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"What in blue blazes are you blithering about?" roared the Master, finding his voice and marshaling his startled wits. "Do you mean " "I mean," said Wefers, rebuking with a cold glare the Master's disrespectful manner, "I mean I'm here to shoot that big collie of yours. He was bit by a mad dog, yesterday. So was three other dogs over in the village.
It had caught the scow's wide stern and had swung it out from the dock. Wefers unhooked the chain and dropped it clankingly into the bottom. Then, with ponderous uncertainty, he stepped from the dock's string-piece to the prow of his boat. A whiff of breeze slapped the loosened scow, broadside on, and sent it drifting an inch or two away.
Wefers had come to the surface, after his ducking. He was fully three yards beyond the dock and as far from his drifting scow. And he was doing all manner of sensational things with his lanky arms and legs and body. In brief, he was doing everything except swim. It was this phenomenon which had wiped away the Master's grin of pure happiness.
But the mongrel's teeth never came within twelve inches of him. I can testify to that." "He was fighting with a mad dog!" reiterated Wefers, fumingly. "I saw 'em, myself. And when a dog is fighting, he's bound to get bit. I'm not here to argue over it. I'm here to enforce the law of the sov'r'n State of Noo Jersey, County of P'saic, Township of "
As he reached the foot of the lawn, Lad's head and shoulders came into view above the little whirlpool caused by the sinking bodies' suction. And, at the same moment, the convulsed features of Homer Wefers showed through the eddy. The man was thrashing and twisting in a way that turned the lake around him into a white maelstrom.
The only Princeton man who sensed trouble was Doggy Trenchard. He set sail in pursuit. He soon caught up with Lott and would have caught Duncan, but for the latter's interference. Duncan finally scored the touchdown, having made the 105 yards in what would have been fast time for a Wefers.
"You talk like a fool!" snorted Wefers, in lofty contempt. "But I am going to keep you from acting like a fool," returned the Master, his hard-held temper beginning to fray. "You say you've come over here to shoot my dog. If ever anyone shoots Lad, I'll be the man to do it. And I'll have to have lots better reason for it than "
The sight of her splendid dog retrieving so joyously the weapon designed for his death, was almost too much for the Mistress's self-control. The effect on the Master was different. As Wefers made as though to jump forward and grab the pistol, the Master said sharply: "WATCH it, Laddie!" Instantly, Lad was on the alert. The game, it seemed, had begun again, and along sterner lines.
The Mistress recognized him, too, as the vehement official whose volley of pistol-bullets had ended the sufferings of the black mongrel. She shivered, in reminiscence, as she looked at him. The memory he evoked was not pleasant. "Morning!" Wefers observed, curtly, as the Master, with Lad beside him, stepped forward to greet the scarlet-bearded guest. "I tried to get over here, last night.
For perhaps a whole minute, he sat thus; his eyes shut, his breath still fast and hysterical. Nobody spoke. The Mistress looked down at the drenched man. Then she winked at the equally silent Master, and laid a caressing little hand on Lad's wet head. At length, Wefers lifted his face and glowered at the trio. But, as his eye met Lad's quizzically interested gaze, he fidgeted.
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