Dogs is no good.

Why, there's that dog, now!" Bob continued, pointing with an air of disgust toward Yap, "he's no more good wi' a rot nor nothin'.

I see it myself, I did, at the rot-catchin' i' your feyther's barn." Yap, feeling the withering influence of this scorn, tucked his tail in and shrank close to Tom's leg, who felt a little hurt for him, but had not the superhuman courage to seem behindhand with Bob in contempt for a dog who made so poor a figure.
"No, no," he said, "Yap's no good at sport.

I'll have regular good dogs for rats and everything, when I've done school." "Hev ferrets, Measter Tom," said Bob, eagerly,--"them white ferrets wi' pink eyes; Lors, you might catch your own rots, an' you might put a rot in a cage wi' a ferret, an' see 'em fight, you might.

That's what I'd do, I know, an' it 'ud be better fun a'most nor seein' two chaps fight,--if it wasn't them chaps as sold cakes an' oranges at the Fair, as the things flew out o' their baskets, an' some o' the cakes was smashed--But they tasted just as good," added Bob, by way of note or addendum, after a moment's pause.
"But, I say, Bob," said Tom, in a tone of deliberation, "ferrets are nasty biting things,--they'll bite a fellow without being set on." "Lors! why that's the beauty on 'em.