His head, with the exception of the ears,
was untouched, and his serious, friendly eyes seemed to emphasise the
weirdness of his appearance. He stood in the doorway, barking and
wagging his tail, plainly puzzled at his reception. He was a popular
dog, and was always well received when he visited any of the houses, but
he had never before met with enthusiasm like this.
"Good old Sammy!"
"What on earth's been happening to him?"
"Who did it?"
Sharpe, the introducer, had no views on the matter.
"I found him outside Downing's, with a crowd round him. Everybody seems
to have seen him. I wonder who on earth has gone and mucked him up
like that!"
Mike was the first to show any sympathy for the maltreated animal.
"Poor old Sammy," he said, kneeling on the floor beside the victim, and
scratching him under the ear. "What a beastly shame! It'll take hours to
wash all that off him, and he'll hate it."
"It seems to me," said Psmith, regarding Sammy dispassionately through
his eyeglass, "that it's not a case for mere washing. They'll either
have to skin him bodily, or leave the thing to time. Time, the Great
Healer. In a year or two he'll fade to a delicate pink.
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