he Kid's worth a fiver."

One of my eyes was not so swelled up as the other, and as I hung by my
tail, I opened it, and saw one of the pals take the groom by the
shoulder.

"You ought to give 'im five pounds for that dog, mate," he says; "that's
no ordinary dog. That dog's got good blood in him, that dog has. Why,
his father--that very dog's father----"

I thought he never would go on. He waited like he wanted to be sure the
groom was listening.

[Illustration: "He's a coward, I've done with him."]

"That very dog's father," says the pal, "is Regent Royal, son of
Champion Regent Monarch, champion bull-terrier of England for four
years."

I was sore, and torn, and chewed most awful, but what the pal said
sounded so fine that I wanted to wag my tail, only couldn't, owing to my
hanging from it.

But the Master calls out: "Yes, his father was Regent Royal; who's
saying he wasn't? but the pup's a cowardly cur, that's what his pup is.
And why? I'll tell you why: because his mother was a black-and-tan
street-dog, that's why!"

I don't see how I got the strength, but, someway, I threw myself out of
the Master's grip and fell at his feet, and turned over and fastened all
my teeth in his ankle, just across the bone.

When I woke, after the pals had kicked me off him, I was in the
smoking-car of a railroad-train, lying in the lap of the little groom,
and he was rubbing my open wounds with a greasy yellow stuff, exquisite
to the smell and most agreeable to lick off.

PART II

"Well, what's your name--Nolan? Well, Nolan, these references are
satisfactory," said the young gentleman my new Master called "Mr.
Wyndham, sir." "I'll take you on as second man. You can begin to-day."

My new Master shuffled his feet and put his finger to his forehead.
"Thank you, sir," says he. Then he choked like he had swallowed a
fish-bone. "I have a little dawg, sir," says he.

"You can't keep him," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir," very short.

"'E's only a puppy, sir," says my new Master; "'e wouldn't go outside
the stables, sir."

"It's not that," says "Mr. Wyndham, sir." "I have a large kennel of very
fine dogs; they're the best of their breed in America. I don't allow
strange dogs on the premises."

The Master shakes his head, and motions me with his cap, and I crept out
from behind the door. "I'm sorry, sir," says the Master. "Then I can't
take the place. I can't get along without the dawg, sir."

"Mr. Wyndham, sir," looked at me t