mustn't stand any of his impudence, eh?"

I was sorry Roy was going away, for Roy is my great friend. He always
fights the battles for both of us. I daresay I might have got into the
way of fighting my own battles, but I never like to interfere with
anybody's pleasure, and Roy's chief pleasure is fighting. As for me, I
think the delights of that recreation are over-estimated.

When my master came home, he opened the basket, and a dog of Irish
family tumbled out, growling and snarling, and hid himself under the
sofa. They wasted more biscuits on him than I have ever seen wasted on
any deserving dog; and at last they got him out, and he consented to eat
some supper. They gave him a much better basket than mine, and we went
to bed.

Next morning, the Irish terrier got out of his basket, stretched
himself, yawned, and insisted on thrashing me before breakfast.

"But I am a dog of peace," I said; "I don't fight."

"But I do, you see," he answered, "that's just the difference."

I tried to defend myself, but he got hold of one of my feet, and held it
up. I sat up, and howled with pain and indignation.

"Have you had enough?" he said, and, without waiting for my answer,
proceeded to give me more.

"But I don't fight," I said; "I don't approve of fighting."

"Then I'll teach you to have better manners than to say so," said he,
and he taught me for nearly five minutes.

"Now then," he said, "are you licked?"

"Yes," I answered; for indeed I was.

"Are you sorry you ever tried to fight with me?"

"Yes," still seemed to be the only thing to say.

"And do you approve of fighting?"

He seemed to wish me to say "yes," and so I said it.

"Very well, then," he said; "now we'll be friends, if you like. Come
along; you have given me an appetite for breakfast."

"Any society worth cultivating about here?" he asked, after the meal, in
his overbearing way.

"I have a very great friend who lives next door," I said; "but I don't
know whether I should care to introduce you to him."

He showed his teeth, and asked what I meant.

"You see, you might not like him; and, if you didn't like him----but
he's a most agreeable dog."

"A good fighter?" asked Rustler.

I scratched my ear with my hind foot, and pretended to think.

"Oh, I see he's not," said Rustler contemptuously; "well, you shall
introduce him to me directly he comes back."

Rustler's overbearing and disagreeable manners so upset me that I was
quite thin whe