Chapter Seven.
At the Derby.
Scamp had spent a very patient but not unhappy week in the cellar. He knew nothing of his impending fate, consequently, as he had his meals regularly, he felt himself troubled by no present cares.
Had he known of his fate it is doubtful whether it would have caused him uneasiness.
“Fight with another dog! with pleasure; with all the good will in the world, and never show signs of flight, or turn felon.”
So would have thought the dog whose father and mother were curs, but in whose breast reigned as brave a spirit as ever one of the canine species possessed.
But Scamp, alas for you, poor fellow! you are inexperienced, and you do not know how the trained bull-dog can fight.
Jenks had secured him with a piece of rope to the broken table, but when Jenks and Dick were out Flo would unfasten him, and he would lie at her feet and never attempt to run away.
Flo felt happy too at her hard work, for Scamp was such good company, and since his arrival none of the wicked boys and girls dared to throw down broken bits of crockery, or sticks, or other rubbish at her.
Knowing she was timid they had often led her a sorry life, but now one note of Scamp’s fine deep bay (a gift from an old ancestor) would send them flying, and Flo could pursue her work in peace.