A broken flower-pot cut the invalid's nose. A stone rebounded
from his ribs. The raucous human yells completed the work the
first dog had started. From a mere sufferer, the black mongrel
had changed into a peril.
The Mistress had motored over to the Hampton post-office, that
afternoon, to mail some letters. Lad, as usual, had gone with
her. She had left him in the car, while she went into the
post-office.
Lad lay there, in snug contentment, on the car's front seat;
awaiting the return of his deity and keeping a watchful eye on
anyone who chanced to loiter near the machine. Presently, he sat
up. Leaning out, from one side of the seat, he stared down the
hot roadway, in a direction whence a babel of highly exciting
sounds began to issue.
Apparently, beyond that kick-up of dust, a furlong below, all
sorts of interesting things were happening. Lad's soft eyes took
on a glint of eager curiosity; and he sniffed the still air for
further clues as to the nature of the fun. A number of
humans,--to judge by the racket,--were shouting and screaming;
and the well-understood word, "dog," formed a large part of their
clamor.
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