"It is," said Smith. "You won't find another dog of that breed in this country that can do the same. He's yours, if you like to take him." "No; hang it all! I'm not going to do that. I'm not going to take a dog which you can use professionally. What about the beggar that you said you could not teach?" Smith pointed to a huge brindled bulldog, who lay in one corner of the stable absolutely motionless, watching them intently. "That's the one," lie said. "He's never been on the stage at all. He couldn't even be taught to fetch and carry." "And you just keep him because you're fond of him?" "Fond of him? No, I'm not fond of dogs. They're my livelihood, and I don't do so badly out of it. But I'm not fond of 'em--know too much about 'em." "Then what do you keep him for?" "You may call it a sense of justice, or you may call it curiosity. He's a rum 'un, that dog is, and no mistake." "In what way rum?" "I'll tell you. He's a dog that sees dangers ahead. He knows when things are going to happen. I had him as a puppy, and when I found I could teach him nothing, I made up my mind to get quit of him. I was going off by train that day to a village fifteen miles away, and I knew a man there who I thought might take a fancy to Zero." "Zero, you call him?" "Yes; that was a bit of my fun. As a performing dog he was just absolutely last--number naught, see? Well, as I was saying, there was I on the platform with the dog at my heel and the ticket in my hand. Just as I was going to get into the train, he made a jump for that ticket, caught it in his mouth and bolted with it, nipping in among a lot of milk-cans. I called him, and he wouldn't come out. Then I went in after him, and he bolted again. By the time I did get him I had missed my train, and I didn't give him half a jolly good hiding for it, I don't think! If I'd gone by that train I shouldn't have been talking to you now. Collision three miles from the station. Well, you don't apologise to a dog. All I could do was to keep him. But that wasn't the only instance. The beggar knows things." "Apparently he didn't know that you were going to drown yourself this morning." "If he knew anything about it, he knew that I wasn't." "Good-tempered dog?" "Oh, all bulldogs are safe! You want to look after him with collies. He doesn't like 'em. If he gets hold of one, it's bad for the collie. Otherwise a baby could handle him." Zero had crossed over to them, and the young man stooped down and patted him. The dog expressed delight. "I can send him round to your hotel," said Smith; "or, for that matter, he'd follow you. He's taken a fancy to you, he has." "Look here," said the young man, "let me buy him. I'm not a millionaire, but I can afford to buy a dog. I'd like to have this one, and there's no reason on earth why you should give him to me." "You'd like to have him, and I can afford to give him to you, and I want to give him to you. You must let a man indulge his sense of gratitude. It's only fair."