s were cracked.

The dog, thus again deflected, retraced his tracks, shrieking
distractedly, and, by one of those ironical twists which Karma reserves
for the tails of the fated, dived for blind safety into the store
commanded by the ecstatic and inimical clerk. There were shouts; the
sleepy Square beginning to wake up: the boy who had mocked the
planing-mill got to his feet, calling upon his fellows; the bench
loafers strolled to the street; the aged men stirred and rose from
their chairs; faces appeared in the open windows of offices; sales
ladies and gentlemen came to the doorways of the trading-places; so
that when Respectability emerged from the grocery he had a notable
audience for the scene he enacted with a brass dinner-bell tied to his
tail.

Another potato, flung by the pimpled, uproarious, prodigal clerk, added
to the impetus of his flight. A shower of pebbles from the hands of
exhilarated boys dented the soft asphalt about him; the hideous clamor
of the pursuing bell increased as he turned the next corner, running
distractedly. The dead town had come to life, and its inhabitants
gladly risked the dangerous heat in the interests of sport, whereby it
was a merry chase the little dog led around the block, For thus some
destructive instinct drove him; he could not stop with the unappeasable
Terror clanging at his heels and the increasing crowd yelling in
pursuit; but he turned to the left at each corner, and thus came back
to pass Joe's stairway again, unable to pause there or anywhere, unable
to do anything except to continue his hapless flight, poor meteor.

Round the block he went once more, and still no chance at that empty
stairway where, perhaps, he thought, there might be succor and safety.
Blood was upon his side where Martin Pike's boot had crashed, foam and
blood hung upon his jaws and lolling tongue. He ran desperately,
keeping to the middle of the street, and, not howling, set himself
despairingly to outstrip the Terror. The mob, disdaining the sun
superbly, pursued as closely as it could, throwing bricks and rocks at
him, striking at him with clubs and sticks. Happy Fear, playing
"tic-tac-toe," right hand against left, in his cell, heard the uproar,
made out something of what was happening, and, though unaware that it
was a friend whose life was sought, discovered a similarity to his own
case, and prayed to his dim gods that the quarry might get away.

"MAD DOG!" they yelled. "MAD DOG!" A