Then he tried to be more dignified, and the
master laughed harder than before. In the end, the master laughed him
out of his dignity. His jaws slightly parted, his lips lifted a little,
and a quizzical expression that was more love than humour came into his
eyes. He had learned to laugh.
Likewise he learned to romp with the master, to be tumbled down and
rolled over, and be the victim of innumerable rough tricks. In return he
feigned anger, bristling and growling ferociously, and clipping his teeth
together in snaps that had all the seeming of deadly intention. But he
never forgot himself. Those snaps were always delivered on the empty
air. At the end of such a romp, when blow and cuff and snap and snarl
were last and furious, they would break off suddenly and stand several
feet apart, glaring at each other. And then, just as suddenly, like the
sun rising on a stormy sea, they would begin to laugh. This would always
culminate with the master's arms going around White Fang's neck and
shoulders while the latter crooned and growled his love-song.
But nobody else ever romped with White Fang. He did not permit it. He
stood on his dignity, and when they attempted it, his warning snarl and
bristling mane were anything but playful. That he allowed the master
these liberties was no reason that he should be a common dog, loving here
and loving there, everybody's property for a romp and good time.
Pages:
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290