My hostess
paused in silence as she noted my glance. The beast then approached
me, sniffed at my boots inquiringly, then at my hands with increasing
animation, and at last leaped into my lap and had licked my face
before I could prevent it.
I need hardly say that this attention was embarrassing and most
distasteful, since I have never held with dogs. They are doubtless
well enough in their place, but there is a vast deal of sentiment
about them that is silly, and outside the hunting field the most
finely bred of them are too apt to be noisy nuisances. When I say that
the beast in question was quite an American dog, obviously of no
breeding whatever, my dismay will be readily imagined. Rather
impulsively, I confess, I threw him to the floor with a stern,
"Begone, sir!" whereat he merely crawled to my feet and whimpered,
looking up into my eyes with a most horrid and sickening air of
devotion. Hereupon, to my surprise, my hostess gayly called out:
"Why, look at Mr. Barker--he's actually taken up with you right away,
and him usually so suspicious of strangers. Only yesterday he bit an
agent that was calling with silver polish to sell--bit him in the leg
so I had to buy some from the poor fellow--and now see! He's as
friendly with you as you could wish.
Pages:
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214