I stooped down rather unwillingly, and began patting the ugliest head I ever saw in my life. For Piter—otherwise Jupiter—was a brindled bull-dog with an enormous head, protruding lower jaw, pinched-in nose, and grinning teeth. The sides of his head seemed swollen, and his chest broad, his body lank and lean, ending in a shabby little thin tail.
“Why, he has no ears,” I said.
“They are cut pretty short, poor fellow. But isn’t he a beauty, Cob?”
“Beauty!” I said, laughing. “But where did you get him?”
“Mr Tomplin has lent him to us.”
“But what for?”
“Garrison for the fort,” my boy. “I think we can trust him.”
I commenced my attack then.
“I should so like to go!” I said. “It isn’t as if I was a nuisance. I wasn’t so bad when we were out all night by Dome Tor.”
“Well, there, I’ll talk them over,” he said. “Here, you stop and hold the dog, while I go in.”