The Man With Two Left Feet

was getting fonder of Peter every minute. I reached up and licked his hand.
    'See! He knows he's my dog, don't you, Fido? He licked me.'
    'But, Peter, he looks so fierce.' This, unfortunately, is true. I do look fierce. It is rather a misfortune for a perfectly peaceful dog. 'I'm sure it's not safe your having him.'
    'He's my dog, and his name's Fido. I am going to tell cook to give him a bone.'
    His mother looked at his father, who gave rather a nasty laugh.
    'My dear Helen,' he said, 'ever since Peter was born, ten years ago, he has not asked for a single thing, to the best of my recollection, which he has not got. Let us be consistent. I don't approve of this caricature of a dog, but if Peter wants him, I suppose he must have him.'
    'Very well. But the first sign of viciousness he shows, he shall be shot. He makes me nervous.'
    So they left it at that, and I went off with Peter to get my bone.
    After lunch, he took me to the kennels to introduce me to the other dogs. I had to go, but I knew it would not be pleasant, and it wasn't. Any dog will tell you what these prize–ribbon dogs are like. Their heads are so swelled they have to go into their kennels backwards.
    It was just as I had expected. There were mastiffs, terriers, poodles, spaniels, bulldogs, sheepdogs, and every other kind of dog you can imagine, all prize–winners at a hundred shows, and every single dog in the place just shoved his head back and laughed himself sick. I never felt so small in my life, and I was glad when it was over and Peter took me off to the stables.
    I was just feeling that I never wanted to see another dog in my life, when a terrier ran out, shouting. As soon as he saw me, he came up inquiringly, walking very stiff–legged, as terriers do when they see a stranger.
    'Well,' I said, 'and what particular sort of a prize–winner are you? Tell me all about the ribbons they gave you at the Crystal Palace, and let's get it over.'
    He laughed in a way that did me good.
    'Guess again!' he said. 'Did you take me for one of the nuts in the kennels? My name's Jack, and I belong to one of the grooms.'
    'What!' I cried. 'You aren't Champion Bowlegs Royal or anything of that sort! I'm glad to meet you.'
    So we rubbed noses as friendly as you please. It was a treat meeting one of one's own sort. I had had enough of those high–toned dogs who look at you as if you were something the garbage–man had forgotten to take away.
    'So you've been talking to the swells, have you?' said Jack.
    'He would take me,' I said, pointing to Peter.
    'Oh, you're his latest, are you? Then you're all right—while it lasts.'
    'How do you mean, while it lasts?'
    'Well, I'll tell you what happened to me. Young Peter took a great fancy to me once. Couldn't do enough for me for a while. Then he got tired of me, and out I went. You see, the trouble is that while he's a perfectly good kid, he has always had everything he wanted since he was born, and he gets tired of things pretty easy. It was a toy railway that finished me. Directly he got that, I might not have been on the earth. It was lucky for me that Dick, my present old man, happened to want a dog to keep down the rats, or goodness knows what might not have happened to me. They aren't keen on dogs here unless they've pulled down enough blue ribbons to sink a ship, and mongrels like you and me—no offence—don't last long. I expect you noticed that the grown–ups didn't exactly cheer when you arrived?'
    'They weren't chummy.'
    'Well take it from me, your only chance is to make them chummy. If you do something to please them, they might let you stay on, even though Peter was tired of you.'
    'What sort of thing?'
    'That's for you to think out. I couldn't find one. I might tell you to save Peter from drowning. You don't need a pedigree to do that. But you can't drag the kid to the lake and push him in. That's the trouble. A dog gets so few opportunities. But, take it from me, if you don't do something within two weeks to make yourself solid with the adults, you can make your will. In two weeks Peter will have forgotten all about you. It's not his fault. It's the way he has been brought up. His father has all the money on earth, and Peter's the only child. You can't blame him. All I say is, look out for yourself. Well, I'm glad to have met you. Drop in again when you can. I can give you some good ratting, and I have a bone or two put away. So long.'
    * * * * *
    It worried me badly what Jack had said. I couldn't