The position of the
humans was quite clear. They had elected Smith to his present position
on a straight watch-dog ticket. They expected him to be one of those
dogs who rouse the house and save the spoons. They looked to him to pin
burglars by the leg and hold on till the police arrived. Smith simply
could not grasp such an attitude of mind. He regarded Windles not as a
private house but as a social club, and was utterly unable to see any
difference between the human beings he knew and the strangers who
dropped in for a late chat after the place was locked up. He had no
intention of biting Sam. The idea never entered his head. At the
present moment what he felt about Sam was that he was one of the best
fellows he had ever met and that he loved him like a brother.
Sam, in his unnerved state, could not bring himself to share these
amiable sentiments. He was thinking bitterly that Webster might have
had the intelligence to warn him of bulldogs on the premises. It was
just the sort of woollen-headed thing fellows did, forgetting facts
like that.
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