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- Джек Лондон
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- Стр. 88/119
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The
hand
lifted
and
descended
again
in
a
patting
,
caressing
movement
.
This
continued
,
but
every
time
the
hand
lifted
,
the
hair
lifted
under
it
.
And
every
time
the
hand
descended
,
the
ears
flattened
down
and
a
cavernous
growl
surged
in
his
throat
.
White
Fang
growled
and
growled
with
insistent
warning
.
By
this
means
he
announced
that
he
was
prepared
to
retaliate
for
any
hurt
he
might
receive
.
There
was
no
telling
when
the
god
's
ulterior
motive
might
be
disclosed
.
At
any
moment
that
soft
,
confidence-inspiring
voice
might
break
forth
in
a
roar
of
wrath
,
that
gentle
and
caressing
hand
transform
itself
into
a
vice-like
grip
to
hold
him
helpless
and
administer
punishment
.
But
the
god
talked
on
softly
,
and
ever
the
hand
rose
and
fell
with
non-hostile
pats
.
White
Fang
experienced
dual
feelings
.
It
was
distasteful
to
his
instinct
.
It
restrained
him
,
opposed
the
will
of
him
toward
personal
liberty
.
And
yet
it
was
not
physically
painful
.
On
the
contrary
,
it
was
even
pleasant
,
in
a
physical
way
.
The
patting
movement
slowly
and
carefully
changed
to
a
rubbing
of
the
ears
about
their
bases
,
and
the
physical
pleasure
even
increased
a
little
.
Yet
he
continued
to
fear
,
and
he
stood
on
guard
,
expectant
of
unguessed
evil
,
alternately
suffering
and
enjoying
as
one
feeling
or
the
other
came
uppermost
and
swayed
him
.
"
Well
,
I
'll
be
gosh-swoggled
!
"
So
spoke
Matt
,
coming
out
of
the
cabin
,
his
sleeves
rolled
up
,
a
pan
of
dirty
dish-water
in
his
hands
,
arrested
in
the
act
of
emptying
the
pan
by
the
sight
of
Weedon
Scott
patting
White
Fang
.
At
the
instant
his
voice
broke
the
silence
,
White
Fang
leaped
back
,
snarling
savagely
at
him
.
Matt
regarded
his
employer
with
grieved
disapproval
.
"
If
you
do
n't
mind
my
expressin
'
my
feelin
's
,
Mr.
Scott
,
I
'll
make
free
to
say
you
're
seventeen
kinds
of
a
damn
fool
an
'
all
of
'em
different
,
an
'
then
some
.
"
Weedon
Scott
smiled
with
a
superior
air
,
gained
his
feet
,
and
walked
over
to
White
Fang
.
He
talked
soothingly
to
him
,
but
not
for
long
,
then
slowly
put
out
his
hand
,
rested
it
on
White
Fang
's
head
,
and
resumed
the
interrupted
patting
.
White
Fang
endured
it
,
keeping
his
eyes
fixed
suspiciously
,
not
upon
the
man
that
patted
him
,
but
upon
the
man
that
stood
in
the
doorway
.
"
You
may
be
a
number
one
,
tip-top
minin
'
expert
,
all
right
all
right
,
"
the
dog-musher
delivered
himself
oracularly
,
"
but
you
missed
the
chance
of
your
life
when
you
was
a
boy
an
'
did
n't
run
off
an
'
join
a
circus
.
"
White
Fang
snarled
at
the
sound
of
his
voice
,
but
this
time
did
not
leap
away
from
under
the
hand
that
was
caressing
his
head
and
the
back
of
his
neck
with
long
,
soothing
strokes
.
