Here I was presently interrupted by the dog,
Mr. Barker. For weeks now I had been relieved of his odious
attentions, by the very curious circumstance that he had transferred
them to the Honourable George. Not all my kicks and cuffs and beatings
had sufficed one whit to repulse him. He had kept after me, fawned
upon me, in spite of them. And then on a day he had suddenly, with
glad cries, become enamoured of the Honourable George, waiting for him
at doors, following him, hanging upon his every look. And the
Honourable George had rather fancied the beast and made much of him.
And yet this animal is reputed by poets and that sort of thing to be
man's best friend, faithfully sharing his good fortune and his bad,
staying by his side to the bitter end, even refusing to leave his body
when he has perished--starving there with a dauntless fidelity. How
chagrined the weavers of these tributes would have been to observe the
fickle nature of the beast in question! For weeks he had hardly
deigned me a glance. It had been a relief, to be sure, but what a
sickening disclosure of the cur's trifling inconstancy. Even now,
though he sniffed hungrily at the open door, he paid me not the least
attention--me whom he had once idolized!
I slipped back to the ice-box and procured some slices of beef that
were far too good for him.
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