242 THE BOOK OF A NATURALIST 
much as a thank-you. He had found a fool and 
had succeeded in getting something out of him, and 
his business with me was ended. There was no 
hesitation; he was going straight home, and knew 
his way quite well. 
Years afterwards it was a surprise to me to 
find that the little red dog was an inhabitant of 
London. There was no muzzling order then, in 
the ’seventies, and quite a common sight was the 
independent dog, usually a cur, roaming the streets 
in search of stray scraps of food. He shared the 
sparrows’ broken bread; he turned over the 
rubbish heaps left by the road -sweepers; he 
sniffed about areas, on the look-out for an open 
dust-bin; and he hung persistently about the 
butcher’s shop, where a jealous eye was kept on 
his movements. These dogs doubtless had owners, 
who paid the yearly tax; but it is probable that 
in most cases they found for themselves. Probably, 
too, the adventurous life of the streets, where 
carrion was not too plentiful, had the effect of 
sharpening their wits. Here, at all events, I was 
witness of an action on the part of a small red dog 
which fairly astonished me; that confidence trick 
the little Argentine beast had practised on me was 
nothing to it. 
In Regent Street, of all places, one bright 
winter morning, I caught sight of a dog lying on 
the pavement close to the wall, hungrily gnawing 
at a big beef bone which he had stolen or picked 
out of a neighbouring dust-hole. He was a miserable: 
