canvas bag, and placed therein whatever valuables he could
lay hands on. Proceeding next to the drawing-room floor, he began to
examine and appropriate the articles of _vertu_ that appeared to him
most valuable.

Not being a perfect judge of such matters, Mr Brassey was naturally
puzzled with some of them. One in particular caused him to regard it
with frowning attention for nearly a minute before he came to the
conclusion that it was "vurth munny." He placed the lamp on the small
table near the window, from which he had lifted the ornament in
question, and sat down on a crimson chair with gilded legs to examine it
more critically.

Meanwhile the Slogger, left in the dark with the still fitfully
struggling Dumps, employed his leisure in running over some of the
salient events of his past career, and in trying to ascertain, by the
very faint light that came from a distant street-lamp, what was the
nature of his immediate surroundings. His nose told him that the cask
at his elbow was beer. His exploring right hand told him that the tap
was in it. His native intelligence suggested a tumbler on the head of
the cask, and the exploring hand proved the idea to be correct.

"Brassey was wery 'ard on me to-night," he thought. "I'd like to have a
swig."

But Dumps was sadly in the way. To remove his left hand even for an
instant from the dog's muzzle was not to be thought of. In this dilemma
he resolved to tie up the said muzzle, and the legs also, even at the
risk of causing death. It would not take more than a minute to draw a
tumblerful, and any dog worth a straw could hold his wind for a minute.
He would try. He did try, and was yet in the act of drawing the beer
when my doggie burst his bonds by a frantic effort to be free. Probably
the hairy nature of his little body had rendered a firm bond impossible.
At all events, he suddenly found his legs loose. Another effort, more
frantic than before, set free the muzzle, and then there arose on the
still night air a yell so shrill, so loud, so indescribably horrible,
that its conception must be left entirely to the reader's imagination.

At the same instant Dumps scurried into the kitchen. The scuttle and
tongs went down, the slop-pail and shovel followed suit, also the
watering-pan, into which latter Dumps went head foremost as it fell, and
from its interior another yell issued with such resonant power that the
first yell was a mere chirp by contrast. The Slog