But no: Joby was amiability itself at times, and well educated; still, rouse the dog that was in him, and his obstinate breed began to show. Maude called, but he took no notice, only walked solemnly about the room with his vanquished enemy pendent from his grinning mouth.
“He’ll kill it—he’ll kill it,” cried her ladyship, wildly, but not daring to approach; and just then Tom entered the room. “Oh, Tom, Tom, quick!”
“What’s the row?” cried Tom, “eh? Oh, I say! ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! what a jolly lark!” and he slapped his leg and roared with laughter.
“Tom!” shrieked her ladyship.
“That’s just about how Charley Melton could serve Wilters,” cried Tom, wiping his eyes.
“For shame, sir!” cried her ladyship. “Pray, pray save the poor dog.”
“What for?” said Tom, grinning, “to be stuffed?”
“Oh, don’t say it’s dead!” wailed her ladyship.
“I won’t, if you don’t wish me to say so,” said Tom, “but it is as dead as a door nail. Here, Joby, Joby,” he cried, walking up to the dog.
But there was a low growl and Joby hung his head, glowered, and walked to the far end of the drawing-room, seeming to take a pleasure in making his journey as long as he could in and out amongst chairs and tables, giving Tom, who followed him, significant hints that it would not be safe to interfere with him at such a time.