rief picture was enough for him.

Her dog! And the students were beating it because they knew it to be
defenseless. Her dog! toothless and old, who could not hold when his
jaws closed on an arm or leg, but who, with that indomitable courage of
his race, fought on and on, hopelessly and stubbornly.

He was covered with blood, one of his legs was hurt, but still the
spirit burned. It was cowardly. Maurice's jaws assumed a particularly
ferocious angle. Her dog! Rage choked him. With an oath he flung this
student aside and that, fought his way to the center. A burly student,
armed with a stout cane, was the principal aggressor.

Maurice doubled his fist and swung a blow which had one hundred and
sixty pounds behind it, and it landed squarely on the cheek of the
student, who dropped face downward and lay still. This onslaught was so
sudden and unexpected that the students were confounded. But Maurice,
whose plans crystallized in moments like these, picked up the cane and
laid it about him.

The students swore and yelled and stumbled over one another in their
wild efforts to dodge the vindictive cane. Maurice cleared a wide
circle. The dog, half blinded by his blood and not fully comprehending
this new phase in the tide of events, lunged at Maurice, who nimbly
eluded him. Finally the opportunity came. He flung the cane into the
yelling pack, with his left arm caught the dog about the middle, and
leaped back into the nearest doorway. The muscles of his left arm were
sorely tried; the dog considered his part in the fray by no means ended,
and he tugged and yelped huskily. With his right hand Maurice sought his
revolver, cocked and leveled it. There came a respite. The students
had not fully recovered from their surprise, and the yells sank into
murmurs.

"You curs!" said Maurice, panting. "Shame on you! and an old dog that
can't defend himself! You knew he had no teeth."

"God save your Excellency!" laughed a student in the rear, who had not
tasted the cane; "you may be sure we knew he had no teeth or we wouldn't
have risked our precious calves. Don't let him scare you with the
popgun, comrades. At him, my brave ones; he will be more sport than the
dog! Down with the Osians, dogs, followers and all!"

"Come on, then," said Maurice, whose fighting blood was at heat. "Come
on, if you think it isn't over. There are six bullets in this popgun,
and I don't give a particular damn where they go. Come on!"

Whether or not this