you can see for yourself how it works.
I am making a final demonstration of its properties."

Barstow stepped into the next room. He was gone five minutes and
returned with a scrawny bull terrier scrambling at his heels. The
little brute, overjoyed at his release, frisked across the floor,
clumsily tumbling over his own feet, and sniffed as an overture of
friendship at Donaldson's low shoes. Then wagging his feeble tail he
lifted his head and patiently blinked moist eyes awaiting a verdict.
The young man stooped and scratched behind its ears, the dog holding
his head sideways and pressing against his ankles. He looked like a
dog of the streets, but in his eyes there was the dumb appreciation of
human sympathy which neutralizes breeding and blood. As Barstow
returned to his work, the pup followed after him in a series of awkward
bounds.

"Poor little pup," murmured Donaldson, sympathetically leaning forward
with his arms upon his knees. "What's his name?"

"Sandy. But he 's a lucky little pup according to you; within an hour
by the clock he ought to be dead."

"Dead?"

"If my poison works. It was seven days ago to-night that I gave him a
dose."

Donaldson's brows contracted. He was big-hearted. This seemed a cruel
thing to do. He whistled to the pup and called him by name, "Sandy,
Sandy." But the dog only wagged his tail in response and snuggled with
brute confidence closer to his master. Donaldson snapped his fingers
coaxingly, leaning far over towards him. Reluctantly, at a nod from
Barstow, the dog crept belly to the ground across the room. Donaldson
picked up the trembling terrier and settling him into his lap passed
his hand thoughtfully over the warm smooth sides where he could feel
the heart pounding sturdily.

From the dog, Donaldson lifted his eyes to Barstow's back. They were
dark brown eyes, set deep below a square forehead. His head, too, was
square and drooped a bit between loose shoulders. He smiled to himself
at some passing thought and the smile cast a pleasant softness over
features which at rest appeared rather angular and decidedly intense.
The mouth was large and the irregular teeth were white as a hound's.
His black hair was cut short and at the temples was turning gray,
although he had not yet reached thirty. It was an eager face, a strong
face. It hardened to granite over life in the abstract and softened to
the feminine before concrete examples of it.

"It is a bit