I
Once upon a time there was a little girl named Alison Muirhead, and she had a doll named Rosamund and a dog named Thomson. The dog was an Aberdeen terrier, and he came from Aberdeen by train in the care of the guard, and he rarely did what he was told, which is the way of Aberdeens, as you have perhaps discovered.
Alison used to take her doll and Thomson every day into Kensington Gardens, and when they were well inside the Gardens, opposite the tulips and the new statue of William III., she used to unclasp the catch of Thomson’s lead and let him run, doing her best to keep an eye on him. This was not easy, for Thomson was a sociable dog, and he rushed after every other dog he saw, and either told them the latest dog joke or heard it, and Alison was often in despair to get him back.
If, however, Thomson had been an angel of a dog this story would never have been written, because it was wholly owing to his naughtiness that Alison and the Old Gentleman met.
The Old Gentleman used also to go into the Gardens on every fine day and sit on one of the seats by the may-trees between the long bulb walk and the Round Pond, with his back to the Albert Memorial. Not that he was one of those persons who always click their tongues when the Albert Memorial is mentioned, for, as a matter of fact, he did not mind the gold on it at all, and he really liked the groups of Asia and Europe and India at the corners, with the nice friendly elephant and camel in them; but he turned his back on the Memorial because the seat was set that way, and he liked also, when he raised his eyes from his book, to see so much green grass, and in the distance the yachtsmen running round the Round Pond to prevent their vessels wrecking themselves on the cement.
Alison had noticed the Old Gentleman for a long time before they had become acquainted, and he had noticed her, and was much attracted by her quiet little ways with Rosamund, and her calm, if despairing, pursuit of Thomson; and he liked her, too, for never playing diabolo.
But it was not until one day that Thomson broke loose at the very gate of the Gardens with his lead still on him, and in course of time ran right under the Old Gentleman’s legs and caught the chain in one of the eyelet flaps of his laced boots, that Alison and he came to speak.
“Ha, ha!” said the Old Gentleman to Thomson, “I’ve got you now. And I shall hold you tight till your mistress comes.”
Alison was still a long way off. Thomson said nothing, but tugged at the chain.
“I’ve been watching you for a long time, Mr. Thomson,” said the Old Gentleman, “and I have come to the conclusion that you are a bad dog. You don’t care for anyone. You do what you want to do and nothing else.” Thomson lay down and put out a yard and a half of pink tongue. Alison came nearer.
“If you were my dog,” the Old Gentleman continued, “do you know what I should do? I should thrash you.” Thomson began to snore.
Alison at this point came up, and Thomson sprang to his feet and affected to be pleased to see her.
“Thank you ever so much,” Alison said to the Old Gentleman. “But however did you catch him?”
“I didn’t catch him,” said the Old Gentleman, “he caught me. Come and sit down and rest yourself.”
So Alison sat down, and Thomson laid his wicked cheek against her boot, and that was the beginning of the acquaintance.
The next day when she went into the Gardens Alison looked for the Old Gentleman, and sure enough there he was, and seeing there was no one beside him, she sat down there again. And for a little while on every fine day she sat with him and they talked of various things. He was very interesting: he knew a great deal about birds and flowers and foreign countries. He had not only lived in China, but had explored the Amazon. On his watch chain was a blue stone which an Indian snake-charmer had given him. But he lived now in the big hotel at the corner of the Gardens and all his wanderings were over.
The funniest thing about him was his name. Alison did not learn what it was for a long time, but one day as she was calling “Thomson! Thomson!” very loudly as they sat there, the Old Gentleman said, “When you do that it makes me nervous.”
“Why?” Alison asked.
“Because,” the Old Gentleman said, “my name’s Thomson too.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Alison said, “I must call Thomson—I mean my dog—something else. I can’t ever call him Thomson again.”
“Why not?” said the Old Gentleman. “It doesn’t matter at all. I can’t expect to be the only Thomson in the world.”
“Oh yes,” said Alison, “I shall.”
The next day the first thing she did when she saw the Old Gentleman was to tell him she had changed Thom—the dog’s name. “In future,” she said, “he is to be called Jimmie.”
The Old Gentleman laughed. “That’s my name too,” he said.