"Ihk! ow, yow! yow-oo—yow, ook! yow! yow! yow!"
"Lor' a massy!" cries the woman in front of the deacon, jumping up, and making a desperate splurge to get up on to the seats, and in the effort upsetting sundry bundles and parcels around her!
"Yow-ook! Yow-ook!" yelled the dog, jumping clear out of the grasp of the juvenile Mantillini, and dashing himself on to the head and shoulders of the next seat occupants, one of whom was a sturdy civilized Irishman, who made "no bones" in grasping the sickly-looking dog, and to the horror and alarm of the entire female party present, he sung out:
"Whur-r-r ye about, ye brute! Is the divil mad?"
"Eee! Ee! O dear! O! O!" cries an anxious mother.
"O! O! O-o-o! save us from the dog!" cries another.
"Whur-r-r-r! ye divil!" cries the Irish gintilman, pinning the poor dog down between the seats, with a force that extracted another glorious yell.
"Ike! Ike! Ike! oo, ow! ow! Ike! Ike! Ike!"
"Murder! mur-r-r-der!" bawls another victim in the rear of the deacon, leaping up in his seat, and rubbing his leg vigorously.
"What on airth's loose?" exclaims one.