“And your Aunt Priscilla doesn’t like him? Why is that?”
“Well, sir, you see my aunt, Miss Flint, is a very handsome and dignified lady. She doesn’t admire such frivolous things as flippy-floppy little dogs, and they seem to interfere with her nerves. My aunt, Miss Flint, is of an old family and very exclusive, and has a great deal of what they call the—the infernal feminine.”
“Yes, she has,” said Mr. Bates, with grave acquiescence. “And your other aunt, Miss Dorinda, doesn’t she like your valuable dog either?”
“Oh, Aunt Dorinda is different. She’s younger, you know; or at least she can’t seem to let go of her youth as Aunt Priscilla does. But that doesn’t matter; my aunt, Miss Flint, is head of the house, and she says the dog must go, so go it’s going to! Now the thing is, will you take him, Mr. Bates? I’m sure Mrs. Bates would like him—he’s a dear dog.”
At this Ladybird’s head went down on Cloppy’s back again, and Mr. Bates feared another deluge; but suddenly the child looked up with a bright smile. “I could come to see him sometimes, couldn’t I, Mr. Bates?”
“I haven’t said I’d take him yet. I’m a business man, you know. What is your dog good for?”
Ladybird considered.
“Well now, do you know, I never thought of that; I don’t know as he is good for anything.”
“Bless my soul, child, do you expect me to accept a dog that is good for nothing?”
“He isn’t good for nothing,” said Ladybird, indignantly; “he’s a wonderful comfort, and I guess that counts for a lot! Oh, and he is good for something, too: he can scare burglars away.”