“To be sure,” said Uncle Jack. “Well, if anyone is hurt it will be the attacking party, for I am beginning to feel vicious.”
“Well, what about the wheels?” said Uncle Bob. “Every band has gone, and it will be a heavy expense to restore them.”
“Let’s go and have breakfast and think it over,” said Uncle Dick. “It’s bad to decide in haste. Listen! What are the men doing?”
“Going out in the yard, evidently,” said Uncle Bob. “Yes, and down to the gate.”
So it proved, for five minutes later the place was completely empty.
“Why, they’ve forsaken us,” said Uncle Dick bitterly.
“Never mind,” said Uncle Bob. “Let’s have our breakfast. We can lock up the place.”
And this we did, taking poor old Piter with us, who looked so helpless and miserable that several dogs attacked him on our way home, anticipating an easy victory.
But they did Piter good, rousing him up to give a bite here and another there—one bite being all his enemies cared to receive before rushing off, yelping apologies for the mistake they had made in attacking the sickly-looking heavy-eyed gentleman of their kind.
Piter had jaws like a steel trap, as others beside dogs found before long.