I hurried to open the door, and there was Bock, his jaws tied
together with a rope-end. He bounded out and made
super-canine efforts to express his joy at seeing the
Professor again. He paid very little attention to me.
"Well," said Mifflin, after freeing the dog's muzzle, and with
difficulty restraining him from burying his teeth in the
tramp's shin, "what shall we do with this heroic specimen of
manhood? Shall we cart him over to the jail in Port Vigor, or
shall we let him go?"
The tramp burst into a whining appeal that was almost funny,
it was so abject. The Professor cut it short.
"I ought to pack you into quod," he said. "Are you the
Phoebus Apollo I scuffled with down the lane last night? Was
it you skulking around this wagon then?"
"No, boss, that was Splitlip Sam, honest to Gawd it was. He
come back, boss; said he'd been fightin' with a
cat-o'-mountain! Say, boss, you sure hit him hard. One of
his lamps is a pudding! Boss, I'll swear I ain't had nothin'
to do with it."
"I don't like your society," said the Professor, "and I'm
going to turn you loose. I'm going to count ten, and if
you're not out of this quarry by then, I'll shoot. And if I
see you again I'll skin you alive.
Pages:
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119