And Genesis’s dog, scratching himself at his master’s feet, was the true complement of Genesis, for although he was a youngish dog, and had not long been the property of Genesis, he was a dog that would have been recognized anywhere in the world as a colored person’s dog.  He was not a special breed of dog—­though there was something rather houndlike about him—­he was just a dog.  His expression was grateful but anxious, and he was unusually bald upon the bosom, but otherwise whitish and brownish, with a gaunt, haunting face and no power to look anybody in the eye.

He rose apprehensively as the fuming William came out of the kitchen, but he was prepared to follow his master faithfully, and when William and Genesis reached the street the dog was discovered at their heels, whereupon William came to a decisive halt.

“Send that dog back,” he said, resolutely.  “I’m not going through the streets with a dog like that, anyhow!”

Genesis chuckled.  “He ain’ goin’ back,” he said. “‘Ain’ nobody kin make ’at dog go back.  I ‘ain’ had him mo’n two weeks, but I don’ b’lieve Pres’dent United States kin make ’at dog go back!  I show you.”  And, wheeling suddenly, he made ferocious gestures, shouting.  “G’on back, dog!”

The dog turned, ran back a few paces, halted, and then began to follow again, whereupon Genesis pretended to hurl stones at him; but the animal only repeated his manoeuver—­and he repeated it once more when William aided Genesis by using actual missiles, which were dodged with almost careless adeptness.

“I’ll show him!” said William, hotly.  “I’ll show him he can’t follow me!” He charged upon the dog, shouting fiercely, and this seemed to do the work, for the hunted animal, abandoning his partial flights, turned a tucked-under tail, ran all the way back to the alley, and disappeared from sight.  “There!” said William.  “I guess that ’ll show him!”

“I ain’ bettin’ on it!” said Genesis, as they went on.  “He nev’ did stop foll’in’ me yet.  I reckon he the foll’indest dog in the worl’!  Name Clem.”

“Well, he can’t follow me!” said the surging William, in whose mind’s eye lingered the vision of an exquisite doglet, with pink-ribboned throat and a cottony head bobbing gently over a filmy sleeve.  “He doesn’t come within a mile of me, no matter what his name is!”

“Name Clem fer short,” said Genesis, amiably.  “I trade in a mandoline fer him what had her neck kind o’ busted off on one side.  I couldn’ play her nohow, an’ I found her, anyways.  Yes-suh, I trade in ’at mandoline fer him ‘cause always did like to have me a good dog—­but I d’in’ have me no name fer him; an’ this here Blooie Bowers, what I trade in the mandoline to, he say he d’in have no name fer him.  Say nev’ did know if was a name fer him ‘tall.  So I’z spen’ the evenin’ at ’at lady’s house, Fanny, what used to be cook fer Miz Johnson, nex’ do’ you’ maw’s; an’ I ast Fanny what am I go’n’