In the late afternoon, Jerry trotted aft, after having administered another lesson to the wild-dog, and found Skipper seated on the deck, back against the low rail, knees drawn up, and gazing absently off to leeward.  Jerry sniffed his bare calf—­not that he needed to identify it, but just because he liked to, and in a sort of friendly greeting.  But Van Horn took no notice, continuing to stare out across the sea.  Nor was he aware of the puppy’s presence.

Jerry rested the length of his chin on Skipper’s knee and gazed long and earnestly into Skipper’s face.  This time Skipper knew, and was pleasantly thrilled; but still he gave no sign.  Jerry tried a new tack.  Skipper’s hand drooped idly, half open, from where the forearm rested on the other knee.  Into the part-open hand Jerry thrust his soft golden muzzle to the eyes and remained quite still.  Had he been situated to see, he would have seen a twinkle in Skipper’s eyes, which had been withdrawn from the sea and were looking down upon him.  But Jerry could not see.  He kept quiet a little longer, and then gave a prodigious sniff.

This was too much for Skipper, who laughed with such genial heartiness as to lay Jerry’s silky ears back and down in self-deprecation of affection and pleadingness to bask in the sunshine of the god’s smile.  Also, Skipper’s laughter set Jerry’s tail wildly bobbing.  The half-open hand closed in a firm grip that gathered in the slack of the skin of one side of Jerry’s head and jowl.  Then the hand began to shake him back and forth with such good will that he was compelled to balance back and forth on all his four feet.

It was bliss to Jerry.  Nay, more, it was ecstasy.  For Jerry knew there was neither anger nor danger in the roughness of the shake, and that it was play of the sort that he and Michael had indulged in.  On occasion, he had so played with Biddy and lovingly mauled her about.  And, on very rare occasion, Mister Haggin had lovingly mauled him about.  It was speech to Jerry, full of unmistakable meaning.

As the shake grew rougher, Jerry emitted his most ferocious growl, which grew more ferocious with the increasing violence of the shaking.  But that, too, was play, a making believe to hurt the one he liked too well to hurt.  He strained and tugged at the grip, trying to twist his jowl in the slack of skin so as to reach a bite.

When Skipper, with a quick thrust, released him and shoved him clear, he came back, all teeth and growl, to be again caught and shaken.  The play continued, with rising excitement to Jerry.  Once, too quick for Skipper, he caught his hand between teeth; but he did not bring them together.  They pressed lovingly, denting the skin, but there was no bite in them.