“No, you shall not. I have had just about enough of this. How dare you? God's truth—” and as Berkins seemed determined to continue his search, Frank caught him by the collar.
But Berkins was tall and strong, and showed no intention of allowing himself to be thrown out. His long legs were soon extended here and there; his body was sometimes bent back by Frank's weight, once he had succeeded in nearly throwing Frank over on the sofa. Mr. Brookes had fled to the door, which, in his excitement, he failed to open, and the struggle was continued until at last, maddened by a most tight and tempting aspect of Berkin's thigh, Triss broke his collar, and in a couple of bounds, reached and fixed his teeth deep in the flesh.
“Triss, you brute, leave go.” But Triss clung to the long-desired thigh. “I'll twist his tail, it will make him leave go.”
With a savage yelp of pain the dog turned on his master and was hauled instantly off Berkins's thigh.
“I need hardly say that so far as the dog is concerned, I regret, and I am truly sorry for what has occurred.”
“Sir, do you not see what a state I am in; do not stand there making excuses, but lend me your handkerchief. I shall bleed to death if you don't.”
“Shall I tie it up for you?”
“If those girls there would only fetch a doctor.”
Mr. Brookes could not refrain from foolish laughter, and in a moment of wretched despair he declared that it would be all the same in a hundred years time—a remark which would not have failed to irritate Berkins if he had not fainted.