After dinner they went back to take another look at Alexander McBride. As they stood about that hero in an awed but admiring circle, John, the pug, rushed wildly into the ring, and tackled Alexander McBride. The coal-scuttle head opened and closed on John, the Pug.
There was a moment of frozen horror, and then Albert Edward Murphy and his household fell upon Alexander McBride in a body.
It was too late. It took thirteen minutes and the family poker to open the jaws of Alexander McBride. Then John, the pug, fell to the floor, dead and limp as a wet bath towel.
Alexander McBride had slain his twenty-fourth dog, and John, the pug, is only a memory now.
RED MIKE
(Annals of the Bend)
Say!” remarked Chucky as he squared himself before the greasy doggery table, “I'm goin' to make it whiskey to-day, 'cause I ain't feelin' a t'ing but good, see!”