Chum was no longer lying at his feet. Indeed, the dog was in a
far corner of the room, pressed close to the closed outer door,
and with crest and ruff a-droop.

Puzzled by his pet's defection, Link imperiously commanded Chum
to return to his former place. The collie, in most unwilling
obedience, turned about and came slowly toward the drinker.

Every line of Chum's splendid body told of reluctance to approach
his master. The deep-set, dark eyes were eloquent of a frightened
disgust. He looked at Ferris as at some loathely stranger. The
glad light of loyalty, which always had transfigured his visage
when Link called to him, was woefully lacking. Drunk as he was
Ferris could not help noticing the change. And he marveled at it.

"Whasser matter?" be demanded truculently. "What ails yer? C'm
here, I'm tellin' you!"

He stretched out his hand in rough caress to the slowly
approaching collie. Chum shrank back from the touch as a child
from a dose of castor oil. There was no fear now in his aspect.
Only disgust and a poignant unhappiness.

And, all suddenly, Link Ferris understood.

He himself did not know how the knowledge came to him. A canine
psychologist might perhaps have told him that there is always an
occult telepathy between the mind of a thoroughbred dog and its
master, a power which gives them a glimpse into each other's
processes of thought. But there was no such psychologist there to