As Dave picked himself up, he was not pleased to find that operations continued with great activity close around him. Each dog let out a series of howls, barks, whines and grunts; each got knocked down, and each knocked the other down, while eight legs waved wildly in all directions.
"Whee!" cried Dave, as one after the other bumped into him. "It's time they had a lesson in manners."
He seized his rest stick, and raised it aloft, aiming toward the spot where the mixture of dog seemed thickest.
About one second later, a howl such as rarely issued from a canine throat disturbed the atmosphere, and one dog was seen rapidly backing away. Then the rest stick hit the other dog in the back, and the noise in that immediate vicinity was considerably augmented.
"Don't hit my poor dorg ag'in!" screamed Sanders, rushing forward.
But Dave had not intended his blows to land. They served, however, to keep the two howling canines from renewing their fights, and by that time the owner of the visiting dog had come running up, hatless, and out of breath.
"W-w-what d-d-do you m-ean?" he stammered, taking a position between Dave's stick and his own pet.
"What does the dog mean?" demanded Dave, facetiously, again.
"I guess he was just sparring for points," laughed the newcomer, perceiving that Dave was disposed to view the situation in a humorous light.
At this moment several hearty peals of laughter rang out.