They were still gentle, still restrained, but there was a note of deep amazement in their voices.
"Do we understand that you keep an animal--an unmated male animal--that bites children?
About how many are there of them, please ?" "Thousands--in a large city," said Jeff, "and nearly every family has one in the country." Terry broke in at this.

"You must not imagine they are all dangerous--it's not one in a hundred that ever bites anybody.

Why, they are the best friends of the children--a boy doesn't have half a chance that hasn't a dog to play with!" "And the girls ?" asked Somel.
"Oh--girls--why they like them too," he said, but his voice flatted a little.

They always noticed little things like that, we found later.
Little by little they wrung from us the fact that the friend of man, in the city, was a prisoner; was taken out for his meager exercise on a leash; was liable not only to many diseases but to the one destroying horror of rabies; and, in many cases, for the safety of the citizens, had to go muzzled.

Jeff maliciously added vivid instances he had known or read of injury and death from mad dogs.
They did not scold or fuss about it.