arefully
thought out plan to avoid the sounds of gunfire, which he detested.

There must be many officers and men in the Navy who remember "North
Corner Bob," another red-haired Irish terrier, who used to frequent the
landing place at North Corner in Portsmouth dockyard. He was not a
large dog, as terriers go, but was a ferocious creature of wild and
bedraggled appearance, who seemed to regard North Corner as his own
especial domain. He fought every other animal who dared to venture
near the place, and many a naval dog bore the marks of Bob's teeth to
his dying day.

He even boarded strange ships lying alongside and carried on his
campaign of frightfulness there. In fact he terrorised all the dogs in
Portsmouth dockyard, including two spaniels belonging to the Admiral
Superintendent. But an officer in a certain ship whose wire-haired
terrier Cuthbert had been badly beaten by Bob some days before,
conceived a brilliant idea for having his revenge. Early one morning,
at Bob's usual time for passing by the ship on his way to North Corner,
Cuthbert, wearing a brand new muzzle, was taking his morning
constitutional on deck. Bob, punctual to the minute, came trotting by
in his usual don't-care-a-damn-for-anyone manner, but the sight of
Cuthbert putting on an equal amount of side on board his own ship was
too much for him, and rushing up the brow connecting the ship with the
shore he came on board licking his lips in joyful anticipation and the
lust of battle shining in his eye.

Cuthbert, a naturally good-natured dog, hurried forward to meet him,
but Bob, spurning his friendly advances, circled round on tip-toe, with
his teeth bared and hair bristling. Cuthbert, seeing that a fight was
inevitable, adopted similar tactics, and for some moments the two
animals padded softly round and round nosing each other and preparing
to spring in to the attack. Then, quite suddenly and for no apparent
reason, there came a shrill yelp of pain from Bob, and before anyone
realised what had happened his tail went down, he rushed madly over the
gangway, and shot along the jetty like a flash of greased lightning.

"What the devil's the matter with him?" queried the officer of the
watch, staring in amazement after the rapidly disappearing figure of
the well-known fighter.

"Matter!" spluttered Cuthbert's owner, weak with laughter. "Lord!
I've never seen anything like it! Did you see the way he skipped?"

"Did I not!" answered t