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I kept behind him in the shadow, or ran in the middle of the street. He
stopped at many public houses with swinging doors, those doors that are
cut so high from the sidewalk that you can look in under them, and see
if the Master is inside. At night, when I peep beneath them, the man at
the counter will see me first and say, "Here's the Kid, Jerry, come to
take you home. Get a move on you"; and the Master will stumble out and
follow me. It's lucky for us I'm so white, for, no matter how dark the
night, he can always see me ahead, just out of reach of his boot. At
night the Master certainly does see most amazing. Sometimes he sees two
or four of me, and walks in a circle, so that I have to take him by the
leg of his trousers and lead him into the right road. One night, when he
was very nasty-tempered and I was coaxing him along, two men passed us,
and one of them says, "Look at that brute!" and the other asks, "Which?"
and they both laugh. The Master he cursed them good and proper.

But this night, whenever we stopped at a public house, the Master's pals
left it and went on with us to the next. They spoke quite civil to me,
and when the Master tried a flying kick, they gives him a shove. "Do you
want us to lose our money?" says the pals.

I had had nothing to eat for a day and a night, and just before we set
out the Master gives me a wash under the hydrant. Whenever I am locked
up until all the slop-pans in our alley are empty, and made to take a
bath, and the Master's pals speak civil and feel my ribs, I know
something is going to happen. And that night, when every time they see a
policeman under a lamp-post, they dodged across the street, and when at
the last one of them picked me up and hid me under his jacket, I began
to tremble; for I knew what it meant. It meant that I was to fight again
for the Master.

I don't fight because I like fighting. I fight because if I didn't the
other dog would find my throat, and the Master would lose his stakes,
and I would be very sorry for him, and ashamed. Dogs can pass me and I
can pass dogs, and I'd never pick a fight with none of them. When I see
two dogs standing on their hind legs in the streets, clawing each
other's ears, and snapping for each other's wind-pipes, or howling and
swearing and rolling in the mud, I feel sorry they should act so, and
pretend not to notice. If he'd let me, I'd like to pass the time of day
with every dog I meet. But there's something about me th