It was not a difficult task; any incident or
object, however small, served my purpose.
The four-inch dog acted as valve this morning.
Somebody had trodden on His Dogship; some unfortunate biped born to
ill-luck. In and about Sonning to tread on a dog or to cause any animal
unnecessary pain is looked upon as an unforgiveable crime. Dogs are made
to be hugged and coddled and given the best cushion in the boat. "A
man, a girl, and a dog" is as common as "a man, a punt, and an inn."
Instantly the four-inch morsel--four inches, now that I think of it, is
about right; six inches is too long--this morsel, I say, gave a yell as
shrill as a launch-whistle and as fetching as a baby's cry. Instantly
three chambermaids, two barmaids, the two maiden sisters who were
breakfasting on the shady side of the inn gable, and the dog's owner,
who, in a ravishing gown, was taking her coffee under one of the
Japanese umbrellas, came rushing out of their respective hiding-places,
impelled by an energy and accompanied by an impetuousness rarely seen
except perhaps in some heroic attempt to save a drowning child sinking
for the last time.
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