"That's my dog. It objects to strangers--of a certain class."
Suddenly Mr Sanford stooped down, gripped the brute by the scruff of its neck and the root of its tail, swung it through the air and out of the window. Harris happened to be staring in at the time. The dog struck him as it passed. Over he went, and off tore the dog down the drive, yelping and howling as if it had had more than enough of our establishment. The Ogre sprang from his chair, and he used a very bad word.
"What do you mean by doing that?"
Harris, as he regained his feet, gave utterance to his woes.
"That's a nice thing to do, to throw a great dog like that right into a man's face! What next, I wonder?"
Mr Sanford was most civil.
"Hope it hasn't hurt you, but I'm afraid that your face must have been in the way." Then to the Ogre: "Well, sir, we are still waiting. By which route do you propose to follow your dog?"
There was something in Mr Sanford's looks and manner which, in view of the little adventure his dog had had, apparently caused the Ogre to suspect that the moment had arrived when discretion might be the better part of valour.
"Before we go any further, perhaps you'll let me know who's going to repay what I've advanced? Nearly two hundred pounds I'm out of pocket."
"You're nearly two hundred pounds out of pocket!" cried Dick. "What for?"