"Walk 'm along, Jaimes--walk 'm--along," was all Maloney had to say. And
out into the yard they marched him. How Dave did struggle to get
away!--swearing and cursing Maloney for a cranky Irishman till he foamed
at the mouth, all of which the other put down to snake-poison. Round and
round the yard and up and down it they trotted him till long after dark,
until there was n't a struggle left in him.

They placed him on the sofa again, Maloney keeping him awake with a strap.
How Dave ground his teeth and kicked and swore whenever he felt that
strap! And they sat and watched him.

It was late in the night when Dad came from town. He staggered in with
the neck of a bottle showing out of his pocket. In his hand was a piece
of paper wrapped round the end of some yards of sausage. The dog outside
carried the other end.

"An' 'e ishn't dead?" Dad said, after hearing what had befallen Dave.
"Don' b'leevsh id--wuzhn't bit. Die 'fore shun'own ifsh desh ad'er
bish 'm."

"Bit!" Dave said bitterly, turning round to the surprise of everyone.
"I never said I was BIT. No one said I was--only those snivelling idiots
and that pumpkin-headed Irish pig there."

Maloney lowered his jaw and opened his eyes.

"Zhackly. Did'n' I (HIC) shayzo, 'Loney? Did'n' I, eh, ol' wom'n!" Dad
mumbled, and dropped his chin on his chest.

Maloney began to take another view of the matter. He put a leading