“All right, old lively. How was the governor this morning? You look as if you’d taken some of his physic by mistake. Now, Grip, how are your poor legs?”
“Ahow–w–ow!” howled the dog, throwing up his muzzle and making a most dismal sound.
“Feel the change in the weather?”
A bark.
“Do you, now? But they are quite strong again, aren’t they?”
“How-how-ow-ow” yelped the dog.
“Here, what made you begin talking about that?”
“What? His broken legs?”
“Yes.”
“Pride, I suppose, in our cure. Or nonsense, just to tease the dog. He always begins to howl when I talk about his legs. Don’t you, Grip? Poor old cripple, then.”