About the skylight Jerry stormed, leaping up and falling back, until Captain Van Horn called him off.
"Some nigger-chaser, that pup, _some_ nigger-chaser!" Van Horn confided to Borckman, as he bent to pat Jerry and give him due reward of praise.
And Jerry, under this caressing hand of a god, albeit it did not wear pants, forgot for a moment longer the fate that was upon him.
"He's a lion-dog--more like an Airedale than an Irish terrier," Van Horn went on to his mate, still petting.

"Look at the size of him already.
Look at the bone of him.

Some chest that.

He's got the endurance.

And he'll be some dog when he grows up to those feet of his." Jerry had just remembered his grief and was starting a rush across the deck to the rail to gaze at Meringe growing smaller every second in the distance, when a gust of the South-east Trade smote the sails and pressed the _Arangi_ down.