t outside the kitchen door, and
of all the world these two creatures were probably the last in whose
company William Sylvanus Baxter desired to make a public appearance.
Genesis was an out-of-doors man and seldom made much of a toilet; his
overalls in particular betraying at important points a lack of the
anxiety he should have felt, since only Genesis himself, instead of
a supplementary fabric, was directly underneath them. And the aged,
grayish, sleeveless and neckless garment which sheltered him from waist
to collar-bone could not have been mistaken for a jersey, even though
what there was of it was dimly of a jerseyesque character. Upon the feet
of Genesis were things which careful study would have revealed to be
patent-leather dancing-pumps, long dead and several times buried;
and upon his head, pressing down his markedly criminal ears, was a
once-derby hat of a brown not far from Genesis's own color, though
decidedly without his gloss. A large ring of strange metals with the
stone missing, adorned a finger of his right hand, and from a corner of
his mouth projected an unlighted and spreading cigar stub which had the
appearance of belonging to its present owner merely by right of salvage.

And Genesis's dog, scratching himself at his master's feet, was the true
complement of Genesis, for although he was a youngish dog, and had not
long been the property of Genesis, he was a dog that would have been
recognized anywhere in the world as a colored person's dog. He was not a
special breed of dog--though there was something rather houndlike about
him--he was just a dog. His expression was grateful but anxious, and he
was unusually bald upon the bosom, but otherwise whitish and brownish,
with a gaunt, haunting face and no power to look anybody in the eye.

He rose apprehensively as the fuming William came out of the kitchen,
but he was prepared to follow his master faithfully, and when William
and Genesis reached the street the dog was discovered at their heels,
whereupon William came to a decisive halt.

"Send that dog back," he said, resolutely. "I'm not going through the
streets with a dog like that, anyhow!"

Genesis chuckled. "He ain' goin' back," he said. "'Ain' nobody kin
make 'at dog go back. I 'ain' had him mo'n two weeks, but I don' b'lieve
Pres'dent United States kin make 'at dog go back! I show you." And,
wheeling suddenly, he made ferocious gestures, shouting. "G'on back,
dog!"

The dog turned, ran back