His voice was not clear, it still choked, but it carried; Frank came bounding to him.

He had a dog left, anyway--a good fighting dog.

His eyes still burned, but they were no longer dry, and his gulps were periodic, threatening a catastrophe of the most dreadful sort.
Frank, the dog, swallowed the cake hungrily, eating it with a terrible ease, as he was wont to eat enemy dogs..