“You have killed him!” whispered the scared Captain.
“Not a bit of it, but he will be dead to the world for ten or fifteen minutes. We may as well let him rest in peace. What’s become of that dog?” asked the officer, glancing inquiringly around.
Chester pointed toward the house. The brute, with his two inches of tail aimed skyward, was scooting around the corner of the building as fast as his bowed legs could carry him. He would not have done so had he been of true bulldog breed, but being a mongrel, there was a big streak of yellow in his make-up.
“He’s come to the belief that it’s a good time to adjourn, as me cousin said whin someone blowed up the stump on which he was risting his weary body.”
“I think we have had enough foraging along the river,” remarked Captain Alvin, who re-entered the boat and resumed his place at the wheel. “We dine at Wiscasset.”
“I’m not partic’lar as to the place,” said Mike, “if only we dine.”
Chester flung the loop of rope off the support, and he and the others stepped aboard the launch, which moved up the river. Standing in front of the detective, Mike, with his genial grin, offered his hand:
“I asks the privilege of a shake of yours. I apologize for thinking ye didn’t like a shindy as well as the rest of us. I’m sorry for me mistake, as me uncle said, whin he inthroodoced dad to a party of leddies as a gintleman. I couldn’t have done better mesilf.”
The smiling officer cordially accepted the proffer.
“No one can doubt your pluck, Mike, but, to quote your favorite method of expressing yourself, you showed mighty poor judgment, as the owner of the bull said when the animal tried to butt a locomotive off the track. That man would have eaten you up.”