"Stop, Fritz, stop," but the dog would not heed, and so the dancing came to a sudden stand-still.
The pickaninny cocked his head on one side and whispered to Beth:
"He's out of sorts with me. I'm disgraced in his sight. He can dance so much bettah 'n me."
"Can he really?"
"Oh, a hundred times bettah."
"He must be a wonderful dog"—Beth was about to add, "Although he doesn't look it," and then desisted out of consideration for the dog's master.
"He's mighty smart. Why, 'less yo'd see all the tricks he does, yo'd never believe dem. Besides dancin', he jumps the rope, plays ball, says his prayers, gives his paw, jumps that high yo' wouldn't b'lieve it possible, rolls over——"
"What kind of dog is he?"
The boy scratched his head. "Well, missy, I can't jes' 'xactly say."
"If he is so very wonderful, you ought to know."