ME AND MY WHITE BULLDOG Mike was peaceably taking our beer in ajoint on the waterfront when Porkey Straus come piling in, plumbpuffing with excitement."Hey, Steve!" he yelped. "What you think? Joe Ritchie's in portwith Terror.""Well?" I said."Well, gee whiz," he said, "you mean to set there and let on likeyou don't know nothin' about Terror, Ritchie's fightin' brindle bull?Why, he's the pit champeen of the Asiatics. He's killed more fightin'dogs than--""Yeah, yeah," I said impatiently. "I know all about him. I beenlistenin' to what a bear-cat he is for the last year, in every Asiaticport I've touched.""Well," said Porkey, "I'm afraid we ain't goin' to git to see himperform.""Why not?" asked Johnnie Blinn, a shifty-eyed bar-keep."Well," said Porkey, "they ain't a dog in Singapore to matchag'in' him. Fritz Steinmann, which owns the pit and runs the dogfights, has scoured the port and they just ain't no canine which theirowners'll risk ag'in' Terror. Just my luck. The chance of a lifetimeto see the fightin'est dog of 'em all perform. And they's no first-class mutt to toss in with him. Say, Steve, why don't you let Mikefight him?""Not a chance," I growled. "Mike gets plenty of scrappin' on thestreets. Besides, I'll tell you straight, I think dog fightin' formoney is a dirty low-down game. Take a couple of fine, upstandin'dogs, full of ginger and fightin' heart, and throw 'em in a concretepit to tear each other's throats out, just so a bunch of four-flushin'tin-horns like you, which couldn't take a punch or give one either,can make a few lousy dollars bettin' on 'em.""But they likes to fight," argued Porkey. "It's their nature.""It's the nature of any red-blooded critter to fight. Man or dog!"I said. "Let 'em fight on the streets, for bones or for fun, or justto see which is the best dog. But pit-fightin' to the death is justtoo dirty for me to fool with, and I ain't goin' to get Mike into nosuch mess.""Aw, let him alone, Porkey," sneered Johnnie Blinn nastily. "He'stoo chicken-hearted to mix in them rough games. Ain't you, Sailor?""Belay that," I roared. "You keep a civil tongue in your head, youwharfside rat. I never did like you nohow, and one more crack likethat gets you this." I brandished my huge fist at him and he turnedpale and started scrubbing the bar like he was trying for a record."I wantcha to know that Mike can lick this Terror mutt," I said,glaring at Porkey. "I'm fed up hearin' fellers braggin' on thatbrindle murderer. Mike can lick him. He can lick any dog in this lousyport, just like I can lick any man here. If Terror meets Mike on thestreet and gets fresh, he'll get his belly-full. But Mike ain't goin'to get mixed up in no dirty racket like Fritz Steinmann runs and youcan lay to that." I made the last statement in a voice like airritated bull, and smashed my fist down on the table so hard Isplintered the wood, and made the decanters bounce on the bar.