It didn't seem to occur to him to go home, and still Butterwick didn't
come up. The next day I loaded a shot-gun and determined to kill him
at any sacrifice. I aimed carefully at him, but at the critical moment
he dodged, and two handfuls of bird-shot went into the piano and tore
it up badly. Then I tossed some poisoned meat' at him, but he ate all
around the poison, and seemed to feel better after the meal than he
had done for years. Finally, Butterwick came home, and he called to
get his dog. He entered the parlor bravely and attempted to seize
the animal, when it bit him. I was never so glad in my life. Then
Butterwick got mad; and seizing the dog by the tail, he smashed him
through my French glass window into the street. Then I was not so very
glad. Then the dog went mad and a policeman killed him. The next time
I am asked to take a strange dog home I will kill him to begin with.

When I explained to Colonel Coffin the unpleasant nature of my
experience with Mr. Butterwick's dog, the colonel said that he had had
a good deal to do lately, in a legal way, with dogs; and he gave me
the facts respecting two interesting cases. The first was Tompkins'
case.

A man called at the colonel's law-office one day and said,

"Colonel, my name is Tompkins. I called to see you about a dog
difficulty that bewilders me, and I thought maybe you might throw some
light on it--might give me the law points, so's I'd know whether it
was worth while suing or not.

"Well, colonel, you see me and Potts went into partnership on a dog;
we bought him. He was a setter; and me and Potts went shares on him,
so's to take him out a-hunting. It was never exactly settled which