“Naughty Bart!” She slipped off to the floor. “I'll make him come,” she said.
“If it's the same to you,” said Vic, rather hastily, “I'd just as soon he stayed where he is.”
“He's got to do what I want,” she answered. She shook a tiny forefinger at him. “Bart, you just come here!”
The dog turned his blazing eyes on her and replied with a growl that shook his sides.
“Stop!” she ordered, and struck him sharply on the nose. He blinked and lowered his head under the blow, but though the snarling stopped his teeth flashed. She caught him by both jowls and tugged him forward.
“Let him be!” urged Vic.
“He's got to come!”
And come he did, step by halting step, while she hauled him, and now the snarling hoarse intakes of breath filled the room. Once she moved a little to one side and Vic caught the glint of two eyes, red-stained, which were fixed undeviatingly upon her face. Mixed with Vic's alarm at the great fighting beast was a peculiar uneasiness, for there was something uncanny in the determination, the fearlessness of this infant. When she stepped away the wolf-dog stood trembling visibly but his eyes were still not upon the man he hated or feared to approach but upon the child's face.
“Can you pat him now?” she asked, not for an instant turning to Gregg.
“No, but it's close enough,” he assured her. “I don't want him any closer.”