As he stood there, looking at his master with a subdued, enquiring
kind of manner, the latter realized that he was almost a full-grown
jackal, and began to wonder whether, after all his domestic training
and surroundings, he would ever show the characteristic traits of his
kind. Up to now he had been gentleness itself, and was as meek and
obedient as any domesticated dog, but he had wild and savage blood in
him, and there was a peculiar gleam in his eyes at that moment that
his master could not quite understand.

The truth was, Jinks was growing uneasy and uncomfortable under his
master's close scrutiny, and began to wonder, after all, whether he
did not know all about that chicken. He had never looked at him in
this way before, and it both annoyed and irritated him to a frightful
degree, and he grew restless, and finally turned his head so that he
could not see the steady, embarrassing eyes of his master.

But, as he turned his head, his master caught sight of one tiny spot
of blood on his neck which Jinks had evidently overlooked. He said
nothing for a moment, and then called Jinks to him in a kindly,
caressing manner.

Jinks hesitated. He had grown suspicious, and he did not like his
master's manner; in addition to which, he could not forget that he was
guilty about the chicken; so, when his master reached forward to pat
him, Jinks, thinking he was going to slap him, suddenly turned round
and bit him sharply through the hand. It was the very same hand that
had fed him from a baby, and cared for and tended him all through his
babyhood and young days, and up to this time had protected him from
all harm and danger.