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           "Nope." 

           "Ain’tthinkin’it’llhurtmydigestion?" 

           "Nope." 

           AflushofangrybloodpervadedBill’sface. 

           "Thenit’sjes’warman’anxiousIamtobehearin’youexplainyourself,"hesaid. 

           "Spanker’sgone,"Henryanswered. 

           Withouthaste,withtheairofoneresignedtomisfortuneBillturnedhishead,andfromwherehesatcountedthedogs. 

           "How’dithappen?"heaskedapathetically. 

           Henryshruggedhisshoulders. "Don’tknow.UnlessOneEargnawed‘mloose.Hecouldn’ta-doneithimself,that’ssure." 

           "Thedarnedcuss."Billspokegravelyandslowly,withnohintoftheangerthatwasragingwithin. "Jes’becausehecouldn’tchewhimselfloose,hechewsSpankerloose." 

           "Well,Spanker’stroublesisoveranyway;Iguesshe’sdigestedbythistimean’cavortin’overthelandscapeinthebelliesoftwentydifferentwolves," wasHenry’sepitaphonthis,thelatestlostdog."Havesomecoffee,Bill." 

           ButBillshookhishead. 

           "Goon,"Henrypleaded,elevatingthepot. Billshovedhiscupaside.