He flew round
his victim, weaving whooping circles and curves that paralyzed the old
gentleman as though they had been the mystic figures of a Merlin. The
colonel clubbed his umbrella, and attempted to defend himself. I called
to the dog, I gave good advice to the colonel (I judged him to be a
colonel; the louder he spoke, the less one could understand him), but
both were too excited to listen to me. A sympathetic bus driver leaned
over, and whispered hoarse counsel.

"Ketch 'im by the tail, sir," he advised the old gentleman; "don't you
be afraid of him; you ketch 'im firmly by the tail."

A milkman, on the other hand, sought rather to encourage Smith, shouting
as he passed--

"Good dog, kill him!"

A child, brained within an inch by the old gentleman's umbrella, began
to cry. The nurse told the old gentleman he was a fool--a remark
which struck me as singularly apt The old gentleman gasped back that
perambulators were illegal on the pavement; and, between his exercises,
inquired after myself. A crowd began to collect; and a policeman
strolled up.

It was not the right thing: I do not defend myself; but, at this point,
the temptation came to me to desert William Smith. He likes a street
row, I don't. These things are matters of temperament. I have also
noticed that he has the happy instinct of knowing when to disappear from
a crisis, and the ability to do so; mysteriously turning up, quarter
of a mile off, clad in a peaceful and pre-occupied air, and to all
appearances another and a better dog.

Consoling myself with the reflection that I could be of no practical
assistance to him and remembering with some satisfaction that, by a
fortunate accident, he was without his collar, which bears my name
and address, I slipped round the off side of a Vauxhall bus, making no
attempt at ostentation, and worked my way home through Lowndes Square
and the Park.

Five minutes after I had sat down to lunch, he flung open the
dining-room door, and marched in. It is his customary "entrance." In
a previous state of existence, his soul was probably that of an
Actor-Manager.

From his exuberant self-satisfaction, I was inclined to think he must
have succeeded in following the milkman's advice; at all events, I have
not seen the colonel since. His bad temper had disappeared, but his
"uppishness" had, if possible, increased. Previous to his return, I had
given The O'Shannon a biscuit. The O'Shannon had been insulted; he did
not