"Now!" she said; and, since he would not move, she flung the icy water without compunction over the dogs and him also.
"Damnation!" he cried violently. But she broke in upon him. "Quick!
Quick! Now's the time! Grab your dog! I'll catch Mike!"
The urgency of the order compelled compliance. Almost in spite of himself he stooped to obey. And so it came to pass that five seconds later, Caesar was being mercilessly thrashed by his enraged master, while the real culprit was being dragged, cursing breathlessly, from the scene.
It was a brutal thrashing and wholly undeserved. Caesar, awaking to the horror of it, howled his anguish; but no amount of protest on his part made the smallest impression upon the wielder of the whip. It continued to descend upon his writhing body with crashing force till he rolled upon the ground in agony.
Even then the punishment would not have ceased, but for a second interruption. It was the woman from the Vicarage garden again; but she burst upon the scene this time with something of the effect of an avalanche. She literally whirled between the man and his victim. She caught his upraised arm.
"Oh, you brute!" she cried. "You brute!"
He stiffened in her hold. They stood face to face. Caesar crept whining and shivering to the side of the road.
Slowly the man's arm fell to his side, still caught in that quivering grasp. He spoke in a voice that struggled boyishly between resentment and shame. "The dog's my own."
Her hold relaxed. "Even a dog has his rights," she said. "Give me that whip, please!"
He looked at her oddly in the growing darkness. She was trembling as she stood, but she held her ground.