“Are you thirsty?”
“Awfully so,” he rejoined, “and yet cannot drink.”
“But why?” asked Trimbush.
Gameboy gave an involuntary shudder, and said, “The sight, and even the noise of water, is more painful than I can describe.”
“Let me see you make an effort to go near it,” responded my companion. “Perseverance may overcome this, seemingly, nervous affection.”
In accordance with the desire, poor Gameboy turned his head towards the fountain, and endeavoured to approach it; but had scarcely taken a stride in the direction, when a spasm appeared to seize him, and with a howl he rushed cowering to the farthest corner of the court.
The attention of the rest of the hounds was attracted by this, and several were trotting towards him to learn the cause, when Trimbush interposed by saying, “Stay—he’s mad.”
As if each had received a shock of electricity, the whole stood still and mute, regarding in silent horror their miserable companion. It is impossible to convey the effect produced upon the communication made thus briefly by Trimbush. Every one seemed not to know what to do or say, until Gameboy, with a white thick foam dropping from his jaw, sprung upon his feet and rushed towards them. A wild bull would not have scattered us more completely. Frenzied with fear, we flew from the maddened wretch, who rushed staggering at everything in his way, and snapping his jaws with that fury which the mad can only show.
“Get from him,” said Trimbush, in a thick husky voice, and exhibiting the greatest terror. “Pray get from him. It’s death if he touches ye.”
The noise in the kennel now became furious. All were stricken with fright, and the howling and cries were most appalling.