"Well," says the trader, patting his dog, "I thought of getting about fifty-five dollars for him, but I--" "Stop," interrupted the country sportsman, "that's enough--he won't suit, no how; I can't go them figures on dogs." The man and dog left growling, and the next man and dog were brought up. "Why, that's a queer dog, mister, ain't it? 'Tain't got no hair on it; why, where in blazes did you raise such a dog as that; been scalded, hain't it?" says the rural sportsman, examining the critter. "Scalded?" echoed the dog man, looking no ways amiable at the speaker, "why didn't you never see a Chinese terrier, afore?" "No, and if that's one, I don't care about seeing another. Why, he looks like a singed possum?" "Well, you're a pooty looking country jake, you are, to advertise for a _dog_, and don't know Chiney terrier from a singed possum?" Another rap at the door announced more dogs, and as the man opened it to get out with his singed possum, a genus who evidently "killed for Keyser," rushed in with a pair of the ugliest-looking--savage--snub-nosed, slaughter-house pups, "the fancy" might ever hope to look upon! As these meat-axish canines made a rush at the very boot tops of the country sportsman, he "shied off," pretty perceptibly. "Are you de man advertised for de dogs, sa-a-ay? You needn't be afraid o' dem; come a'here, lay da-own, Balty--day's de dogs, mister, vot you read of!" "Ain't they rather fierce?" asked the rural sportsman, eyeing the ugly brutes. "Fierce? Better believe dey are--show 'em a f-f-ight, if you want to see 'em go in for de chances! You want to see der teeth?" "No, I guess not," timidly responded the sportsman; "they are not exactly what I want," he continued. "What," says Jakey, "don't want 'em? Why, look a'here, you don't go for to say dat you 'spect I'm agoin' for to fetch d-dogs clean down here, for nuthin', do you, sa-a-ay? Cos if you do, I'll jis drop off my duds and lam ye out o' yer boots!"