And then the girl had talked to him, had talked with flashing eyes and heaving breast, and the end of it was that Ralph Vinston made a collection of surgical instruments, bandages, and other necessaries, bundled them into his little car, and was away down the road with Ellice in company within ten minutes. Hugh Alston had certainly not attempted anything in the way of picturesque disguise.
"Snatcher's going to pull through, missy. 'Twas a car did hit he," he added, "and I saw the chap who was in it. I saw him, and I saw him laugh when Snatcher went rolling over in the dust. I'll watch out for that man, missy." "Tell me about Snatcher!" "Leg broke, and a terrible cut from a great flint; but he'll pull through thanks to you!" "To Mr. Vinston, you mean!" Rundle shook his head. "To you.
He hates him too bad for that, because Snatcher killed one of them fancy poodle dogs of his two years ago; and Mr. Vinston ain't never forgot it and never will. He wouldn't do nothing to save Snatcher, miss. Ask Taylor to come and bring his gun." Ellice nodded. She stretched out her hand and touched the shaggy yellow head, and in her eyes was infinite pity.
Then she mounted the bicycle, and rode like the wind to Buddesby. What she said to Mr. Ralph Vinston, the smart young veterinary surgeon, only she and Mr. Ralph Vinston knew. He had refused definitely and decidedly. "It'll be a blessing to the place if the beast dies," he said. "You'd better take his message to Taylor. The gun's the best remedy for Rundle's accursed dog, Miss Ellice."
He wouldn't 'a come for me, nor Snatcher; he hates my poor tyke. But he's put Snatcher right for all that, and because you made him do it, and I don't wonder!" Rundle looked at her. "I don't wonder," he added. "There's be few men who wouldn't do what you'd tell 'em to." "Now," said Ellice, "you are talking absurdly. Of course I just shamed Mr. Vinston into doing it.
"You'll do something for me, missy, something as I I can't do myself!" He shuddered. "Will you ride on to Taylor's and ask him to come here and bring his gun?" "Why?" "I I can't do it myself!" "He might be cured." "There's only Mister Vinston, the Vet, and he wouldn't look at this poor tyke of mine.