"Quite so, well,—the moment you have knocked him down, he will jump up and go for you again. You must knock him down again; and you must keep on doing this until the dog is thoroughly cowed and exhausted. Once he is thoroughly cowed, the thing's done,—dog's as gentle as a lamb after that."
"Oh!" said my uncle, rising from his chair, "you think that a good way, do you?"
"Certainly," replied the next-door-but-one man; "it never fails."
"Oh! I wasn't doubting it," said my uncle; "only it's just occurred to me that, as you understand the knack of these things, perhaps you'd like to come in and try your hand on the dog? We can give you a room quite to yourselves; and I'll undertake that nobody comes near to interfere with you. And if—if," continued my uncle, with that kindly thoughtfulness which ever distinguished his treatment of others,—"if, by any chance, you should miss hitting the dog at the proper critical moment, or, if you should get cowed and exhausted first, instead of the dog—why, I shall only be too pleased to take the whole burden of the funeral expenses on my own shoulders; and I hope you know me well enough to feel sure that the arrangements will be tasteful, and, at the same time, unostentatious!" And out my uncle walked.
We next consulted the butcher, who agreed that the prize-ring method was absurd, especially when recommended to a short-winded, elderly, family man, and who recommended instead plenty of out-door exercise for the dog, under my uncle's strict supervision and control.
"Get a fairly long chain for him," said the butcher, "and take him out for a good stiff run every evening. Never let him get away from you; make him mind you,
