he had ever seen. He was a dirty white. His ears were chewed to ribbons and he had lost one eye. His coat was rusty. His eyes were bloodshot and his lips were wrinkled up into an habitual snarl. He looked so belligerent that Pierre instinctively drew back.
"Growl, growl, growl," said the Killer wrinkling his lips up still further. "If you ain't a pretty purp to sit here on your aristocratic tail howling like a fool, when there is such a fine dinner right here before your very nose."
"Ki-i, yi-i," whimpered Pierre. "But I tried to eat it and I couldn't. It made me sick. It is vile stuff."
The old bull drew back and looked at Pierre intently for several seconds; then he resumed his deep growling. Pierre finally decided this growling did not mean
