"You talk about fight! Say, that's all he is--just a fighter! He eats 'em alive, that's all he does--eats 'em!" This was for some of them not easy at once to believe, for the dog's expression was one of simpering amiability.

The owner seemed to perceive this discrepancy.

"He looks peaceful, but you git him mad once, that's all! He's that kind--you got to git him mad first." This sounded reasonable, at least to the dog's warmest admirer.
"Yes, sir," continued the owner, "you'll be goin' along the street with George here--" "George who ?" demanded a skeptical guest.
For a moment the owner was disconcerted.
"Well, Frank is his right name, only my little sister calls him George sometimes, and I get mixed.

Anyway, you'll be goin' along the street with Frank and another dog'll come up and he's afraid of Frank and mebbe he'll just kind of clear his throat or something on account of feeling nervous and not meaning anything, but Frank'll think he's growling, and that settles it.

Eats 'em alive! I seen some horrible sights, I want to tell you!" "Give you thirty-five cents for him," said the impressed Wilbur.
"For that there dog ?" exploded the owner--"thirty-five cents ?" He let it be seen that this jesting was in poor taste.
"I guess he wouldn't be much of a watchdog." "Watchdog! Say, that mutt watches all the time, day and night! You let a burglar come sneaking in, or a tramp or someone--wow! Grabs 'em by the throat, that's all!" "Fifty cents!" cried the snared Cowan twin.