THE LITTLE RED DOG 243 



looking object, a sort of lurcher, of a dirty red 

 colour, with ribs showing like the bars of a grid- 

 iron through his mangy side. Even in those 

 pre-muzzling days, when he still had the pariah, 

 it was a little strange to see him gnawing his bone 

 at that spot, just by Peter Robinson's, where the 

 broad pavement was full of shopping ladies; and 

 I stood still to watch him. Presently a small red 

 dog came trotting along the pavement from the 

 direction of the Circus, and catching sight of the 

 mangy lurcher with the bone he was instantly 

 struck motionless, and crouching low as if to 

 make a dash at the other, his tail stiff, his hair 

 bristling, he continued gazing for some moments; 

 and then, just when I thought the rush and struggle 

 was about to take place, up jumped this little red 

 cur and rushed back towards the Circus, uttering 

 a succession of excited shrieky barks. The con- 

 tagion was irresistible. Off went the lurcher, 

 furiously barking too, and quickly overtaking the 

 small dog dashed on and away to the middle of 

 the Circus to see what all the noise was about. 

 It was something tremendously important to dogs 

 in general, no doubt. But the little red dog, the 

 little liar, had no sooner been overtaken and passed 

 by the other, than back he ran, and picking up the 

 bone, made off with it in the opposite direction. 

 Very soon the lurcher returned and appeared 

 astonished and puzzled at the disappearance of his 

 bone. There I left him, still looking for it and 

 sniffing at the open shop doors. He perhaps thought 



