And Jerry was a gentleman, which is to say he was a gentle dog.  He had been so selected.  Because the thing did not fight back, because it was abject and whining, because it was helpless under him, he abandoned the attack, disengaging himself from the top of the tangle into which he had slid in the lee scuppers.  He did not think about it.  He did it because he was so made.  He stood up on the reeling deck, feeling excellently satisfied with the delicious, wild-doggy smell of hair in his mouth and consciousness, and in his ears and consciousness the praising cry of Captain Van Horn:  “Good boy, Jerry!  You’re the goods, Jerry!  Some dog, eh! Some dog!”

As he stalked away, it must be admitted that Jerry displayed pride in himself, his gait being a trifle stiff-legged, the cocking of his head back over his shoulder at the whining wild-dog having all the articulateness of:  “Well, I guess I gave you enough this time.  You’ll keep out of my way after this.”

Jerry continued the exploration of his new and tiny world that was never at rest, for ever lifting, heeling, and lunging on the rolling face of the sea.  There were the Meringe return boys.  He made it a point to identify all of them, receiving, while he did so, scowls and mutterings, and reciprocating with cocky bullyings and threatenings.  Being so trained, he walked on his four legs superior to them, two-legged though they were; for he had moved and lived always under the aegis of the great two-legged and be-trousered god, Mister Haggin.

Then there were the strange return boys, from Pennduffryn and the Bay of a Thousand Ships.  He insisted on knowing them all.  He might need to know them in some future time.  He did not think this.  He merely equipped himself with knowledge of his environment without any awareness of provision or without bothering about the future.

In his own way of acquiring knowledge, he quickly discovered, just as on the plantation house-boys were different from field-boys, that on the Arangi there was a classification of boys different from the return boys.  This was the boat’s crew.  The fifteen blacks who composed it were closer than the others to Captain Van Horn.  They seemed more directly to belong to the Arangi and to him.  They laboured under him at word of command, steering at the wheel, pulling and hauling on ropes, healing water upon the deck from overside and scrubbing with brooms.

Just as Jerry had learned from Mister Haggin that he must be more tolerant of the house-boys than of the field-boys if they trespassed on the compound, so, from Captain Van Horn, he learned that he must be more tolerant of the boat’s crew than of the return boys.  He had less license with them, more license with the others.  As long as Captain Van Horn did not want his boat’s crew chased, it was Jerry’s duty not to chase.  On the other hand he never forgot that he was a white-god’s