that here
was a bloodthirsty man in a leather coat who desired to burn him to
death, when not engaged in beating him with a pole, or thrusting at
him viciously through the bars of his cage with a stick, or
slashing at him with a whip that cut through hair and skin. And, be
it remembered, that the hound who was faced with these, to him,
utterly gratuitous and senseless atrocities, was one who, if we
except the single occasion of his night with the dog-thief in
Sussex, had never known what it meant to face an angry man, or to
receive a blow from a man, angry or otherwise. It was small wonder
that Finn had only snarls and snapping jaws for the Professor. The
pity of it was that he could have avoided as much suffering if he
had only known what it was desired of him. The wonder of it was
that he faced the Professor day after day with such unfailing
courage, with a spirit which remained absolutely uncowed, though
the body which sheltered it could not present a single patch of the
bigness of a man's hand which was neither burned, nor bruised, nor
cut.

There came a day when, other matters occupying his attention, the
Professor did not trouble to pay one of his futile visits to Finn's
cage. Sam fed him as usual, when Killer was fed. (One of the
features of Finn's captivity, which, while in his confinement it
helped to injure his physical condition, also helped to make him
the more fierce, was the fact that his diet consisted exclusively
of raw meat.) Finn waited through the long day for the Professor,
steeling himself for the daily struggle and the daily suffering.
His body free of new pains he rested that night more thoroughly
than he had rested for a long time; and there were faint stirrings
of hope in his mind. Next morning the boss happened to walk past
the cages with the Professor, and when they came to Finn's place
the Professor said--

"I reckon I'll give that brute best, unless you'd like him killed.
I'll tackle that job for you with pleasure; but your Giant Wolf's
no good for the show."

"No, the joke's on me about the Giant Wolf," admitted the boss,
crossly. "Sam had me for fair, over him. Fifteen quid for a useless
pig like that! Why, he won't even stand up to make a show. The
brute's not worth his tucker, is he?"

"He is not. And, if you ask me, you'd better let me feed him to the
others, while there's any meat left on his bones. He's no good for
aught else, as I can see. The Tasmanian Devil was a lap-dog to