Renni the Rescuer by Felix Salten Page B

bought the dog and paid for him. Do you understand? He’s my property.”
    Vogg replied, still quite calm. “Bought? Yes. On condition that you treat him properly.”
    â€œI do. Of course I do,” Karl stormed.
    â€œNo,” insisted Vogg, and now his voice was trembling. “No, the whip in your hand is witness against you. The use you make of it, the all-too-frequent use . . . ”
    â€œYou can’t be the judge of that. Not you!” Karl was scornful.
    The breeder smiled grimly. “That’s precisely what I can judge. I’m just the man to judge it. I can judge it a great deal better than you. That timid way of Pasha’s is full proof how right I am.”
    â€œSo,” mocked Karl, “I suppose I’m to learn from youhow to treat a dog. You’ve certainly got the big head.”
    â€œIt’s of the utmost indifference to me whether you want to learn or not.” Vogg was quite calm on the surface. “As a matter of fact, I suppose no one learns to be humane. It’s something you have by nature—like this man here.” He pointed to George. “Either a man has a heart—as he has—or he’s a brute like you!”
    â€œSo, you call me a brute?” spat out Karl. “You shall be a witness,” he growled at George.
    â€œI’m not calling you anything,” was the answer. “I’m simply making a statement about your character.”
    â€œYou’ll answer for this insult in court.” Karl was shouting again.
    â€œVery willingly,” agreed Vogg. “I’ll answer for anything I say. In any case, you’ve not fulfilled the conditions I laid down, and so I declare the sale off. Here’s your money. If you don’t take it I’ll deposit it with the proper authorities.”
    Karl roared in his rage. “You foreign hound! Who are you to make the laws? You’ll find out who’s master here!”
    Now the breeder was getting enraged. “Don’t scream,” he commanded, gritting his teeth. “You’re making a fool of yourself. I’d like to remind you that you’re in my house.”
    Karl stopped. Vogg went on talking louder and louder. “A foreigner, am I? Perhaps. But I’m no foreigner to justice and humanity. You call me a foreigner? Get out! At once. Or . . . ” He walked up to his opponent and raised his fist.
    George was ready to throw himself between them, but Karl, suppressing his anger, turned to the door. “Come, Pasha,” he muttered.
    The dog leaped as though on a spring.
    â€œStop!” thundered Vogg. He caught Pasha by the collar and pulled him over to the desk. “The dog stays here!”
    Karl ran out, slamming the door behind him so that it cracked like a pistol shot.
    â€œWell, old boy,” laughed Vogg, petting Pasha, who hardly dared wag his tail, “well, you’re free from your torturer.” He turned to George. “That fellow’s a rascal, isn’t he?”
    â€œHow did it all start?” asked George.
    â€œWhat he wanted here I really don’t know. Evidently I was supposed to admire his kind of training. No, thank you. Not in my line. He ordered the dog to lie down, in that harsh way of his. That was the first thing I didn’t like. I wanted to encourage the poor creature; I spoke to him in a friendly way. Pasha made only the slightest motion to come to me. And then that swine struck him such a blow with his whip that the poor dog howled. It riled me through and through, but I pulled myself together and calmly counted out the money he had paid me. At first he couldn’t understand what I was driving at. When I patiently explained, he began to rave. You know the rest.”
    â€œIt’s perfectly clear to me, Mr. Vogg, that you’re in the right—according to the way we look at things. Whether you can defend it in court if he brings an action for