The door opened, and out Mr. Brisket came.
“TO HIM, JOWLER!” says he. “KEEP HIM, JOWLER!”—and the horrid dog flew at me, and I flew back into the corner, and drew my sword, determining to sell my life dearly.
“That's it,” says Brisket. “Keep him there,—good dog,—good dog! And now, sir,” says he, turning round to Dobble, “is this your hat?”
“Yes,” says Dobble, fit to choke with fright.
“Well, then,” says Brisket, “it's my—(hic)—my painful duty to—(hic)—to tell you, that as I've got your hat, I must have your head;—it's painful, but it must be done. You'd better—(hic)—settle yourself com—comfumarably against that—(hic)—that block, and I'll chop it off before you can say Jack—(hic)—no, I mean Jack Robinson.”
Dobble went down on his knees and shrieked out, “I'm an only son, Mr. Brisket! I'll marry her, sir; I will, upon my honor, sir.—Consider my mother, sir; consider my mother.”
“That's it, sir,” says Brisket, “that's a good—(hic)—a good boy;—just put your head down quietly—and I'll have it off—yes, off—as if you were Louis the Six—the Sixtix—the Siktickleteenth.—I'll chop the other CHAP AFTERWARDS.”
When I heard this, I made a sudden bound back, and gave such a cry as any man might who was in such a way. The ferocious Jowler, thinking I was going to escape, flew at my throat; screaming furious, I flung out my arms in a kind of desperation,—and, to my wonder, down fell the dog, dead, and run through the body!
At this moment a posse of people rushed in upon old Brisket,—one of his daughters had had the sense to summon them,—and Dobble's head was saved. And when they saw the dog lying dead at my feet, my ghastly look, my bloody sword, they gave me no small credit for my bravery. “A terrible fellow that Stubbs,” said they; and so the mess said, the next day.