But while they burned close up to his fingers, and while he made a simulation of prodigious puffing, his keen little blue eyes, under shaggy, grizzled brows, intently studied Michael.

And Michael, ears cocked and eyes intent, gazed at this stranger who seemed never to have been a stranger at all.
If anything, it was disappointment Michael experienced, in that this delightful, two-legged god took no further notice of him.

He even challenged him to closer acquaintance with an invitation to play, with an abrupt movement lifting his paws from the ground and striking them down, stretched out well before, his body bent down from the rump in such a curve that almost his chest touched the sand, his stump of a tail waving signals of good nature while he uttered a sharp, inviting bark.

And the man was uninterested, pulling stolidly away at his pipe, in the darkness following upon the third match.
Never was there a more consummate love-making, with all the base intent of betrayal, than this cavalier seduction of Michael by the elderly, six- quart ship's steward.

When Michael, not entirely unwitting of the snub of the man's lack of interest, stirred restlessly with a threat to depart, he had flung at him gruffly: "Stick around, dog, stick around." Dag Daughtry chuckled to himself, as Michael, advancing, sniffed his trousers' legs long and earnestly.