In his throat a deep growl was born.
"Hello, folks!" Rhuburger was declaiming, to a wholly
unenthusiastic circle of acquaintances. "Made another record,
just now. The little boat spun me here from Montclair in exactly
nineteen minutes. That's--that's roughly an average rate of a
mile in seventy-five seconds. Not so bad, eh? That car sure made
a hit with ME, all right. Not so much of a hit, maybe, with a
couple of chickens and a fat old dog that had the bad luck to be
asleep in the middle of the--"
His plangent brag was lost in a sound seldom heard on the hither
side of jungle or zoo. From the group of slightly disgusted
onlookers, a huge and tawny shape burst forth; hurtling through
the air, straight for the fat throat of the boaster.
Rhuburger, by some heaven-sent instinct, flung up his arms to
shield his menaced jugular. He had no time to do more.
Lad's fury-driven eighty pounds of muscular weight crashed full
against his chest. Lad's terrible teeth, missing their
throat-goal, drove deep into the uplifted right forearm; shearing
through imported tweed coat-sleeve and through corded silken
shirt, and through flabby flesh and clean to the very bone.
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