He was watching her face as he spoke, and he must have noticed a flash of suspicion, for he added hastily, “Perhaps he does want to come in. I’ll try him for a while. He likes to lie behind my back,” and getting up, he limped out to the shed.
I was trembling with anger at his lies. He unfastened my chain, and took me in his arms. His face was hateful as he bent over me. I would have to pay up for this. He was holding me apparently in a loose grasp, yet his left hand gripped one of my hind legs till it felt as if it were caught in the jaws of a trap.
I might have known better than to do what I did, but I didn’t. I made an effort to get to the kind lady. Her face made me wildly homesick, for it reminded me of my dear mistress and Mrs. Bonstone. Then, I was unutterably tired and heartsick. Three weeks had passed since I had been shut up with this vermin of manhood.
I tried to spring toward her, but my leg caught in the trap. I gave a yell of pain. I thought my jailer had broken it.
Dud was mighty clever. He let me go at once. He knew I could not run far with that aching leg. “Poor dog,” he said as I limped to a corner and began to lick it. “Did the rheumatiz come back? I’ll get you a bone,” and he went to a shelf and took down a piece of beef that he had reserved for himself.
What a fool I am! I thought, and I lay down by the stove, and ripped the meat off the bone, for they kept me pretty hungry.
The lady was reassured, for Dud in a skilful manner that amazed me, petted me as if he worshipped the ground I walked on. I would not wag my tail, and pretend I liked him, but I tore at the meat, for I knew I should lose my bone, and probably get a beating when the lady was gone.
I never looked at her as her chauffeur, who had been standing outside, opened the door for her. Dud was very careful to keep between me and the door, but he did not need to trouble. I felt that the time to escape had not come.
Of course I got my beating. He snatched the bone from me, and caught up an old broom. I shall carry the mark of that beating to the end of my life in a most ungraceful limp, for my poor sore leg seemed to be always next the broom. I tried to keep my head out of range of the blows. I had a terror of being blind.
Fortunately, his companion vermin came in while he was belabouring me, and I, poor dog, was flying from corner to corner, from under the stove, to the rickety sofa, and the shaky bedstead, to escape the terrible broom handle.