A houn' that ain't happy at
best, he's melancholy; an' a houn' that ain't allowed to run free is of
all critters the wretchedest. This houn's neck is rubbed raw. God only
knows what he's suffered in mind an' body. A man that would treat a dog
that way ain't fitten to own one. An' I hereby notify you that, on the
evidence of this boy, an' the evidence before our eyes, I will indict
you for breakin' the law regardin' the treatment of animals; an' I
notify you, furthermore, that as magistrate I'll put the law on you for
that same thing. An' it might be interestin' to you to know, sir, that I
can find you as much as five hundred dollars, or send you to jail for
one year, or both, if I see fit--an' there ain't no tellin' but what I
will see fit, sir."
He looked sternly at Thornycroft.
"Now I'm goin' to make a proposition that I advise you to jump at like
you never jumped at anything before. If you will give up that houn'
Buck--to me, say, or to anybody I decide will be kind to him--I will let
the matter drop. If you will go home like a peaceable citizen, you won't
hear no more about it from me; but if you don't--"
"Git out of my way!" cried Old Man Thornycroft. "All of you! I'm
goin'--I'm goin'!"
"Hold on!" said Mr. Kirby, when he had got almost to the door. "Do you,
in the presence of these witnesses, turn over this dog to me,
relinquishin' all claims to him, on the conditions named? Answer Yes or
No?"
There was a moment's silence; then the old man cried out:
"Take the old hound! He ain't wuth the salt in his vittles!"
He jerked the door open.
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