Halding, with a vicious fist-lunge, sent the pup to the floor of the car in a crumpled heap, but not before the curving white eyeteeth had slashed the side of the man’s throat in an ugly flesh-wound that drove its way dangerously close to the jugular.

Half stunned by the blow, and with the breath knocked out of him, Bruce none the less gathered himself together with lightning speed and launched his bulk once more for Halding’s throat.

This time he missed his mark—­for several things happened all at once.

At the dog’s first onslaught, Halding’s foot had swung forward, along with his fist, in an instinctive kick.  The kick did not reach Bruce.  But it landed, full and effectively, on the accelerator.

The powerful car responded to the touch with a bound.  And it did so at the very moment that the flash of white teeth at his throat made Halding snatch his own left hand instinctively from the steering-wheel, in order to guard the threatened spot.

A second later the runabout crashed at full speed into the wall of a house on the narrow street’s opposite side.

The rest was chaos.

When a crowd of idlers and a policeman at last righted the wrecked car, two bodies were found huddled inertly amid a junk-heap of splintered glass and shivered wood and twisted metal.  The local ambulance carried away one of these limp bodies.  The Place’s car rushed the smash-up’s other senseless victim to the office of the nearest veterinary.  Dr. Halding, with a shattered shoulder-blade and a fractured nose and jaw and a mild case of brain-concussion,—­was received as a guest of honor at the village hospital.

Bruce, his left foreleg broken and a nasty assortment of glass-cuts marring the fluffiness of his fur, was skillfully patched up by the vet’ and carried back that night to The Place.

The puppy had suddenly taken on a new value in his owners’ eyes—­ partly for his gallantly puny effort at defending the Mistress, partly because of his pitiful condition.  And he was nursed, right zealously, back to life and health.

In a few weeks, the plaster cast on the convalescent’s broken foreleg had been replaced by a bandage.  In another week or two the vet’ pronounced Bruce as well as ever.  The dog, through habit, still held the mended foreleg off the ground, even after the bandage was removed.  Whereat, the Master tied a bandage tightly about the uninjured foreleg.

Bruce at once decided that this, and not the other, was the lame leg; and he began forthwith to limp on it.  As it was manifestly impossible to keep both forelegs off the ground at the same time when he was walking, he was forced to make use of the once-broken leg.  Finding, to his amaze, that he could walk on it with perfect ease, he devoted his limping solely to the well leg.  And as soon as the Master took the bandage from that, Bruce ceased to limp at all.