In a few moments, the arrival of the dog and man was duly announced, and both were admitted to my apartment. The vendor was one of those black, dirty, low-caste natives, generally attached to European corps, and denominated “cookboys.” Dress—a soldier’s old castoff coat, a dirty cloth round his loins, and a skull-cap on his head. As for the dog, he is not, perhaps, so easily described; he was reddish, stood high on the legs, and had a wild look; his tail and ears, however, were clipped in a very _varment_ sort of manner, evincing decided science in the operator; and his owner assured me, in broken English, that he was “berry high caste dog,” a thoroughbred terrier; his name Teazer, and a capital fellow to worry a cat or a jackal. The creature did not certainly look altogether like the terriers I had been in the habit of seeing in England; but still, the state of the ears and tail, the name, and above all, the qualifications, were strong _primâ facie_ proofs that he was one. As for the points of difference, they might, I thought, have resulted from the influence of climate, which, as it alters the appearance of the European biped very considerably, might, I very logically inferred, have a similar effect on the quadrupeds imported, or their descendants, in the first or second generation at least. In short, I bought him for Rs. 10, and a great bargain I thought I had; tied him up to the leg of my cot, intending that he should form the _nucleus_ of a future pack. I was, however, destined very shortly after to be put a good deal out of conceit of him. A few days after I had made my purchase, Captain Marpeet dropped in, and took a seat on my cot as he was wont. Hearing the rattling of a chain underneath, he said, “What the deuce have you got here, Gernon?” “A dog,” said I; “a terrier I lately bought.” “A terrier! eh? Let’s have a look at him.” Teazer, on being summoned, came out from under the bed, gave himself a shake, and, on seeing Marpeet, who was strange to him, and rather an odd-looking fellow to boot, incontinently cocked up his nose and emitted a most lugubrious howl, one with which the Pariars[9] in India are wont to serenade “our chaste mistress, the moon.” “Halloo,” said Marpeet, with a look of surprise, “where on earth did you get this beast? Why, he’s a regular terrier _bunnow_.”[10] “A terrier _bunnow_,” said I, “what’s that?” “Why,” rejoined the captain, “he’s a thorough Pariar docked and cropped to make him look like a terrier; it’s a common trick played upon griffs, and you’ve been taken in, that’s all. What did you give for him?” “Why, ten rupees,” I replied; “and I thought I had him remarkably cheap.” “Cheap!” said the captain, with infinite contempt; “he’s not worth five pice; kick him out! hang him!”