That contest of wills, followed by my avowal that I was an American, marked another very distinct advance toward a better understanding between us. My companion’s interest was stimulated and her curiosity piqued; and our relationship was at once placed upon a footing of personal equality. She made that plain—intentionally, I think—her momentary chagrin at defeat in the trial of strength between us overshadowed completely by her sense of relief and reassurance.
Chris was a great help to us just then. He seemed to have settled it in his thoughts there had been trouble which was now put right, and he stalked along by her side, thrusting his great nose into her hand, nestling his head against her, and giving many signs of his satisfaction. She caressed him gently, and presently, with a half glance at me, she said, as if to him:
“And are you American, too, Chris? And is your name really Chris?”
“He’s American born, not like his master, and his name is really Chris,” I replied.
“And have you a strong temper, too, Chris?”
“Like master like dog. He can show his teeth at need,” I said with a smile. “But he can be a staunch friend—to those who trust him.”
“Does he show them to women?” she asked, turning to flash her eyes upon me.
“Is that quite fair?”
“You can show yours,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
“I’ve seen him hold a man up with a growl when I knew he didn’t mean to bite. Just as a lesson, you know.”