Lonnegan got his breath first.
"Boggs," he cried, "you are the most picturesque liar I know."
"Yes, Lonny, I guess that's so; but I gave you fellows a thrill, and that's what none of you gave me!"
PART VI
Wherein Mac Dilates on the Human Side of "His Worship, the Chief Justice," and his Fellow Dogs.
The group about the blazing logs was enriched this afternoon by a new member. Lonnegan had brought his dog, a big white and yellow St. Bernard, fluffy as a girl's muff, a huge, splendid fellow, who answered with great dignity and with considerable condescension to the name of "Chief," an abbreviation of "His Worship, the Chief Justice."
No other name would have suited him. Grave, dignified, wide-browed, with deep, thoughtful eyes; ponderous of form, slow in his movements, keeping perfectly still minutes at a time, he needed only a wig and a pair of big-bowed spectacles to make him the fitting occupant of any bench.
Mac put his arm around Chief's neck before His Worship had fully made up his mind as to where on the Daghestan rug he would place his august person.
The salutation over, and the dog's soft, fur-tippet ears having been duly rubbed, and his finely modelled cheeks pressed close between Mac's two warm hands—their two noses were but an inch apart—His Worship stretched himself out at full length before the fire, his nose resting on his extended paws, his kindly, human eyes fixed on the crackling logs.