anding at the robber's back:
"Don't shoot him." Like a flash the robber whirled about to confront
this new danger, and like a flash the conductor shot him down. Show me,
Mr. Burroughs, where the mental process in the robber's brain was a shade
different from the mental processes in Rollo's brain, and I'll quit
nature-faking and join the Trappists. Surely, when a man's mental
process and a dog's mental process are precisely similar, the
much-vaunted gulf of Mr. Burroughs's fancy has been bridged.

I had a dog in Oakland. His name was Glen. His father was Brown, a
wolf-dog that had been brought down from Alaska, and his mother was a
half-wild mountain shepherd dog. Neither father nor mother had had any
experience with automobiles. Glen came from the country, a half-grown
puppy, to live in Oakland. Immediately he became infatuated with an
automobile. He reached the culmination of happiness when he was
permitted to sit up in the front seat alongside the chauffeur. He would
spend a whole day at a time on an automobile debauch, even going without
food. Often the machine started directly from inside the barn, dashed
out the driveway without stopping, and was gone. Glen got left behind
several times. The custom was established that whoever was taking the
machine out should toot the horn before starting. Glen learned the
signal. No matter where he was or what he was doing, when that horn
tooted he was off for the barn and up into the front seat.

One morning, while Glen was on the back porch eating his breakfast of
mush and milk, the chauffeur tooted. Glen rushed down the steps, into
the barn, and took his front seat, the mush and milk dripping down his
excited and happy chops. In passing, I may point out that in thus
forsaking his breakfast for the automobile he was displaying what is
called the power of choice--a peculiarly lordly attribute that, according
to Mr. Burroughs, belongs to man alone. Yet Glen made his choice between
food and fun.

It was not that Glen wanted his breakfast less, but that he wanted his
ride more. The toot was only a joke. The automobile did not start.
Glen waited and watched. Evidently he saw no signs of an immediate
start, for finally he jumped out of the seat and went back to his
breakfast. He ate with indecent haste, like a man anxious to catch a
train. Again the horn tooted, again he deserted his breakfast, and again
he sat in the seat and waited vainly for the machine to