to the hue of an Arab. Apparently, he had sighted the dog,
and had run his boat ashore to capture the stray animal. He
handled his prize none too gently, and his management was
calling forth all the collie's resentment. But as the man had
had the wit to seize the dog by the scruff of the neck and to
keep himself out of the reach of the luckless creature's
vainly snapping jaws, these protests went for nothing.

Within thirty feet of the boat, the dog braced himself for a
new effort to tear free. The man, in anger, planted a
vigorous kick against the collie's furry side. As his foot
was bare, the kick lost much of its potential power to injure.
Yet it had the effect of rousing to sudden indignation the
dusty youth who had stopped on his tramp from Miami to watch
the scene.

"Whose dog is that?" he demanded, striding forward, from the
shade, and approaching the struggling pair.

"Who the blue blazes are you?" countered the barefoot man, his
eyes running contemptuously over the shabby and slight-built
figure.

"My name is Brice," said the other. "Gavin Brice. Not that
it matters. And now, perhaps you'll answer my question.
Whose dog is that?"

"Mine," returned the barefoot man, renewing his effort to drag
the collie toward the boat.