There stood a stout young man with a cigarette between his teeth, who set one of his feet within the room, so that she could not have closed the door had she tried. He was leading a black dog by a rope—which squeezed past him into the room—and he did not appear to think it necessary to remove his cap, as he said with a foreign accent: "Dog lost—I got him, yes, I brought him."
The dog was black, but much larger than Pixy, was shaggy and unkempt, and had a cross and savage look, very different from the well-kept and gentle Pixy.
"We have found our dog," replied Mrs. Steiner. "I am sorry that you went to the trouble of bringing one."
"Found your dog? Where is he?"
"Fritz, bring Pixy here," called his aunt, and Fritz came with his dog, followed by Franz and Paul.
"I have been more than half an hour coming here with this dog in answer to your advertisement, and should be paid for my trouble," said the young man, gruffly.
"It is not our fault that you came. It is not our dog. See, he is not at all like ours and he does not answer to the name of Pixy."
"See if he don't," and he jerked the dog's head up by the cord as he called "Pixy!"
"No matter if his name is Pixy, he is not our dog. Our dog is here, as you see."
The man grew angry and raised his voice, and the dogs, who had been eyeing each other with no friendly looks, snarled and sprang upon each other, and the small entry was the scene of such a fierce battle, and resounded with such shrill yelps and much thumping and bumping about that the very coats and hats on the pegs trembled. Pixy was full of fight, but the strange dog was much the larger, and scored a victory, while Pixy ran howling under the sofa in the dining-room.