Quotes from James H. Street

What do those kids expect to do with that biscuit eater?" Ames laughed. ''You know how boys are. I'll bet this is the first time in history a colored boy and a white boy ever had a joint entry in a field trial. They get riled if anybody calls him a biscuit eater.

A biscuit eater is an ornery dog. He won't hunt anything except his own biscuits. And he'll suck eggs and steal chickens and run coons and jump rabbits. To a bird dog man, a biscuit eater is the lowest form of animal life. Strangers in Mississippi often are puzzled by the expression until natives, who usually eat biscuits instead of light bread, explain that a biscuit eater is a no 'count hound that isn't good for anything except to hunt his meat and biscuits.

She had seen Moreover only once and that was from a distance. The aristocrat had sniffed and Moreover had turned his big head and stared at her, awe and admiration in his eyes. And then he had tucked his head and run away. He knew his place.

Mr. Eben warned Harve that any puppies that had the sheep killer's blood in them were bound to be no 'count by the law of heritage. Bonnie's litter was on the way when the father was killed and Harve believed he could cure the pups of any bad habits. The father had had a lot of courage, a strong heart and a good nose. Maybe the pups would be all right.

The dog had wiped away all class and race barriers between Lonnie and Text, and they were friends in a way that grown-ups never understand. They didn't brag about their friendship or impose upon it, but each knew he could count upon the other. They worked hard and patiently trying to train the dog and sometimes the task seemed hopeless.

Papa's not afraid of anything and I'll bust you in two halves if you say so." He jerked off his cap and hurled it to the ground. Text rolled his eyes until the whites showed. He had never seen Lon angry before, but he wasn't afraid. "Then how come your Paw didn't whup Mister Eben when Mister Eben kicked his dawg about two years ago?

The dogs looked sad as they were nudged from the back of the car. They were big, red brutes with kind eyes. Their ears dropped below their noses. Bloodhounds don't like to hunt man.

Well, I tell you, Son. I've had my share of fighting. It never proves anything. Anything can fight. Dogs, cats, skunks, and such things. But a man is supposed to be different. He's supposed to have some sense. I don't mind a good fight if there's something to fight for. I'd fight for you and your mother and our country, but I won't fight for foolishness