compromised on an all-fours position, in which attitude he remained,
blinking.
While these stirring acts were in progress, there was the sound of a
door opening upstairs, followed by a scuttering of feet and an
appalling increase in the canine contribution to the current noises.
The duet had now taken on quite a Wagnerian effect.
There raced into the room first a white bull-terrier, he of the
soprano voice, and--a bad second--his fellow artiste, the baritone,
a massive bull-dog, bearing a striking resemblance to the big man
with the big lower jaw whose entrance had started the cyclone.
And, then, in theatrical parlance, the entire company 'held the
picture.' Up-stage, with his hand still on the door, stood the man
with the jaw; downstage, Jimmy; center, Spike and the bull-dog,
their noses a couple of inches apart, inspected each other with
mutual disfavor. On the extreme O. P. side, the bull-terrier, who
had fallen foul of a wicker-work table, was crouching with extended
tongue and rolling eyes, waiting for the next move.
The householder looked at Jimmy. Jimmy looked at the householder.
Spike and the bull-dog looked at each other. The bull-terrier
distributed his gaze impartially around the company.
'A typical scene of quiet American home-life,' murmured Jimmy.
The householder glowered.
'Hands up, you devils!' he roared, pointing a mammoth revolver.
The two marauders humored his whim.
'Let me explain,' said Jimmy pacifically, shuffling warily around in
order to face the bull-terrier, who was now strolling in his
direction with an ill-assumed carelessness.
'Keep still, you blackguard!'
Jimmy kept still. The bull-terrier, with the same abstracted air,
was beginning a casual inspection of his right trouser-leg.
Relations between Spike and the bull-dog, meanwhile, had become more
strained. The sudden flinging up of the former's arms had had the
worst effects on the animal's nerves. Spike, the croucher on all-
fours, he might have tolerated; but Spike, the semaphore, inspired
him with thoughts of battle. He was growling in a moody, reflective
manner. His eye was full of purpose.
It was probably this that caused Spike to look at the householder.
Till then, he had been too busy to shift his gaze, but now the bull-
dog's eye had become so unpleasing that he cast a pathetic glance up
at the man by the door.
'Gee!' he cried. 'It's de boss. Say, boss, call off de dawg. It's
sure goin' to nip de hull head off'n me.'
The other lowered the revolver in surprise.
'So, it's you, you limb of Satan!' he remarked. 'I thought I had
seen that damned red head of yours before. What are you doing in my
house?'
Spike uttered a howl in which indignation and self-pity were nicely
blended.
'I'll lay for that Swede!' he cried. 'I'll soak it to him good!
