Otherwise, the big dog must face a charge of inconsistency, and dogs are as consistent as they are superstitious.

A dog believes in war, but he is convinced that there are times when it is moral to run; and the thoughtful physiognomist, seeing a big dog fleeing out of a little dog's yard, must observe that the expression of the big dog's face is more conscientious than alarmed: it is the expression of a person performing a duty to himself.
Penrod understood these matters perfectly; he knew that the gaunt brown hound Duke chased up the alley had fled only out of deference to a custom, yet Penrod could not refrain from bragging of Duke to the hound's owner, a fat-faced stranger of twelve or thirteen, who had wandered into the neighbourhood.
"You better keep that ole yellow dog o' yours back," said Penrod ominously, as he climbed the fence.

"You better catch him and hold him till I get mine inside the yard again.

Duke's chewed up some pretty bad bulldogs around here." The fat-faced boy gave Penrod a fishy stare.

"You'd oughta learn him not to do that," he said.