"No, that's not the General's dog," says the policeman, with profound conviction, "the General hasn't got one like that. His are mostly setters." "Do you know that for a fact?" "Yes, your honour." "I know it, too. The General has valuable dogs, thoroughbred, and this is goodness knows what! No coat, no shape.

A low creature. And to keep a dog like that! Where's the sense of it.

If a dog like that were to turn up in Petersburg or Moscow, do you know what would happen?

They would not worry about the law, they would strangle it in a twinkling!

You've been injured, Hryukin, and we can't let the matter drop. We must give them a lesson! It is high time!" "Yet maybe it is the General's," says the policeman, thinking aloud. "It's not written on its face. I saw one like it the other day in his yard." "It is the General's, that's certain! " says a voice in the crowd.

"H'm, help me on with my overcoat, Yeldyrin, my lad, the wind's getting up. I am cold.

You take it to the General's, and inquire there. Say I found it and sent it. And tell them not to let it out into the street.

It may be a valuable dog, and if every swine goes sticking a cigar in its mouth, it will soon be ruined. A dog is a delicate animal.

And you put your hand down, you blockhead. It's no use your displaying your fool of a finger. It's your own fault."