-pitched snarl at every slight provocation. On peering
through the wire netting I saw it was not a baby Tiger but a small
white Bull-terrier. He snapped at me and at any one or anything that
seemed too abrupt or too near for proper respect, and his snarling
growl was unpleasantly frequent. Dogs have two growls: one
deep-rumbled, and chesty; that is polite warning--the retort courteous;
the other mouthy and much higher in pitch: this is the last word before
actual onslaught. The Terrier's growls were all of the latter kind. I
was a dog-man and thought I knew all about Dogs, so, dismissing the
porter, I got out my all-round
jackknife--toothpick--nailhammer-hatchet-toolbox-fire-shovel, a
specialty of our firm, and lifted the netting. Oh, yes, I knew all
about Dogs. The little fury had been growling out a whole-souled growl
for every tap of the tool, and when I turned the box on its side, he
made a dash straight for my legs. Had not his foot gone through the
wire netting and held him, I might have been hurt, for his heart was
evidently in his work; but I stepped on the table out of reach and
tried to reason with him. I have always believed in talking to animals.
I maintain that they gather something of our intention at least, even
if they do not understand our words; but the Dog evidently put me down
for a hypocrite and scorned my approaches. At first he took his post
under the table and kept up a circular watch for a leg trying to get
down. I felt sure I could have controlled him with my eye, but I could
not bring it to bear where I was, or rather where he was; thus I was
left a prisoner. I am a very cool person, I flatter myself; in fact, I
represent a hardware firm, and, in coolness, we are not excelled by any
but perhaps the nosy gentlemen that sell wearing-apparel. I got out a
cigar and smoked tailor-style on the table, while my little tyrant
below kept watch for legs. I got out the telegram and read it:
"Remarkable pup. Be polite to him; it's safer." I think it was my
coolness rather than my politeness that did it, for in half an hour the
growling ceased. In an hour he no longer jumped at a newspaper
cautiously pushed over the edge to test his humor; possibly the
irritation of the cage was wearing off, and by the time I had lit my
third cigar, he waddled out to the fire and lay down; not ignoring me,
however, I had no reason to complain of that kind of contempt. He kept
one eye on me, and I kept both eyes, not on him,