“There you are, Mr Lawyer Dix, Esquire,” said Gwyn, after dashing off the reply; “now, don’t bother us any more, for we are not going to sell—Hi! Grip, old man, rabbits!”
The dog sprang to his feet uttered a sharp bark, and ran to the door before realising that it meant nothing; and then, without the sign of a limp, walked slowly back and lay down growling.
“Ha, ha!” laughed Gwyn; “says ‘You’re not going to humbug me again like that,’ as plain as a dog can speak.”
“Well, it’s too bad,” said Joe. “Think of the boy who cried ‘wolf.’ Some day when you want him he won’t come.”
“Oh, yes, he will; Grip knows me. Come here, old man.”
The dog sprang to him, rose on his hind-legs, and put his fore-paws on his master’s hands.
“Only a game, was it, Grippy? You understand your master, don’t you?”
The dog gave a joyous bark.
“There; says he does.”
“Don’t fool about, I want to talk to you,” said Joe, sternly.