There'd be
jackals and pi-dogs for 'im to chase. A bit o' sport 'ud set 'im
up in a jiffy. He's languishing--that's what's the matter with him."
There were almost tears in his voice as he tugged at the chain
surreptitiously, in a vain effort to produce the cataclysm that
was overdue. But for all his efforts to appear affected, his eyes
were smiling. So were his commander's.
"Why Byng?" he asked.
"Byng cleans him, sir. He knows Byng."
"Then, why you?"
"Why; he knows me too, sir, and between the two
of us, we'd manage him proper. S'posin' he was to get huntin' on
his own and one of us was tired out chasin' him, t'other could run
and catch him. If there was only one of us, he couldn't."
"I see. Well? One of the other men might take him on the chain.
A good-conduct man, for instance."
Crothers tugged at the chain, and the unhappy dog drew away toward
the scuppers with all his remaining strength.
"He's cussed about the chain, sir--apt to drag on it and try to chaw
it through. Besides, sir, when a dawg's sick, he's like a man--same
as me an' you; he likes to 'ave 'is partic'lar pals with 'im.
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