The two
looked curiously at each other: a bull-dog, and a high-bred clean-limbed
terrier, each full of spirit.
"How do you do?"
"How do?" The Master grinned again, and his three jagged front teeth
gleamed for an instant. The rest had been beaten out of him in twenty
years of battle. He spat upon the floor. "We have a rare fine day
for't."
"Capital," said Montgomery.
"That's the good feelin' I like," wheezed the fat butcher. "Good lads,
both of them!--prime lads!--hard meat an' good bone. There's no
ill-feelin'."
"If he downs me, Gawd bless him!" said the Master,
"An' if we down him, Gawd help him!" interrupted the woman.
"Haud thy tongue, wench!" said the Master, impatiently. "Who art thou
to put in thy word? Happen I might draw my hand across thy face."
The woman did not take the threat amiss. "Wilt have enough for thy hand
to do, Jock," said she. "Get quit o' this gradely man afore thou turn
on me."
The lovers' quarrel was interrupted by the entrance of a newcomer, a
gentleman with a fur-collared overcoat and a very shiny top-hat--
a top-hat of a degree of glossiness which is seldom seen five miles from
Hyde Park. This hat he wore at the extreme back of his head, so that
the lower surface of the brim made a kind of frame for his high, bald
forehead, his, keen eyes, his rugged and yet kindly face.
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