She went slowly to the shop, full of fear for the future.
“Sam,” she whispered to her husband, who was writing at his desk, “here’s a man come to see you about a dog.”
Assuredly he was taken aback. Still, he behaved with much presence of mind.
“Oh, about a dog! Who is it?”
“It’s that Jim Boon. He says he’s heard you want one.”
The renowned name of Jim Boon gave him pause; but he had to go through with the affair, and he went through with it, though nervously. Constance followed his agitated footsteps to the side-door.
“Morning, Boon.”
“Morning, master.”
They began to talk dogs, Mr. Povey, for his part, with due caution.
“Now, there’s a dog!” said Boon, pointing to one of the bull-dogs, a miracle of splendid ugliness.