The owner of wild-dog, a return boy, made the mistake of trying to kick Jerry away.

Jerry was upon him in a flash scratching his calves with his teeth, in the suddenness of his onslaught getting between the black's legs and tumbling him to the ground.
"What name!" Bashti cried in a rage at the offender, who lay fear-stricken where he had fallen, trembling for what next words might fall from his chief's lips.
But Bashti was already doubling with laughter at sight of wild-dog running for his life down the street with Jerry a hundred feet behind and tearing up the dust.
As they disappeared, Bashti expounded his idea.

If men planted banana trees, it ran, what they would get would be bananas.

If they planted yams, yams would be produced, not sweet potatoes or plantains, but yams, nothing but yams.

The same with dogs.