"What does he want of me?" asked the young man helplessly.
"He wants you to throw it for him," said Bess. "See," she added, as the dog rose to a sitting posture, "he is begging you for it."
"M-m-m-m-m-m-m," added Fuzz, in an explanatory tone.
Mr. Muir took the ball and threw it from him with an energy that was not entirely caused by his devotion to Fuzz. But this was just what the dog wished, and away he scrambled after it, twisting up the rugs and knocking down the fire-irons with a clatter as he went. Mr. Muir had returned to the charge.
"I have been trying for a long, long time to"—
"M-m-m-h-h-m-m-m-woof?" So spoke Fuzz, who had re-appeared, and again cast his ball at the feet of Mr. Muir. The young man paid no heed to him.
"M-m-m-h-h-h-m-m-m!" In a tone of low warning.
"No, no, Fuzz! Come here!" commanded Bess.
Fuzz disrespectfully turned the white of one eye up to her, as who should say, "Catch me if you can," and then repeated his former remark.
Mr. Muir shut his teeth tightly together, and again hurled the ball into a remote corner. This time Fuzz collided with the waste-paper basket, and scattered its contents up and down the room.