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Bob, Son of Battle by Alfred Ollivant
page 89 of 317 (28%)

The Tailless Tyke, indeed, had advanced from the fireplace, and
now stood, huge and hideous, in the very centre of the room. There
was distant thunder in his throat, a threat upon his face, a
challenge in every wrinkle. And the Gray Dog stole gladly out
from behnind his master to take up the gage of battle.

Straightway there was silence; tongues ceased to wag, tankards to
clink. Every man and every dog was quietly gathering about those
two central figures. Not one of them all but had his score to wipe
off against the Tailless Tyke; not one of them but was burning to
join in, the battle once begun. And the two gladiators stood
looking past one another, muzzle to muzzle, each with a tiny flash
of teeth glinting between his lips.

But the fight was not to be; for the twentieth time the Master
intervened.

"Bob, lad, coom in!" he called, and, bending, grasped his favorite
by the neck.

M'Adam laughed softly.

"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried. "The look o' you's enough for
that gentleman."

"If they get fightin' it'll no be Bob here I'll hit, I warn yo',
M'Adam," said the Master grimly.

"Gin ye sac muckle as touched Wullie d'ye ken what I'd do, James
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