“Where did you find him, Joe?” said the Woman, looking at Dicky.
“’Long road,” said the Man, jerking his head backwards.
“You ain’t been and thrown away his collar, ’ave you, Joe?”
“’Adn’t any,” said the Man. Dicky was very dazed, but he did think they were talking about him in an odd way.
“Better take ’im where he belongs,” said the Woman. “The cops won’t believe as such as ’e is ours. He looks well cared for. Might get five bob.”
Dicky did not try to tell them where he lived; he felt somehow it would be no use to try.
Instead of answering the Man just threw him into the caravan and shut the door. Although it was nearly dark, Dicky found he could see surprisingly well. Presently a tin bowl full of scraps of meat and bones was thrust in. Dicky would have been revolted by such a mess a short time ago, but now, though he was too scared to feel hungry, he could not resist putting his face close to it and giving a sniff. It really smelt uncommonly good. He put out the tip of his tongue and touched a brown-looking, ragged bit of gristle. Yes, it was good. Then all of a sudden he understood what must have happened. He had changed into a dog! Into a black spaniel!
He dashed at the door, shouting at the top of his voice, “Let me out! Let me out!” Alas, the only word which sounded at all like what he wanted to say was, “Out.” “Out, out, out, out,” he kept barking, hoping that the Man and Woman would understand. They took no notice; but he could not stop. “Out, out, out,” he barked. He shook the door by jumping at it; he tore at the wood with his nails. There was a latch just within his reach when he sprang up, but his paws—yes, it was only too true, his hands were round, black and feathery—could not lift it. “Out, out, out.” No answer. At last he gave it up, and lay down on the floor, feeling very tired. It occurred to him presently that he might think better while gnawing a bone. So he went to the bowl and pulled out the largest. It was a slight comfort to him. With his head on one side and his teeth sliding along the bone, he found he could think a little more calmly. How was he to let them know that he was not a real dog, but a boy called Dicky Brook? He tried again to talk. After a lot of practice he succeeded in making a sound rather like “Brrr-ook,” but it was also too sadly like the noise Jasper made when he was too lazy to bark or had been told to stop barking. Dicky was afraid they would never understand. But surely a very clever dog could make people understand somehow?
At last the door opened and the Man appeared, black against the starry sky. He stumbled over Dicky, swore and lit a stinking lamp-flame the size of the blade of a pocket knife. He was followed by the Woman. Outside Dicky could see the red glow of the fire which had cooked their dinner. Now was his chance. What should he do to astonish them? That was the first thing to do, to astonish them till they began to understand. But all Dicky could think of was a doggy thing after all: he sat up and begged. The Woman grinned at him, but the Man, who was pulling off his great boots, flung one at him, which Dicky dodged. He at once sat up on his hind-legs again, this time joining his paws and holding them up high in front of him.
“Bli’my Joe, look at the dawg!” exclaimed the Woman. “It’s saying its prayers!”