" Stepping over to the two hysterical terriers, Daughtry called Michael to him.
"He's all right, savvee, Killeny, he all right," he crooned, at the same time resting one hand on a terrier and the other on Michael.
The terrier whimpered and backed solidly against Captain Duncan's legs, but Michael, with a slow bob of tail and unbelligerent ears, advanced to him, looked up to Steward to make sure, then sniffed his late antagonist, and even ran out his tongue in a caress to the side of the other's ear.
"See, sir, no bad feelings," Daughtry exulted.

"He plays the game, sir.
He's a proper dog, he's a man-dog .-- Here, Killeny! The other one.

He all right.

Kiss and make up.

That's the stuff." The other fox-terrier, the one with the injured foreleg, endured Michael's sniff with no more than hysterical growls deep in the throat; but the flipping out of Michael's tongue was too much.