recoiled, looking
down at Link in bewilderment.

There were many things, this night, which Chum did not
understand. First of all, he had been grieved and offended that
Ferris should have locked him in the kitchen instead of taking
him along as usual on his evening stroll. It had been lonely in
the unlighted kitchen. Link had not ordered the dog to stay
there. He had simply shut Chum in and left him.