No dog enjoys being laughed at, and Jerry, least of all, could restrain his wrath when they jeered him and cackled close in his face.
Although he had not howled once, his snarling and growling, combined with his thirst, had hoarsened his throat and dried the mucous membranes of his mouth so that he was incapable, except under the sheerest provocation, of further sound.

His tongue hung out of his mouth, and the eight o'clock sun began slowly to burn it.
It was at this time that one of the boys cruelly outraged him.

He rolled Jerry out of the hollow in which he had lain all night on his back, turned him over on his side, and presented to him a small calabash filled with water.

Jerry lapped it so fanatically that not for half a minute did he become aware that the boy had squeezed into it many hot seeds of ripe red peppers.

The circle shrieked with glee, and what Jerry's thirst had been before was as nothing compared with this new thirst to which had been added the stinging agony of pepper.
Next in event, and a most important event it was to prove, came Nalasu.
Nalasu was an old man of three-score years, and he was blind, walking with a large staff with which he prodded his path.