Tom Dinass shows his Teeth.
Gwyn sprang from his seat, dashed at the dog, and caught him by the collar.
“Grip! Down!” he roared. “Let go—let—go!”
He dragged at the furious beast, while Dinass wrenched himself away. Then there was a struggle, and Gwyn roared out,—
“Open the door, Joe. Quick! I can’t hold him.”
The door was flung open, and, with the dog fighting desperately to get free, Gwyn hung on to the collar, passed quickly, and dragged the dog after him right out of the office; then swung him round and round, turning himself as on a pivot, let go, and the animal went flying, while, before he could regain his feet, Gwyn had darted inside and banged-to the door, standing against it panting.
“I don’t think you need want to come back here, Master Tom Dinass,” he cried.
Bang!
The dog had dashed himself at the door, and now stood barking furiously till his master ran to the window and opened it.
“Go home, sir!” he roared; but the dog barked and bayed at him, raised his feet to the sill, and would have sprung in, had not Gwyn nearly closed the sash. “Go home, sir!” he shouted again; and after a few more furiously given orders, the dog’s anger burned less fiercely. He began to whine as if protesting, and finally, on receiving a blow from a walking cane thrust through the long slit between sash and window-sill, he uttered a piteous yelp, lowered his tail, and went off home.