Here they halted for beer, Marcus swearing that his mouth was as dry as a hay-bin.

Before starting on their walk they had gone around to the little dog hospital, and Marcus had let out four of the convalescents, crazed with joy at the release.
"Look at that dog," he cried to McTeague, showing him a finely-bred Irish setter.

"That's the dog that belonged to the duck on the avenue, the dog we called for that day.

I've bought 'um.

The duck thought he had the distemper, and just threw 'um away.