The Philosopher addressed him mildly.
“That was a good jump,” said he.
The young man spun around from where he stood, and was by the Philosopher’s side in an instant.
“It would be a good jump for other men,” said he, “but it is only a little jump for me. You are very dusty, sir; you must have travelled a long distance to-day.”
“A long distance,” replied the Philosopher. “Sit down here, my friend, and keep me company for a little time.”
“I do not like sitting down,” said the young man, “but I always consent to a request, and I always accept friendship.” And, so saying, he threw himself down on the grass.
“Do you work in that big house?” said the Philosopher.
“I do,” he replied. “I train the hounds for a fat, jovial man, full of laughter and insolence.”
“I think you do not like your master.”
“Believe, sir, that I do not like any master; but this man I hate. I have been a week in his service, and he has not once looked on me as on a friend. This very day, in the kennel, he passed me as though I were a tree or a stone. I almost leaped to catch him by the throat and say: ‘Dog, do you not salute your fellow-man?’ But I looked after him and let him go, for it would be an unpleasant thing to strangle a fat person.”