Білий ікол

           Mattregardedhisemployerwithgrieveddisapproval. 

           "Ifyoudon’tmindmyexpressin’myfeelin’s,Mr.Scott,I’llmakefreetosayyou’reseventeenkindsofadamnfoolan’allof’emdifferent,an’thensome." 

           WeedonScottsmiledwithasuperiorair,gainedhisfeet,andwalkedovertoWhiteFang. Hetalkedsoothinglytohim,butnotforlong,thenslowlyputouthishand,resteditonWhiteFang’shead,andresumedtheinterruptedpatting. WhiteFangenduredit,keepinghiseyesfixedsuspiciously,notuponthemanthatpattedhim,butuponthemanthatstoodinthedoorway. 

           "Youmaybeanumberone,tip-topminin’expert,allrightallright,"thedog-musherdeliveredhimselforacularly,"butyoumissedthechanceofyourlifewhenyouwasaboyan’didn’trunoffan’joinacircus." 

           WhiteFangsnarledatthesoundofhisvoice,butthistimedidnotleapawayfromunderthehandthatwascaressinghisheadandthebackofhisneckwithlong,soothingstrokes. 

           ItwasthebeginningoftheendforWhiteFang—theendingoftheoldlifeandthereignofhate. Anewandincomprehensiblyfairerlifewasdawning. ItrequiredmuchthinkingandendlesspatienceonthepartofWeedonScotttoaccomplishthis. AndonthepartofWhiteFangitrequirednothinglessthanarevolution.Hehadtoignoretheurgesandpromptingsofinstinctandreason,defyexperience,givethelietolifeitself. 

           Life,ashehadknownit,notonlyhadhadnoplaceinitformuchthathenowdid;butallthecurrentshadgonecountertothosetowhichhenowabandonedhimself.