 always, to suppress
his natural impulses.
    There were butcher-shops where meat hung within reach. This meat he must not
touch. There were cats at the houses the master visited that must be let alone.
And there were dogs everywhere that snarled at him and that he must not attack.
And then, on the crowded sidewalks, there were persons innumerable whose
attention he attracted. They would stop and look at him, point him out to one
another, examine him, talk to him, and, worst of all, pat him. And these
perilous contacts from all these strange hands he must endure. Yet this
endurance he achieved. Furthermore he got over being awkward and self-conscious.
In a lofty way he received the attentions of the multitudes of strange gods.
With condescension he accepted their condescension. On the other hand, there was
something about him that prevented great familiarity. They patted him on the
head and passed on, contented and pleased with their own daring.
    But it was not all easy for White Fang. Running behind the carriage in the
outskirts of San Jose, he encountered certain small boys who made a practice of
flinging stones at him. Yet he knew that it was not permitted him to pursue and
drag them down. Here he was compelled to violate his instinct of
self-preservation, and violate it he did, for he was becoming tame and
qualifying himself for civilization.
    Nevertheless, White Fang was not quite satisfied with the arrangement. He
had no abstract ideas about justice and fair play. But there is a certain sense
of equity that resides in life, and it was this sense in him that resented the
unfairness of his being permitted no defence against the stone-throwers. He
forgot that in the covenant entered into between him and the gods they were
pledged to care for him and defend him. But one day the master sprang from the
carriage, whip in hand, and gave the stone-throwers a thrashing. After that they
threw stones no more, and White Fang understood and was satisfied.
    One other experience of similar nature was his. On the way to town, hanging
around the saloon at the cross-roads, were three dogs that made a practice of
rushing out upon him when he went by. Knowing his deadly method of fighting, the
master had never ceased impressing upon White Fang the law that he must not
fight. As a result, having learned the lesson well, White Fang was hard put
whenever he passed the cross-roads saloon. After the first rush, each time, his
snarl kept the three dogs at a
