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 har, 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 
