Flopit evaded the contact.  He felt that he had endured about enough from this Apache, and that it was nearly time to destroy him.  Having no experience of battle, save with bedroom slippers and lace handkerchiefs, Flopit had little doubt of his powers as a warrior.  Betrayed by his majestic self-importance, he had not the remotest idea that he was small.  Usually he saw the world from a window, or from the seat of an automobile, or over his mistress’s arm.  He looked down on all dogs, thought them ruffianly, despised them; and it is the miraculous truth that not only was he unaware that he was small, but he did not even know that he was a dog, himself.  He did not think about himself in that way.

From these various ignorances of his sprang his astonishing, his incredible, valor.  Clematis, with head lowered close to Flopit’s, perceived something peering at him from beneath the tangled curtain of cottony, violet-scented stuff which seemed to be the upper part of Flopit’s face.  It was Flopit’s eye, a red-rimmed eye and sore—­and so demoniacally malignant that Clematis, indescribably startled, would have withdrawn his own countenance at once—­but it was too late.  With a fearful oath Flopit sprang upward and annexed himself to the under lip of the horrified Clematis.

Horror gave place to indignation instantly; and as Miss Parcher and her guest turned, screaming, Clematis’s self-command went all to pieces.

Miss Parcher became faint and leaned against the hedge along which they had been passing, but her visitor continued to scream, while Mr. Watson endeavored to kick Clematis without ruining Flopit—­a difficult matter.

Flopit was baresark from the first, and the mystery is where he learned the dog-cursing that he did.  In spite of the David-and-Goliath difference in size it would be less than justice to deny that a very fair dog-fight took place.  It was so animated, in truth, that the one expert in such matters who was present found himself warmly interested.  Genesis relieved himself of the burden of the wash-tub upon his back, dropped the handle of that other in which he had a half-interest, and watched the combat; his mouth, like his eyes, wide open in simple pleasure.

He was not destined to enjoy the spectacle to the uttermost; a furious young person struck him a frantic, though harmless, blow with a pink parasol.

“You stop them!” she screamed.  “You make that horrible dog stop, or I’ll have you arrested!”

Genesis rushed forward.

“You Clem!” he shouted.

And instantly Clematis was but a whitish and brownish streak along the hedge.  He ran like a dog in a moving picture when they speed the film, and he shot from sight, once more, round the corner, while Flopit, still cursing, was seized and squeezed in his mistress’s embrace.

But she was not satisfied.  “Where’s that laundryman with the tin thing on his head?” she demanded.  “He ought to be arrested for having such a dog.  It’s his dog, isn’t it?  Where is he?”