s, speaking low just like he would to a
man-folk, "Well, good luck to you, little pup," which I thought so civil
of him that I reached up and licked his hand. I don't do that to many
men. And the Master he knew I didn't, and took on dreadful.

"What 'ave you got on the back of your hand?" says he, jumping up.

"Soap!" says the groom, quick as a rat. "That's more than you've got on
yours. Do you want to smell of it?" and he sticks his fist under the
Master's nose. But the pals pushed in between 'em.

"He tried to poison the Kid!" shouts the Master.

"Oh, one fight at a time," says the referee. "Get into the ring, Jerry.
We're waiting." So we went into the ring.

I never could just remember what did happen in that ring. He give me no
time to spring. He fell on me like a horse. I couldn't keep my feet
against him, and though, as I saw, he could get his hold when he liked,
he wanted to chew me over a bit first. I was wondering if they'd be able
to pry him off me, when, in the third round, he took his hold; and I
begun to drown, just as I did when I fell into the river off the Red C
slip. He closed deeper and deeper on my throat, and everything went
black and red and bursting; and then, when I were sure I were dead, the
handlers pulled him off, and the Master give me a kick that brought me
to. But I couldn't move none, or even wink, both eyes being shut with
lumps.

"He's a cur!" yells the Master, "a sneaking, cowardly cur! He lost the
fight for me," says he, "because he's a ---- ---- ---- cowardly cur."
And he kicks me again in the lower ribs, so that I go sliding across the
sawdust. "There's gratitude fer yer," yells the Master. "I've fed that
dog, and nussed that dog and housed him like a prince; and now he puts
his tail between his legs and sells me out, he does. He's a coward! I've
done with him, I am. I'd sell him for a pipeful of tobacco." He picked
me up by the tail, and swung me for the men-folks to see. "Does any
gentleman here want to buy a dog," he says, "to make into sausage-meat?"
he says. "That's all he's good for."

Then I heard the little Irish groom say, "I'll give you ten bob for the
dog."

And another voice says, "Ah, don't you do it; the dog's same as
dead--mebbe he is dead."

"Ten shillings!" says the Master, and his voice sobers a bit; "make it
two pounds and he's yours."

But the pals rushed in again.

"Don't you be a fool, Jerry," they say. "You'll be sorry for this when
you're sober. T