He had a beautiful head, broad punishing jaws, and, for all his age, he had not run to fat, which is the ignominious end of all athletes, men or dogs.
"Old boy, this is a jolly bad world." Jove wagged his stump of a tail.
"We should all be thieves if it were not for publicity and jail." Jove coughed deprecatingly.

Perhaps he recollected purloined haunches of aforetime.
"Sometimes I've half a mind to pack up and light out to the woods, and never look at a human being again." Jove thought this would be fine; his tail said so.
"But I'm like a man at a good play; I've simply got to stay and see how it ends, for the great Dramatist has me guessing." Warrington stared into the kind brown eyes and pulled the ragged ears.
There was a kind of guilt in the old dog's eyes, for dogs have consciences.

If only he dared tell his master! There was somebody else now.

True, this somebody else would never take the master's place; but what was a poor dog to do when he was lonesome and never laid eyes on his master for months and months?
Nobody paid much attention to him in this house when the master was away.

He respected aunty (who had the spinster's foolish aversion for dogs and the incomprehensible affection for cats!) and for this reason never molested her supercilious Angora cat.