Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Craven, from an upper window, had the satisfaction of seeing the dog greedily eating what he supposed would be his last meal on earth.
"That'll fix him!" he muttered, smiling viciously. "He won't attack me again very soon. Young impudence will never know what hurt the brute. That's the way I mean to dispose of my enemies."
Probably Mr. Craven did not mean exactly what might be inferred from his remarks, but he certainly intended to revenge himself on all who were unwise enough to oppose him.
Mr. Craven watched Pompey till he had consumed the last morsel of the meat, and then retired from the window, little guessing that his scheme had been detected and baffled.
The next morning he got up earlier than usual, on purpose to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing his four-footed enemy stretched out stiff and stark. What was his astonishment to see the dog jumping over a stick at the command of his young master. Had he suddenly seen Pompey's ghost (supposing dogs to have ghosts), he could scarcely have been more astonished or dismayed.
"Goodness gracious! that dog must have a cast-iron constitution!" he said to himself. "There was enough strychnine on that meat to kill ten men. I don't understand it at all."
"He looks as if his grandmother had died and left him nothin' at all in her will," said Katy to herself, slyly watching him out of the window. "The ould villain's disappinted sure, and it's Katy O'Grady he's got to thank for it, if he only knew it."
"Good morning, sir," said Frank, for the first time noticing the presence of Mr. Craven.
"Good morning, Frank," replied his step-father, opening his mouth with his customary smile. "Pompey seems lively this morning."