As he sat down two big retrievers, black and brown,
came headlong down the road. The black carried a stick, the brown
disputed and pursued. As they came abreast of him the foremost a
little relaxed his hold, the pursuer grabbed at it, and in an
instant the rivalry had flared to rage and a first-class dogfight
was in progress.
Benham detested dog-fights. He stood up, pale and distressed. "Lie
down!" he cried. "Shut up, you brutes!" and was at a loss for
further action.
Then it was Amanda leapt into his world, a light, tall figure of a
girl, fluttering a short petticoat. Hatless she was, brown,
flushed, and her dark hair tossing loose, and in a moment she had
the snarling furious dogs apart, each gripped firmly by its collar.
Then with a wriggle black was loose and had closed again. Inspired
by the best traditions of chivalry Benham came to her assistance.
He was not expert with dogs. He grasped the black dog under its
ear. He was bitten in the wrist, rather in excitement than malice,
and with a certain excess of zeal he was strangling the brute before
you could count ten.
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