What the devil do you keep such an infernal
brute about the house for? Is it to bite people who come to see you?"
Hector was the best-behaved, best-tempered animal in the world; he
might have been called a gentlemanly dog. So little was there of the
unmannerly puppy in his behaviour, that I was perfectly astonished
at his ungracious conduct. I caught him by the collar, and not
without some difficulty, succeeded in dragging him off.
"Is Captain Moodie within?" said the stranger.
"He is, sir. But he is ill in bed - too ill to be seen."
"Tell him a friend" (he laid a strong stress upon the last word),
"a particular friend must speak to him."
I now turned my eyes to the face of the speaker with some curiosity.
I had taken him for a mechanic, from his dirty, slovenly appearance;
and his physiognomy was so unpleasant that I did not credit his
assertion that he was a friend of my husband, for I was certain
that no man who possessed such a forbidding aspect could be regarded
by Moodie as a friend. I was about to deliver his message, but the
moment I let go Hector's collar, the dog was at him again.
"Don't strike him with your stick," I cried, throwing my arms over
the faithful creature.
