“Not with me,” said George, as he threw open the door. “Here, Bruno!” he cried.
The dog bounced out, and for the moment it seemed to Mr Hampton that he was about to attack the young man, for he rose on his hind legs, and placed his paws breast-high, barking furiously.
“Come, come; what’s the matter?” said George, seizing him with both hands by the collar. “Don’t you like to be shut up there. Some folks would; eh, sir?”
“I don’t think the brute is safe,” said Mr Hampton. “Pray get him out.”
“Yes, I’ll take him to the stable. Now, Bruno, old chap. Will you lock that door, sir?”
George Harrington had to speak loudly, for the dog was keeping up his excited bark, and mingling it with whines; but the moment the old lawyer moved towards the door the animal dropped down on all fours, shook himself free, and dashed back into the wine-cellar.
“Come out, sir!” cried the lawyer. “I thought he didn’t like the place?”
“Here—Bruno, Bruno!”
The dog responded with a sharp, angry bark, evidently from some distance.
“Oh, I see what it is; he can smell rats.”