"Find him, won't you, Barstow? Won't you find him?"
To quiet him Barstow whistled. The dog pounded his tail on the floor under the lounge.
"He 's under there," said Barstow.
"Get him out—get him out where I can see him, won't you?"
Barstow stooped.
"Come, Sandy, come," he called.
Donaldson leaped forward.
"What did you call him?" he demanded as Barstow staggered back.
"Have you gone mad?" shouted Barstow.
"What did you call him?" repeated Donaldson fiercely. "Tell me what you called him?"