‘I’ll put this on, sir, before he comes out, or he might leg it; he’s never taken to the place.’
Dinny turned round.
‘If his owner turns up we’ll give him back at once.’
‘Not much chance of that, miss. In my opinion that’s the dog of someone who’s died. He slipped his collar, probably, and went out to find him, got lost, and no one’s cared enough to send here and see. Nice dog, too. You’ve got a bargain. I’m glad. I didn’t like to think of that dog being put away; young dog, too.’
He put the collar on, led the dog out to them, and transferred the chain to Wilfrid, who handed him a card.
‘In case the owner turns up. Come on, Dinny; let’s walk him a bit. Walk, boy!’
The nameless dog, hearing the sweetest word in his vocabulary, moved forward to the limit of the chain.
‘That theory’s probably right,’ said Wilfrid, ‘and I hope it is. We shall like this fellow.’
Once on grass they tried to get through to the dog’s inner consciousness. He received their attentions patiently, without response, tail and eyes lowered, suspending judgement.
‘We’d better get him home,’ said Wilfrid. ‘Stay here, and I’ll bring up a cab.’
He wiped a chair with his handkerchief, transferred the chain to her, and swung away.
Dinny sat watching the dog. He had followed Wilfrid to the limit of the chain and then seated himself in the attitude in which they had first seen him.
What did dogs feel? They certainly put one and one together; loved, disliked, suffered, yearned, sulked, and enjoyed, like human beings; but they had a very small vocabulary and so – no ideas! Still, anything must be better than living in a wire enclosure with a lot of dogs less sensitive than yourself!
The dog came back to her side, but kept his head turned in the direction Wilfrid had taken, and began to whine.
A taxi cab drew up. The dog stopped whining, and began to pant.
‘Master’s coming!’ The dog gave a tug at the chain.
Wilfrid had reached him. Through the slackened chain she could feel the disillusionment; then it tightened, and the wagging of the tail came fluttering down the links as the dog sniffed at the turn-ups of Wilfrid’s trousers.
In the cab the dog sat on the floor with his chin hanging over Wilfrid’s shoe. In Piccadilly he grew restless and ended with his chin on Dinny’s knee. Between Wilfrid and the dog the drive was an emotional medley for her, and she took a deep breath when she got out.
‘Wonder what Stack will say,’ said Wilfrid. ‘A spaniel in Cork Street is no catch.’
The dog took the stairs with composure.
‘House-trained,’ said Dinny thankfully.
In the sitting-room the dog applied his nose to the carpet. Having decided that the legs of all the furniture were uninteresting and the place bereft of his own kind, he leaned his nose on the divan and looked out of the corners of his eyes.
‘Up!’ said Dinny. The dog jumped on to the divan.
‘Jove! He does smell!’ said Wilfrid.
‘Let’s give him a bath. While you’re filling it, I’ll look him over.’
She held the dog, who would have followed Wilfrid, and began parting his hair. She found several yellow fleas, but no other breed.
‘Yes, you do smell, darling.’
The dog turned his head and licked her nose.
‘The bath’s ready, Dinny!’
‘Only dog fleas.’
‘If you’re going to help, put on that bath gown, or you’ll spoil your dress.’
Behind his back, Dinny slipped off her frock and put on the blue bath gown, half-hoping he would turn, and respecting him because he didn’t. She rolled up the sleeves and stood beside him. Poised over the bath, the dog protruded a long tongue.
‘He’s not going to be sick, is he?’
‘No; they always do that. Gently, Wilfrid, don’t let him splash – that frightens them. Now!’
Lowered into the bath, the dog, after a scramble, stood still with his head drooped, concentrated on keeping foothold of the slippery surface.
‘This is hair shampoo, better than nothing. I’ll hold him. You do the rubbing in.’
Pouring some of the shampoo on the centre of that polished black back, Dinny heaped water up the dog’s sides and began to rub. Their first domestic incident with Wilfrid was pure joy, involving no mean personal contact with him as well as with the dog. She straightened up at last.
‘Phew! My back! Sluice him and let the water out. I’ll hold him.’
Wilfrid sluiced, the dog behaving as if not too sorry for his fleas. He shook himself vigorously, and they both jumped back.
‘Don’t let him out,’ cried Dinny; ‘we must dry him in the bath.’