“Sick him, Bonaparte, grab him—turn round an' grab him!” shouted Jud pale to his eyes, and shaking with shame.
“Seek heem, Ponyparte—O mine Gott, seek him,” shouted Billy.
Jud rushed and tried to head the dog, but the champion seemed to have only one idea in his head—to get away from the misery which brought up his rear.
Around he went once more, then seeing the gate open, he rushed out, knocking Ozzie B. over into the dust, and when the crowd rushed out, nothing could be seen except a cloud of dust going down the village street, in the hind most cloud of it a pair of little red coat tails flapping in the breeze.
Then the little red coat tails suddenly dropped out of the cloud of dust and came running back up the road to meet its master.
Jud watched the vanishing cloud of dust going toward the distant mountains.
“My God—not Bonaparte—not the champion,” he said.
Billy stood also looking with big Dutch tears in his eyes. He watched the cloud of dust go over the distant hills. Then he waved his hand sadly—
“Goot-pye, mine bac'n!”
The monkey came up grinning triumphantly.