"Go on back!" She took one of those pointed wolf-ears in her chubby fist and tugged to swing him around, but Bart, with a speed which the eye could not follow, twisted his head and the rows of great teeth closed over her hand.
It was so horrible that the cry froze in the throat of Gregg, yet the child, with only a little murmur of anger, reached over with her other hand and caught the wolf by the nose.
"Bad Bart!" she whispered, and raised the hand which he instantly released.

White marks showed on the pudgy tan.

"Bad dog!" she repeated, and beat his neck with an impotent little fist.

The wolf-dog cringed, and turned from the door.
"Come in," invited Gregg.

He was surprised to find his voice thin, apt to swing up to a high pitch beyond his control.