For a moment only, in comparative quiet, the Concerned struggled with
the Concerned. Then true to all Dog Psychology,--absolutely
indisputable, absolutely unalterable, the Non-Concerned leaped in upon
the Non-Concerned! Half on his guard, but wholely on his itch, the
jostled Parrot shot like a catapult across the floor! Lost to all
sense of honor or table-manners the benign-faced Giraffe with his
benign face still towering blandly in the air, burst through his own
neck with a most curious anatomical effect,--locked his teeth in the
Parrot's gay throat and rolled with him under the table in mortal
combat!

Round and round the room spun the Yellow Canary and the Black Plush
Bag!

Retreating as best she could from her muslin nose,--the Bengal Tiger
or rather that which was within the Bengal Tiger, waged her war for
Freedom! Ripping like a chicken through its shell she succeeded at
last in hatching one front paw and one hind paw into action.
Wallowing,--stumbling,--rolling,--yowling,--she humped from
mantle-piece to chair-top, and from box to table.

Loyally the rabbit-eared Setter took up the chase. Mauled in the
scuffle he ran with his meek face upside down! Lost to all reason,
defiant of all morale, he proceeded to flush the game!

Dish-pans clattered, stools tipped over, pictures banged on the walls!

From her terrorized perch on the back of her chair Flame watched the
fracas with dilated eyes.

Hunched in the hug of his own arms the Stranger sat rocking himself to
and fro in uncontrollable, choking mirth,--"ribald mirth" was what
Flame called it.

"Stop!" she begged. "Stop it! Somebody _stop_ it!"

It was not until the Black Plush Bag at bay had ripped a red streak
down Miss Flora's avid nose that the Stranger rose to interfere.

Very definitely then, with quick deeds, incisive words, he separated
the immediate combatants, and ordered the other dogs into submission.

"Here you, Demon Direful!" he addressed the white Wolf Hound. "Drop
that, Orion!" he shouted to the Irish Setter. "Cut it out, John!" he
thundered at the Coach Dog.

"Their names are 'Beautiful-Lovely'!" cried Flame. "And 'Lopsy!' and
'Blunder-Blot!'"

With his hand on the Wolf Hound's collar, the Stranger stopped and
stared up with frank astonishment, not to say resentment, at the
girl's interference.

"Their names are _what_?" he said.

Something in the special intonation of the question infuriated
Flame.... Maybe she thought his mouth