We used to think that he had more teeth than other dogs—at least, his mouth appeared absolutely full of them—two great, white shining rows that it made one shudder to see.
Once he snapped at little Roy Drew, the ship’s “boy,” and took a piece out of his duck trousers, but without tearing his flesh.
Fortunately Captain Gale was at hand, and a loud, quick shout from him prevented any further demonstration. He accused Roy of carelessness, and said the dog would not have attempted to hurt him if he had been minding his business.
Roy was dreadfully frightened, though, for it was a narrow escape.
“That dog ought to be chained up,” said the first mate.
“Nonsense!” retorted Captain Gale obstinately, “the animal will not hurt any one if left alone, and the men must not meddle with him if they do not wish to be bitten.”
After a time the brute began to lose his appetite. He slept more than usual, and at last refused his food altogether. There was evidently something the matter with him.
“It would be an awkward matter for us if he had hydrophobia,” said the first mate.
“He might easily do so,” replied the second mate. “They say dogs generally behave like that before going mad.”
We sailors also felt rather uneasy; but the captain, as usual, treated the matter very lightly.